#exophilia romance

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Changeling/Female Reader

SFW

Wordcount: 7,928

Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

One of your favourite clients is a changeling who uses their shapeshifting ability to hide their true form. Each tattoo session becomes a step closer to revealing the changeling's real appearance, and you realise he's more beautiful than expected.

The chime above the door of Ink Envy rang out, signalling the arrival of a potential new client. Izzy looked up from her sketchpad, pushing a wild tangle of dark curls out of her face. As the door swung open, she was greeted by the sight of a tall, striking man stepping into the parlour. 

There was something about him that immediately caught her attention. He was handsome in an unconventional way, with a lean, well-proportioned frame that moved with effortless grace. His black hair fell in a straight, sleek curtain to his shoulders, contrasting sharply with her own untamed curls. But what really drew Izzy in were his eyes—an intense shade of violet that seemed to glow in the soft lighting of the studio. 

She couldn’t shake the sense that she’d seen him before, though she couldn’t quite place where.

Izzy’s curiosity was piqued, and she found herself thinking, cute.

“Welcome to Ink Envy,” she called out, her voice carrying across the studio. She set down her pencil and stood up, her tall frame giving her a commanding presence behind the counter. “Can I help you with something?”

The man smiled, a small, enigmatic curve of his lips that revealed little but hinted at much. “Hi, I’m Aleks,” he replied, his voice smooth and warm. “I’d like to book a consultation for a tattoo.”

Izzy gave him a once-over, intrigued by both his appearance and his demeanour. She’d met all sorts in her line of work—humans, goblins, plenty of orcs—but Aleks was different. Something about him made her want to know more.

“Alright, Aleks,” she said, pulling out her appointment book. “What are you thinking of getting done?”

“A sleeve,” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers. “Something intricate, with natural elements—vines, flowers, that kind of thing. I’m uh, pretty choosy.”

Izzy nodded, appreciating his thoroughness. A sleeve was a major commitment, and she respected clients who took the time to think through what they wanted. “Sounds like you’ve got a pretty clear idea,” she said, jotting down the details. “How did you hear about us?”

“A friend recommended you,” Aleks said, his tone casual. “Kamaria. She said you did an amazing job with her thigh piece.”

Izzy’s face lit up with recognition. Kamaria was a gnoll woman she’d worked with several months ago, who’d wanted a waterfall thigh piece. The memory of those long hours spent inking intricate patterns onto Kamaria’s furred arm brought a smile to Izzy’s face.

“Ah, Kamaria! She was a great client. I’m glad she sent you my way,” Izzy said, feeling a sense of pride. “Alright, let’s get you booked in for a consultation. When works for you?”

Aleks glanced around the studio, his violet eyes taking in the space with quiet interest. “Is there any chance you’re free now?”

Izzy looked at her schedule. The day had been relatively quiet, and her next appointment wasn’t for another hour. “Actually, you’re in luck. I can fit you in now if you’ve got the time.”

He smiled again, that same subtle curve of his lips that made Izzy’s heart skip a beat. “I’ve got time.”

“Great, let’s head over to the consultation area,” Izzy said, leading him to a cosy corner of the studio where a couple of plush chairs sat next to a table scattered with design books and sketches. 

Aleks moved with that same effortless grace as he followed her, and Izzy found herself more intrigued by the second. There was a calm, almost ethereal quality about him, as if he belonged to a different world entirely.

They sat down, and Izzy pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, ready to sketch as Aleks described his vision. “Alright, tell me more about what you’re thinking.”

Aleks leaned forward slightly, his intense eyes meeting hers. “I want a sleeve that feels like it’s a part of me,” he began, his voice low and steady. “I’ve always felt at home in nature, you know?”

She smiled. “I get you. So, what exactly are you thinking?”

Izzy listened intently, her pencil moving across the paper as she began to sketch out the elements he described. She could tell that this tattoo meant a great deal to him, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“I like the idea,” Izzy said after a moment, glancing up from her sketch. “It’s going to be intricate, but I think we can create something really special. This will be a multi-session piece, though—it’ll take time to get all the details just right, and a sleeve is hard work.”

Aleks nodded, his gaze never wavering. “I’m not in a rush. I want it done right.”

There was a sincerity in his tone that resonated with Izzy. She felt a strong urge to bring his vision to life, to create something that would truly reflect the person sitting before her. “Alright,” she said, finishing the rough sketch and turning it towards him. “Here’s a very basic outline. We can refine the details as we go, but does this look like what you had in mind?”

Aleks studied the sketch for a moment, his expression thoughtful. Then, he looked up at her, and for the first time since he’d walked in, his smile reached his eyes, softening their intensity. “It’s exactly what I had in mind. Thank you, Izzy.”

The warmth in his voice took her by surprise, and she felt a blush creeping up her neck. “No problem,” she said, busying herself with gathering the sketches. “I’m looking forward to working on this with you.”

They set a date for the first session, and as Aleks stood to leave, Izzy found herself reluctant to let the moment end. There was something about him that intrigued her in a way no client had before.

“Book an appointment with Ceth at the front,” Izzy said softly. “He’ll keep you right.”

“Thanks. See you later, then.”

“See you.”

She watched him leave, the door closing softly behind him, and couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the beginning of something much more than just a tattoo. As she turned back to her sketchpad, she felt a thrill of anticipation, wondering what the next session would bring.

***

Two weeks passed quickly, though Izzy found herself thinking about Aleks more often than she liked to admit. Something about him lingered in her mind—those intense violet eyes, the way he moved, that strange, shifting quality in his skin. She pushed the thoughts aside, telling herself it was just the usual curiosity that came with meeting an interesting new client.

When Aleks walked into Ink Envy for his first tattoo session, Izzy almost didn’t recognise him. His sleek, black hair, which had fallen past his shoulders during their consultation, was now cropped short, barely grazing his ears. The new style accentuated the sharp angles of his face, and he was stunning.

Izzy raised an eyebrow as she set down her sketchpad. “New look?” she asked, trying to keep her tone casual.

Aleks smiled, that same enigmatic smile that had caught her off guard the first time they met. “Yeah, thought I’d try something different.”

Izzy waved off his concern, though the change did throw her a little. “It suits you.”

She led him over to the chair, her mind racing. He looked different, more so than just a hair change. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something she was missing, but she pushed the thought aside as she focused on her work. Tattoos required precision, and she needed to be fully present.

“Alright, let’s get you prepped,” she said, slipping into her professional mode. She handed Aleks a form to sign and gave him the usual run-down—how the session would go, aftercare instructions, and a few tips to make the process as smooth as possible. 

He listened quietly, his eyes never leaving hers, and she felt a flicker of nerves under his intense gaze. Izzy was used to being the one in control, guiding her clients through the process, but something about Aleks made her feel like he was the one holding the reins.

Once the formalities were out of the way, she snapped on a pair of gloves and began prepping his arm. She carefully shaved the area where the tattoo would go, her hands moving with practiced ease. His skin was just as smooth as she remembered, but this time she could see the muscles beneath, lean and defined. She disinfected the area, the scent of antiseptic mixing with the faint smell of his cologne—a warm, woody fragrance that was surprisingly pleasant.

“Let me just get the stencil on,” she murmured, focusing on the task at hand. She positioned the stencil with care, making sure the vines and geometric patterns lined up perfectly with the natural contours of his arm. It was a complex design, one that required precision, but she felt a thrill of excitement as she imagined how it would look when finished.

Aleks watched her work, his expression calm and composed. There was no sign of nerves, no fidgeting or anxious glances at the needle, just a quiet confidence that made Izzy feel like she was the one being scrutinised. She pressed the stencil down, smoothing it over his skin before peeling it back to reveal the ink outline.

“Take a look,” she said, stepping back to give him space to inspect it.

Aleks glanced down at his arm, his expression unreadable as he studied the design. After a moment, he looked up and gave her a nod. “Looks perfect.”

Izzy felt a flutter of satisfaction at his approval. “Alright then,” she said, her voice steady as she positioned herself beside him. “Ready to get started?”

He nodded again, settling back in the chair with that same easy grace she’d noticed before. Izzy took a deep breath and picked up the tattoo machine, the familiar buzz filling the air as it came to life. She leaned in close, her world narrowing to the point where the needle met his skin.

“So, is this your first tattoo?” she asked, her voice light as she began the first stroke.

“Yes,” Aleks replied, his tone as calm as ever.

Izzy glanced up in surprise. “Really? You don’t seem nervous at all.”

He shrugged slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. “I have a high pain tolerance.”

Izzy chuckled, but there was a part of her that was genuinely amazed. Most first-timers flinched or tensed up at the initial sting of the needle, but Aleks didn’t so much as twitch. His expression remained composed, almost serene, as she worked. 

She continued inking the delicate vines onto his skin, her hands moving with careful precision. But as the session wore on, Izzy couldn’t help but notice how unusually still he remained. Even experienced clients would shift or fidget after a while, but Aleks sat as though he were carved from stone, his face betraying no discomfort at all.

The hours passed quickly, the design beginning to take shape as Izzy lost herself in the rhythm of her work. The vines twisted and curled around his arm, flowers blooming in the empty space. She paused occasionally to check his comfort, but Aleks always reassured her with a quiet nod or a calm smile.

“Still doing alright?” she asked, finally stepping back to wipe down his arm and get a better look at the progress.

“Never better,” he replied, his voice warm and untroubled.

Izzy shook her head in disbelief. “You’re a natural. Most people would be at least grimacing by now.”

Aleks’s smile widened slightly. “I guess I’m just built differently.”

She laughed, though his words stayed with her. There was something about the way he said it that made her wonder if he meant more than what was on the surface. As she looked at the intricate design now covering his forearm, she pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the satisfaction of seeing the tattoo come to life.

By the time the session wrapped up, the initial outline was complete. Izzy stepped back, wiping her brow and admiring her handiwork. The tattoo was still in its early stages, but already she could see how it would come together in the next few sessions. It was a beautiful design, one that she felt proud of—and one that seemed to suit Aleks perfectly.

“All done for today,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of reluctance as she began cleaning up. “We’ll need a few more sessions to finish, but it’s looking good so far.”

Aleks examined the tattoo in the mirror, his expression thoughtful. “It’s perfect so far.”

She felt that same warmth creeping up her neck, but she masked it with a smile. “Glad you’re happy with it. You’re handling this like a pro.”

He met her gaze, those violet eyes holding hers for a moment longer than necessary. “I trust you,” he said simply, and the sincerity in his voice left her momentarily speechless.

Izzy watched as Aleks made his way to the door, the soft click of the latch as it closed behind him echoing in the quiet studio. His words lingered in her mind, reverberating with a strange sense of weight. 

I trust you.

He had said it so simply, yet there was something profound in the way he’d looked at her, those violet eyes filled with an intensity that had momentarily left her breathless.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, a mixture of curiosity and something else—something she couldn’t quite name—churning in her chest. The studio, which had felt charged with energy during the session, now seemed unnaturally quiet. The buzz of the tattoo machine was long gone, replaced by the faint hum of the overhead lights and the distant sounds of the city outside.

Izzy shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts as she turned back to her station, methodically cleaning up. Her hands moved on autopilot, wiping down the surfaces, capping the inks, and sterilising the equipment. Her mind was elsewhere, replaying the session in her head—Aleks’s steady composure, his barely-there reactions to the needle, and that odd sensation she’d felt when his gaze had lingered on hers.

The back door creaked open, and Izzy glanced up to see Ceth, Ink Envy’s orc receptionist, emerging from the storeroom. He was a big guy—towering, with greenish-grey skin and tusks that jutted out from his lower jaw. Despite his intimidating appearance, Ceth had a soft heart and a knack for keeping things running smoothly. He carried a couple of boxes under one arm, his other hand gripping a clipboard as he made notes in his looping, precise script.

He looked up from the clipboard, his brows furrowing as he noticed Izzy standing by her station, seemingly lost in thought. “Was that your new client?” he asked, his deep voice rumbling through the quiet room.

Izzy nodded, flashing a smile as she wiped down the last of her tools. “Yeah, that was him. Just finished the first session.”

Ceth grunted, setting the boxes down on the counter with a thud. “He’s… odd,” he said, his tone cautious, as if he were testing out the word. He leaned against the counter. “Very quiet.”

Izzy couldn’t help but chuckle at the way Ceth’s nose wrinkled, his tusks twitching slightly in a gesture she’d come to recognise as his version of suspicion. “Odd? Ceth, have you looked at yourself lately?” she teased, grinning up at him. “Odd is kind of our thing around here.”

Ceth’s eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, well, there’s odd, and then there’s… whatever that is. Something about him doesn’t sit right with me. Too perfect, you know?”

Izzy paused, her grin fading slightly as she considered Ceth’s words. Perfect was definitely a word she’d thought of herself, but it had been accompanied by a strange sense of unease. Aleks had an aura about him—something polished and refined, yet almost too much so. Like he was a character out of a story, crafted with care but missing the rough edges that made people real.

She shrugged, trying to shake off the lingering doubts. “He’s harmless, Ceth. Just a bit… different.” She leaned against the counter, her wild curls brushing her shoulders as she looked up at him. “I mean, aren’t we all?”

Ceth’s eyes softened, and he let out a rumbling chuckle. “Suppose you’re right, Izzy. Still… just keep an eye on him, yeah?”

“Always do,” she replied, giving him a playful nudge with her elbow. “Besides, I think it’s kinda nice to have a client who isn’t flinching every five seconds.”

Ceth chuckled again, though it was tinged with that same caution. He picked up his clipboard, his massive hands making it look like a toy as he flipped through the pages. “Guess we’ll see how it goes. Just don’t get too caught up in those pretty eyes of his, alright?”

Izzy laughed, a light sound that helped dispel the tension that had settled in her chest. “Don’t worry, Ceth. I know how to keep my head.”

As she finished cleaning up, Ceth’s words echoed in her mind. There was something about Aleks that wasn’t quite right, something she couldn’t put her finger on. For now, she brushed it off. After all, she had a job to do, and Aleks was just another client.

Right?

***

Izzy sat at her station, adjusting her gloves as Aleks settled into the chair for their latest session. The tattoo was now halfway complete, and the colour was starting to look good. 

The design had come together beautifully, far beyond what Izzy had initially imagined. Each session revealed more of its complexity, and it seemed to resonate with Aleks in a way that felt almost… personal.

As she prepped her tools, she noticed once again how Aleks had changed since their first meeting. His hair had grown back, longer now, though not quite as long as it had been originally. There were subtle differences in his appearance that she couldn’t quite pinpoint—his skin seemed smoother, his features a bit sharper, more refined. Like he’d lost weight, except only in his face. Every time she saw him, it was like looking at a slightly different version of the man she’d met weeks ago.

“Alright, we’re about halfway there,” she said, tearing herself from her thoughts; and breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. “How’s it feeling so far?”

Aleks smiled, the kind of smile that had grown familiar to Izzy but still made her heart skip a beat. “It’s been good. I hardly notice the pain anymore.”

Izzy chuckled softly as she positioned herself beside him. “You say that like you noticed it in the first place. You’re still the calmest client I’ve ever had.”

He shrugged, the movement so fluid it was almost unnatural. “I guess I’m just good at handling it.”

As she began working, the buzz of the tattoo machine filling the room, Izzy decided to push a little further into the quiet mystery that was Aleks. Over the past few sessions, their conversations had gradually become more personal, though Aleks always kept certain details close to the chest.

“So,” Izzy said casually, her focus on the delicate lines she was inking, “you mentioned before that you’re a traveller. What kind of places have you been to?”

Aleks hesitated, just for a moment, before he spoke. “Here and there. A lot of places you probably wouldn’t have heard of.” There was a wistfulness to his voice, as if he was talking about something far away, both in distance and in time.

Izzy glanced up briefly, catching his eyes with hers. “Try me. I’m always curious about new places.”

His violet eyes flickered with something she couldn’t quite place—a mix of emotions that passed too quickly for her to decipher. “There’s a place… a city of floating gardens.”

Izzy paused, her hand stilling for a moment as she processed what he’d just said. “That sounds… incredible. Definitely not anywhere I’ve heard of.”

Aleks’s smile was faint, almost sad. “It’s… far from here.”

The way he said it made Izzy’s chest tighten, as though he were talking about a place he could never return to. She wanted to ask more, to dig deeper into this strange and beautiful world he was describing, but something held her back. Instead, she simply nodded, her fingers resuming their work with the needle.

As the hours passed, the tattoo continued to evolve, the vines seeming to pulse with life, the geometric patterns aligning perfectly with the natural curves of Aleks’s arm. The room was quiet save for the hum of the tattoo machine and their occasional conversations, but there was a sense of intimacy that had developed between them.

At one point, Izzy glanced up from her work and found herself momentarily stunned. Aleks’s face had shifted—just for a split second, but enough to leave her breathless. His features seemed to shimmer, the sharp angles softening, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. His skin took on a luminous quality, as if he were made of something more than flesh and bone.

Izzy blinked, her breath catching in her throat. As quickly as it had happened, the vision was gone. Aleks’s face returned to the familiar, handsome features she had grown accustomed to, his expression calm and serene as if nothing had changed.

“Is everything alright?” Aleks asked, his voice gentle, though there was a note of concern in it.

Izzy realised she had stopped tattooing, her hand frozen in place. She quickly resumed her work, shaking off the moment of shock. “Yeah, sorry. I just… thought I saw something.”

Aleks tilted his head slightly, studying her with those intense violet eyes. “Saw something?”

Izzy hesitated, unsure how to explain what she had just witnessed. “It’s nothing. Probably just my eyes playing tricks on me. I need to close the blinds.”

He didn’t press further, but there was a knowing look in his gaze that made her wonder if he knew exactly what she had seen. The rest of the session passed in relative silence, though the atmosphere between them had shifted slightly—still comfortable, but with an undercurrent of something unspoken.

When the session finally ended, Izzy wiped down his arm and stepped back to admire the progress. The tattoo was coming together beautifully, the design now wrapping around his bicep and creeping towards his shoulder. As she looked at it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was more than just ink on skin. It felt alive, like it was part of Aleks, growing and changing with him.

“All done for today,” she said, her voice steady despite thoughts swirling in her mind.

Aleks examined the tattoo in the mirror, his expression unreadable. “It’s coming along great.”

She smiled, though her heart wasn’t in it. “Glad you think so.”

As Aleks stood and prepared to leave, Izzy found herself watching him more closely, searching for any sign of the change she’d seen earlier. He looked the same as always—handsome, calm, and impossibly perfect.

“I’ll see you for the next session,” he said, his voice soft but steady. There was an intensity in his gaze that made Izzy’s heart skip a beat, a sense that he was saying more than just goodbye.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “See you then.”

As Aleks walked out the door, Izzy let out a breath she didn’t realise she’d been holding. The studio was quiet once more, but the echoes of their conversation and the strange vision she’d witnessed lingered in the air.

***

The atmosphere in Ink Envy was different today. The familiar hum of the tattoo machine was the same, as was the steady rhythm of Izzy’s hands, but there was an underlying tension in the air that made her stomach churn with unease. Aleks sat in the chair, as he had done for each session before, but this time, something was off.

He had always been quiet, reserved even, but today he seemed almost distant, as if his mind was somewhere far away. His usual calm composure had a brittle edge to it, a certain impatience that hadn’t been there before. It was as though he couldn’t wait for the session to be over and to leave. The thought made Izzy’s chest tighten with a pang of something she didn’t want to name—disappointment, maybe, or something more painful.

She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the tattoo, which was nearly complete. The vines had climbed all the way up his arm, now reaching across his shoulder. It was a beautiful piece, one she was proud of, but today, even the joy of creation was tinged with melancholy.

Aleks had barely spoken since he walked in, and every attempt Izzy made at conversation seemed to fall flat. His replies were monosyllabic, his eyes distant, as if he were counting down the minutes until he could walk out the door. It shouldn’t have mattered—it was just business, after all—but it did. It mattered more than Izzy wanted to admit.

“Almost there,” she murmured, her voice carefully neutral as she worked on the final details. The session was dragging on longer than usual, and with each passing minute, the distance between them seemed to grow. “How’re you holding up?”

Aleks didn’t respond immediately, and when he did, his voice was flat, devoid of the warmth she had come to enjoy. “Fine. Just… ready for this to be done.”

The words were like a slap in the face, and Izzy felt her heart sink. She forced a smile, though it felt brittle. “Yeah, I can tell you’re eager to finish up. You’ve been a real trooper through all of this.”

She waited for the usual smile, the small flicker of amusement that would light up his violet eyes, but it didn’t come. Instead, Aleks remained stoic, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the walls of the studio. It was as if he was no longer really there with her, and the thought made Izzy’s hands tremble, just slightly, as she continued to work.

It wasn’t until she was nearly done that she noticed something else—something that made her pause. Aleks was flinching, just the tiniest bit, each time the needle touched his skin. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but to Izzy, it was as if the earth had shifted beneath her feet.

She frowned, glancing up at him. “You okay? Seems like your pain tolerance is finally catching up with you.”

Aleks didn’t respond, and when he did flinch again, something strange happened. His skin shimmered, just for a second, like the surface of water disturbed by a breeze. Izzy’s heart skipped a beat, her hands freezing in place.

“Aleks?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. “Are you—”

Before she could finish the question, Aleks suddenly pulled away, his movements jerky, almost panicked. His hand flew to his shoulder, covering the fresh ink as though he could stop whatever was happening beneath his skin. His eyes, wide and filled with something she hadn’t seen before—fear, maybe—flickered towards her.

“I—I need a minute,” he stammered, his voice breaking the calm façade he had maintained for so long. Without another word, he stood up, nearly stumbling in his haste as he rushed towards the back of the studio.

Izzy watched, stunned, as Aleks disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing with a heavy thud. The studio fell into an uneasy silence, the only sound the faint buzzing of the tattoo machine that she hadn’t turned off.

For a moment, she stood frozen, her gaze fixed on the closed bathroom door. What had she seen? His skin had shimmered, and then Aleks had looked at her with such fear, such raw vulnerability, that it had sent a shiver down her spine. Something was wrong—deeply wrong—and it gnawed at her to leave him in there alone. What if he needed space? 

She switched off the machine, the sudden absence of its hum making the silence even more oppressive. Izzy took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She gave him a few minutes, hoping he’d come out on his own, but the seconds ticked by with no sign of Aleks. The uneasy quiet stretched on, and the anxiety that had settled in her chest only grew heavier.

Finally, she couldn’t take it any longer. Izzy crossed the room to the bathroom door, her steps slow and measured, as if any sudden movement might shatter the fragile calm. She knocked softly at first, her knuckles brushing the wood.

“Aleks?” she called, her voice gentle but laced with concern. There was no answer, only the hollow echo of her knock bouncing back at her. She hesitated, then knocked again, a little louder this time. “Aleks, are you okay? You can’t hide in there forever.”

Still, there was no response. The silence on the other side of the door was deafening, and a cold dread crept up Izzy’s spine. What was he doing in there? Was he hurt? Was something worse happening?

“Aleks,” she tried again, her tone more insistent. “Do you need some water? Are you feeling faint?” She pressed her ear against the door, straining to hear any sound, but there was nothing. “Come on, talk to me. Please.”

The quiet stretched on, and just when she was about to knock again, she heard it—his voice, low and strained, barely more than a whisper. “Go away, Izzy.”

Her heart clenched at the sound of his voice, so unlike the calm, controlled tone she was used to. “I’m not leaving,” she said firmly, pressing her palm against the door as if she could reach through it to him. “Whatever’s going on, you don’t have to go through it alone. Let me help you.”

For a long moment, there was no response, and Izzy wondered if he would simply ignore her until she had no choice but to walk away. Then, she heard a soft, almost defeated sigh from the other side of the door.

“Please, Izzy,” he said, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite identify—fear, maybe, or despair. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

She swallowed hard, her throat tight. “Then help me understand, Aleks. I’m not going anywhere. Open the door. Nobody else is here.”

The silence that followed was agonising, but Izzy stood firm, her hand still pressed against the door as if she could somehow reassure him through the wood. She could feel the seconds ticking by, each one heavier than the last, until finally, she heard the soft click of the lock turning.

The door creaked open, just a crack at first, and then slowly, reluctantly, it swung wide enough for Izzy to see Aleks standing in the doorway. Except… it wasn’t Aleks. Not the Aleks she knew, anyway.

What stood before her was something otherworldly, something both beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. His skin, once smooth and human, now shimmered with an ethereal light, a soft glow that pulsed like a heartbeat beneath the surface. It had taken on a silvery hue, translucent in places. His violet eyes, the one feature that remained the same, had deepened in colour, glowing with an intensity that seemed to pierce through her. His features were sharper, more angular, with high cheekbones and a jawline that could have been carved from glass.

There was an alien quality to him now, something that was… inhuman.

Izzy’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at him, her mind struggling to comprehend what she was seeing. He wasn’t an orc, or a tiefling, or any other creature she had ever encountered. He was something else entirely—something far more ancient, far more dangerous. Yet, even in his inhuman form, there was a strange, haunting beauty to him that left her speechless.

“Aleks…” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. She didn’t know what to say, what to ask. How could she? She didn’t even know what she was looking at.

He flinched at the sound of his name, as if it pained him, and turned his gaze away from her, his shoulders sagging with a weight she couldn’t see. “This is why I didn’t want you to see me,” he said quietly, his voice filled with a sorrow that pierced her heart. “This is what I really am.”

Izzy took a tentative step forward, her hand reaching out instinctively before she stopped herself. She didn’t know if she should touch him—if she even could. “Aleks,” she said again, more firmly this time, though her voice still trembled. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

His eyes, those brilliant, glowing eyes, flicked back to hers, and for a moment, there was something vulnerable in them, something that made her heart ache. Then he shook his head, stepping back into the shadows of the bathroom, the light dimming around him.

The door began to close, shutting her out, shutting himself away.

Izzy wasn’t about to let that happen.

Before Aleks could close the door completely, she stepped forward, slipping into the small, dim space with him and turning the lock behind her. The click of the lock was quiet but final, leaving them both standing there in the darkness, the tension thick between them.

Aleks turned to her in surprise, his eyes wide and glowing faintly in the low light. His skin, now fully illuminated by its own strange, ethereal light, cast a soft glow across the cramped bathroom. The air seemed to hum with the energy that radiated off him, a soft, pulsing light that shifted and moved across his skin, like moonlight dancing on water.

Izzy took a slow, steadying breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions swirling inside her. The small bathroom was bathed in a soft, silvery glow that came entirely from him, and it took her a moment to realise something that made her smile despite the situation.

“You know,” she said, her voice softer than usual but carrying a note of humour, “you’ve been standing here in the dark this whole time. The lights are off.”

Aleks blinked, clearly startled by the observation, and then, slowly, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It was hesitant, almost shy, but it was there, and it was enough to make Izzy’s heart skip a beat.

“I guess I have,” he murmured, a hint of warmth returning to his voice. The glow from his skin flickered slightly, as if in response to his emotions.

Izzy felt a rush of relief at seeing that smile, however fleeting it was. It gave her the courage to take a step closer, her gaze steady as she looked at him—really looked at him. “Aleks,” she said softly, her voice filled with a gentle determination, “please let me see you. The real you. No hiding.”

He hesitated, his luminous eyes searching hers, as if looking for something he couldn’t quite find. “Izzy, I don’t… I don’t want to scare you. This isn’t… this isn’t what you think it is.”

Izzy shook her head, her curls brushing against her shoulders. “You’re not scaring me. Yeah, I was shocked at first, but that’s normal, right? I just need a moment to process.” She reached out slowly, giving him time to pull away, but he didn’t. Her hand found his, and she squeezed gently. “Let me see you. Really see you.”

For a long moment, Aleks didn’t move. He just stood there, staring at her with those otherworldly eyes, his expression a mix of fear and uncertainty. Then, with a shaky breath, he nodded. “Okay.”

Izzy released his hand, her breath catching as she took a step back, giving him space. Aleks closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. When he opened them again, the glow from his skin intensified, filling the room with a soft, pulsing light that seemed to reflect the steady beat of his heart.

He stepped fully into the light, and for the first time, Izzy saw him completely—his true form, unmasked and unhidden. He was breathtaking, in a way that was both beautiful and unsettling. 

His hair, now a cascade of silver threads, framed his face like a halo, and his eyes… those eyes were the most stunning thing she had ever seen.

Aleks shifted under her gaze, his expression guarded. “This is what I am, Izzy,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with sorrow. “Not the man you thought you knew. Just… this.”

Izzy shook her head, stepping closer to him again, her eyes softening as she took in the full picture. “You’re still you, Aleks. This doesn’t change that.”

He looked at her, incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying. “I’m not… I’m not human, Izzy. I’ve been lying to you this whole time.”

“Ceth’s not human either, and I’m not an orc. You don’t see us holding it against each other. Why would I hold this against you?”

He shrugged, small and nervous.

She reached out, her hand hovering over his arm before she gently rested it against his shimmering skin. It was warm, softer than she had expected, and the patterns beneath the surface shifted under her touch, like ripples in water. “You might not be human, but you’ve never lied to me. I don’t know what you are, but I know who you are.”

His breath hitched, and he looked down at her hand on his arm, the vulnerability in his eyes more palpable than ever. “You really mean that?”

Izzy nodded, her heart swelling with a strange mixture of tenderness and protectiveness. “I do, Aleks. You’re beautiful. You’re… incredible. I just wish you could see that.”

For a moment, Aleks said nothing, his gaze locked on hers, as if he were searching for the truth in her words. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he reached up to cup her cheek, his touch so light it was almost a caress.

“Beautiful?” he echoed, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “No one’s ever… No one’s ever said that before.”

Izzy leaned into his touch, her eyes never leaving his. “Well, they should have,” she whispered back, her voice filled with an emotion she couldn’t quite name. “Because you are.”

Something shifted in Aleks then, the tension in his shoulders easing, the light in his eyes softening. He took a step closer, closing the distance between them until she could feel the warmth of his body.

“Izzy,” he murmured, his voice a mix of awe and uncertainty. He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, and for a moment, they just stood there, breathing in each other’s presence, the connection between them stronger than it had ever been.

Izzy closed her eyes, letting herself get lost in the moment, in the warmth of his touch, in the way his breath mingled with hers. She didn’t know what this meant, didn’t know what the future held for them, but right now, none of that mattered.

Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, Aleks tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against hers in the lightest of touches. Izzy’s heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat as she realised what was happening. Instead of pulling away, she leaned into the kiss, her hand tightening on his arm as she pressed closer to him.

The kiss was soft, tentative, as if neither of them could quite believe it was real. There was a tenderness to it, a sense of something unspoken passing between them. Aleks’s lips were warm, soft.

When they finally pulled back, breathless and a little dazed, Aleks stared at her with wide eyes, his expression filled with wonder and something that looked very much like hope.

“Izzy,” he whispered, his voice trembling, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

She smiled up at him, her heart full, her fears and doubts melting away in the glow of his light. “Then don’t say anything,” she murmured, leaning in to rest her forehead against his again.

For a few precious moments, Izzy and Aleks stood there in the dim light of the bathroom, their foreheads resting together, breathing in unison. The glow from his skin, once so intense and otherworldly, began to fade, the silvery light slowly dimming until it was almost gone. Izzy could feel the warmth of his body against hers, the soft pulse of his breath, but when she opened her eyes, she was greeted not by the ethereal, glowing being she had just kissed, but by the familiar face of the man she had grown to care for.

Aleks’s features had softened back to their human form—his skin no longer shimmered with that eerie, beautiful light, and his hair was once again black and straight, falling just shy of his shoulders. His eyes, though still a striking violet, had lost that otherworldly glow, returning to the deep, intense gaze that had captivated her from the beginning.

Izzy couldn’t help the slight pang of disappointment that tugged at her heart. There was something so mesmerizing, so raw and real, about his true form, and now it felt as if it had slipped away, leaving only the familiar shell of the man she thought she knew. As she looked up at him, at the Aleks she had kissed, she knew that the essence of who he was—whatever he was—hadn’t disappeared. It was still there, in the warmth of his gaze, in the softness of his touch.

She smiled gently, her hand still resting on his arm. “Looks like you’re back,” she whispered, her voice laced with both relief and a touch of regret.

Aleks blinked, as if coming back to himself, and let out a slow breath. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean for you to see me like that… I just couldn’t hold it back anymore.”

Izzy shook her head, her thumb brushing over his skin in a reassuring gesture. “Don’t apologise. I’m glad I saw the real you, Aleks; but we should probably get out of here.” She let out a small, breathy laugh. “Can’t hide in the bathroom forever.”

He managed a faint smile, a ghost of the warmth she had felt earlier. “Yeah… you’re right.”

With a soft sigh, Izzy unlocked the door and stepped out of the bathroom, coaxing Aleks to follow her back into the studio. The normalcy of the familiar space felt almost jarring after what had just happened, but she knew they couldn’t stay hidden away any longer. The tattoo needed to be finished, and life had to go on.

She changed her gloves, the simple ritual grounding her as she prepared to finish the work they’d started. Aleks sat back in the chair, his eyes still a little distant, but there was a new softness to his expression, a vulnerability that hadn’t been there before. Izzy could see the way his shoulders had relaxed slightly, the tension that had coiled tight around him for so long finally beginning to ease.

As she picked up the tattoo machine and began working again, the steady buzz filled the room, offering a comforting familiarity. Aleks remained silent, but this time, the quiet between them wasn’t heavy or strained. It was peaceful, almost tender, as if they had reached an unspoken understanding.

With each stroke of the needle, the tattoo grew more complete, the vines and patterns intertwining seamlessly with Aleks’s skin. Izzy was meticulous, her focus entirely on the work, but her mind kept circling back to what she had seen, what she had felt. The way his body had shifted, the way he had looked at her with those glowing eyes, filled with so much uncertainty and fear.

And then it struck her, a sudden clarity that made her pause, the needle hovering just above his skin. His body was inconstant, always shifting, always changing—an existence that must have felt like he could never hold onto anything permanent, anything real. This tattoo… it would never change. No matter what form he took, no matter how his body shifted, the tattoo would remain the same, a fixed point in the midst of all that uncertainty.

Izzy glanced up at him, her heart swelling with a mix of emotions. “This is why you wanted the tattoo, isn’t it?” she asked softly, the realisation dawning on her. “Because it’s something that won’t change. Something you can hold onto.”

Aleks’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, he looked like he might deny it, but then he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice low, almost defeated. “I just… I needed something that was mine. Something that wouldn’t shift or fade away.”

Izzy’s chest tightened with a surge of affection for him, and she felt the urge to reach out and touch him, to reassure him that she understood, that she was here. Instead, she smiled, her voice soft and full of warmth. “Well, you’ve got it now. It’s yours forever.”

He looked at her, something softening in his gaze, and for the first time, he seemed to truly believe her. “Thank you.”

She finished the last few strokes of the tattoo with her usual care, but there was something different in the air now—something tender, something unspoken but deeply understood between them. When she finally set the machine down and wiped away the last traces of ink, she took a step back, admiring the work.

“There,” she said, her voice filled with quiet pride. “All done.”

Aleks looked down at his arm, his eyes tracing the intricate design that now covered his skin. The vines and patterns seemed to pulse with life, as if they were truly a part of him, and he nodded slowly, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “It’s perfect.”

Izzy’s heart swelled at the sight of his smile, the first real smile she’d seen from him all day, and she knew that whatever had happened, whatever would come next, they had both found something they needed. Something permanent, something real.

As Aleks stood, pulling on his shirt with care, he glanced at her, his expression a mix of gratitude and something deeper. “I don’t know what happens next,” he said quietly, his voice filled with an honesty that made Izzy’s heart ache. “I’m glad… I’m glad I found you.”

Izzy reached out, her hand finding his, and she squeezed gently, her eyes shining with a warmth she didn’t try to hide. “Me too.”

For a moment, they just stood there, hand in hand, the silence between them no longer awkward or tense but full of possibility. Then, as if by some unspoken agreement, they both leaned in at the same time, their lips meeting in a soft kiss.

When they finally pulled back, Aleks looked at her with a tenderness that made her heart flutter, and Izzy knew that whatever uncertainties lay ahead, they had found something special here—something worth holding onto.

[monstersandmaw]

March’s exclusive Patreon story is a super cute, gentle, and massive minotaur lad, and we’re back in a high fantasy setting, with an elderly dragonborn lawyer for a friend too!

I hope you’ll consider joining our growing community over there, and remember to join as a free member if you want to keep reading my new stories which would have gone up on Tumblr, since all this AI nonsense.

March’s mino lad will be up on Patreon towards the end of the week.

https://www.patreon.com/monstersandmaw

[ilustrariane]

"Don't you know this tale, in which all I ever wanted I'll never have? For who could ever learn to love a beast? However cold the wind and rain I'll be there to ease up your pain However cruel the mirrors of sin Remember, beauty is found within Forever shall the wolf in me... desire the sheep... in you"

Nightwish - Beauty and the beast

--

i reworked an old artwork of mine to fit my current style/needs/vibes, what do you think of this version of beauty and the beast?

[monstersighing]

Miss You

Tentacled sea god x AFAB!reader

NSFW, 18+, MDNI.

Content: tentacles, non-human genitalia.

Your tentacled sea god boyfriend tells you he will be gone for the next few days.

He must see the sadness in your eyes because after he has kissed you and before he wades back into the ocean, he hands you something and tells you, “Use it and think of me. I can feel what it feels.”

It’s a tentacle. It curls around your arm, and you notice one end is narrower and tapers to almost to a point that is covered in suckers. The tentacle widens at the other end, is more rounded and the surface is rippled.

You’re pleased he’s found a way that you can be close, even when his duties take him into the dark depths of the sea where you can’t follow. You stroke your fingers over the surface of the tentacle and note the bioluminescent glow that appears wherever you touch it. It’s the same glow that paints your boyfriend’s skin when he is aroused.

“I will,” you say.

He’s been gone for two nights and already you miss the feel of your boyfriend. The tight embrace of his tentacles wrapping over your body and squeezing. The blunt heavy feeling of his cock as it breaches you. The way he pushes in so slowly, until his fat cock is fully seated deep and snug inside you. How his rhythm turns ragged as you whine “harder, harder.” How when you come, clenching down tight, the bulge of suckers around the base of his dick latch on to the walls of your cunt, locking you together as he spurts his cum inside you.

These memories mean you’re already wet when you strip, lay down on your bed and place the tentacle down on your stomach.

The pointed edge drifts down to your pussy first, and trails your inner lips, parting them but not dipping inside. When the tentacle drifts up and finds your clit, it flattens and you feel its suckers kiss against the wet nub over and over. You push the thumb and first two fingers of each hand into your mouth to wet them and use them to pinch and flick your nipples, imagining your monster boyfriend’s tongue licking over each in turn.

You whine and spread your legs wider. You feel the other end of the tentacle shifting and turning on your stomach. It burrows into your hole slowly and you can feel the ripple of each of its ridges as they pass over your lips and it seats itself inside, pushing and curling up and up until only the tip of the narrow end is left outside, the suckers still massaging your clit.

You can feel the tentacle pulsing inside of you and hear the slick sound of it writhing in your sopping wet cunt.  When the tentacle presses up and rubs against your g-spot, you come, your breath punched out of you in a cry. Your legs shiver with the aftershocks.

The tentacle softens inside you a little but does not leave, and as you drift off into unconsciousness, you hear your sea god boyfriend’s voice in your head: I’ll be back soon, darling.

[Edit: there's a prequel here - Summer Storm - featuring the same characters.]

[teratosfavouritesnack]

"Ishtà-kurme"

husband!orc x chubby!fem!human x husband's sons - orcish mating traditions, your first time with your husband, voyeurism, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, loads of cum, cum eating, family bonding (let's call it like that lol), soft doms, your husband's sons' very first time (just to be very clear, there's NO INCEST here, his sons are not yours), slight language barrier, romantic fluff <3

Your husband needs you to take part in his sons' rite of passage to adulthood.

+12 k.

The long fabrics of your dress brush against the smooth stones on the ground as you walk at a brisk pace towards Mauhul - your Mau. You can feel butterflies stir in your belly, your heart racing in anticipation at the prospect of making love for the first time with your beloved husband. 

When he called for you, requesting your presence in his chambers, you felt it in your bones; you would finally consummate your marriage and start your new life together. You’re not sure why it didn’t happen on your wedding night, nobody even mentioned the matter before or during the ceremony. After the festivities, you and Mauhul had simply parted, retiring to your own separate quarters for the night. And you did so for the following nights as well, after spending a lot of time together, snuggling in the sunlight. You had concluded that perhaps the orcs didn’t follow the same customs of your people and so you had tried to not give it too much importance. Sooner or later you would be intimate, that much is certain, and so you went on with your life, hanging out with your husband, deepening your bond, while waiting patiently for that special moment to arrive. 

And you think that moment could very well be upon you.

Your hand shakes a little as you push the door to his chambers open. You pictured this moment in your mind so many times: your tall, buff orc lying on his bed, already fully undressed, waiting for you to join him, beckoning you over with an inviting grin on his lips…

The scene you’re presented with, however, is quite different. Your husband stands by the crackling fire, half-naked, in the company of his two sons… who are also half-naked. Loincloths made of animals pelts cover their modesty, leaving the rest fully exposed. Their mighty builds, broad shoulders, massive chests, thick arms and thighs are all in full view, making your eyes widen even further and your now tensed hand linger on the steady surface of the wooden door. Your stunned stare darts from one orc to the next, until it lands on your husband with a silent questioning look.

Mauhul's black eyes instantly light up as they meet your gaze, watching you as you hesitantly stand by the doorway. The chief orc smiles and steps away from the fire to welcome you.

"Ah, my love, come in," he says, extending his hand. His sons, Tarek and Moth - spitting images of their father - watch you as you approach, their dark eyes flitting between you and their parent with a mix of curiosity and something else that you can't quite decipher.

There's some tension in the air that makes you nervous. His sons' presence in his chambers cannot be left to chance. You can sense there's a reason they're here and for you to be here as well, with them.

"We were just discussing something important," your husband says. His movements are fluid despite his immense bulk as he walks towards you.

You try to mask your apprehension as you step closer until you're standing right in front of him. He’s so much taller than you that you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes.

"W-What… about?" you ask him hesitantly, voice trembling slightly. Your hands fiddle with the drapes of your long dress, the fine fabric creasing under the pressure of your nervous pinches. 

"Their coming of age.” His answer is simple, though it makes you uneasy. 

Mauhul watches you closely. He senses your discomfort and can see the slight tremors that run through your hands as you toy with the fabric of your dress. His large, calloused hand reaches out to cover yours, stilling your fidgeting. His touch is tender, a stark contrast to his intimidating size and looks.

"Their coming of age?" you repeat, the words heavy on your tongue. Your eyes dart to his sons, who seem to be watching you and their father with bated breath. 

"This is a significant rite of passage for them," he states, his voice soft and soothing. "They've grown strong and capable. And I, as their father, must ensure they realize the importance of the role that they're about to hold in the clan," Mauhul adds, his fingers trailing down your arm and raising goosebumps across your skin.

You swallow and blink up at him, puzzled. You're not sure what the implications of his words are or how you fit into this scenario, but you can feel the tension in the room getting heavier and heavier by the second.

Mauhul's free hand goes to rest gently on your chin, tilting it upward so you focus on his eyes, his gaze intense and almost primal.

"And as they approach adulthood, there are certain... traditions that must be observed," he says, his fingertips slowly tracing the line of your jaw, leaving tingles in their wake.

You shudder under his delicate touch, his words making your stomach turn. Your body seems to be catching up on the undertone of this conversation long before your mind.

"W-What sort of traditions?" You inquire cautiously, unsure whether or not you genuinely wish to know. 

Mauhul's nostrils flare slightly as he inhales deeply, taking in your scent - a blend of fear, excitement, and innocence that only adds to his yearning. 

"There are rituals that mark an orc's transition from young to adult," he says, his voice dropping to a rumble. "Rituals that involve you, my lovely wife. Tonight, you'll be their partner in this rite."

You blink, your eyes widening and flitting to the young orcs before returning upon him. You gaze into your husband's kind eyes, hoping to find some answers into the depths of his dark pools to the myriad of questions spinning inside your mind.

"I..." you stutter, your stomach churning. "I'm afraid I don't u-understand..."

Or perhaps you’re choosing not to understand. The more you think about it, the stranger it all sounds. What kind of partner would he require for his sons' transition from orclings to adults? How could you possibly assist them? 

Your breath hitches, your brows furrows. Surely, he doesn't mean...

Your gaze darts back and forth between him and his sons as you subconsciously back away, your mind finally catching up to what has been left unsaid.

"Mau..."

Mauhul's smile fades slightly as he senses your anxiety. He steps forward again, closing the distance between you two, his hand coming up to gently cup your chin, making you look back up at him.

"My love," he murmurs, his voice softening slightly, "This is an important rite for my sons to go through. And you... you have an important part to play in it."

His other hand comes to rest at your hip, gently pulling you closer. "Do you trust me, kisee ?"

Your wide-eyed stare searches his face, with a trace of panic in it. You swallow again, attempting to soothe the furious hammering of your heart, but with little success. The prospect of taking part in such a rite causes your body to oscillate between uneasiness and wicked trepidation.

Of course you trust your Mau, but you're confused by what's being asked of you. You also can't help but think of your unconsummated marriage. If what you assume this rite is about is actually true, does that imply you will be intimate with his sons prior to your own husband? This notion doesn't sit well with you. 

"But, Mau... W-what about us? We haven't..." Your voice trails off as you frown up at him.

A faint smile flickers across Mauhul's lips as he watches the plethora of emotions dance across your face. He can see the panic in your eyes, the trepidation, the confusion, and the trust you have in him... all mixed in a beautiful, confusing whirlwind. He leans down, brushing his lips against your ear, his breath warm and soft against your skin.

"I know, mìzaah ," he murmurs, his hand at your hip pulling you closer, his body pressing against yours, "But that will change tonight. I will claim you as my wife, completely, and my sons will be here to witness it."

You gasp sharply at his words, your body instantly warming up. Your hands reach up to tug at his long braid, your wide eyes meeting his again. Now you understand. He has been delaying your intimate union precisely for this moment, precisely for this rite.

You glance back at his sons, looking at the young orcs as if you're seeing them now for the first time. You haven't had time to build a closer connection with them yet, they're almost strangers to you and the mere idea of letting them witness your lovemaking sends your body into a frenzy.

"Will they only... watch... or...?" You express your concerns, dropping your voice so that only your spouse can hear.

Mauhul smirks, clearly aware of your body's reaction to his words and touch. He draws you in closer, his hand on your hip going around your waist and pulling you flush against him. He glances down into your eyes, his gaze glazed over with desire.

"They will watch," he declares, stooping down to whisper in your ear, his breath fanning your skin. "They'll watch as you become entirely mine. Learn from it. And then... join in."

You breathe in sharply once you hear him confirm your worries.

Your fingers dig into his braid, lightly tugging on it. Your wide eyes lock onto his face again, boring deep into his own, seeking confirmation, reassurance... guidance. 

His intense but reassuring gaze is fixed on yours, ensuring that intense connection you've become so addicted to.

"Trust me, my love," he murmurs with a deep rumble. "I will guide you through it. You have nothing to fear. And I'll be the one to claim you first. My sons will learn from me... and then they will learn from you, as you please them as well."

His sinful words send chills down your spine as they snake their way through your mind, bringing to life vivid images of the scenario they depict. However, the shivering rapidly gives way to a warmth that pools between your thighs. You can't deny the growing dampness there, or how your nipples harden against the silky fabric of your dress. 

Your heart stutters, your body trembles, and your doe eyes gaze straight into his as the words leave your lips in a shaky whisper.

"If this is what you request of me, husband..." 

Mauhul nods, his smile broadening, his eyes filled with possessive pride, delighted by your trust and devotion, moved by your willingness to please.

"It is, my love," he replies, lifting his hand to cup your face, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. "I would never ask this of you unless it was of the utmost importance to our tribe."

He bends down and gently captures your lips in his, his hand on your hip pulling you closer. The tender but meaningful kiss has you melting on the spot and your mind spinning, your lips chasing his even as he moves away. 

"You'd honour me... and my sons with your willing participation."

Your gaze lingers on his lips, filled with increasing yearning. Your hand relaxes its grip on his hair, traveling up his torso to rest on his tattoo-covered chest.

"I'll be honored to take part in your tradition," you say softly, your eyes meeting again. "And help your sons in their coming of age."

The sight of your small palm on his chest, your eyes glazed with need, sends a rush of primal satisfaction through Mauhul's veins. His massive hand goes from your face down your neck, tracing the curve of your shoulder before resting on your lower back and pulling you close against his strong body.

"You are... perfect, mìzaah ," he murmurs, his voice a deep rumble, filled with desire and admiration. "Your trust and willingness please me greatly. And my sons... they will be grateful to you as well. They will know what it means to honour a woman... to worship a woman as she should be worshipped."

His remarks, praises, and probing hands make your body tingle, and your cheeks flush crimson with heat. A soft hum escapes your lips as your hand glides from his chest to his cheek, stroking it lovingly.

Mauhul closes his eyes for a moment, savouring the gentle gesture. When he reopens them, they are filled with a burning longing. His hand on your back squeezes, bringing you closer.

"We shall begin the ritual, then," he announces, his voice thick with lust.

He glances over his shoulder to his offspring, who are still standing by the fire, observing the two of you with ardent looks. "Come closer, sons."

Your gaze shifts to the two young orcs as he urges them closer. Your eyes rake over their forms, taking them in. It's equally odd and comforting that they resemble their father so much... Although, given your understanding of what is about to occur and their role in it, you can't help but flush in embarrassment at the sight of them.

As the lads approach, their steps slow but deliberate, Mauhul returns his gaze to you, his hand firmly spread across your hip. Your stomach flips under his possessive touch, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your belly from above the fabrics of your dress.

"Kneel, boys." he gruffly instructs.

You watch in amazement and awe as they drop obediently at your feet. Their gazes are keen and fascinated as they take in your smaller stature while towering over your frame even as they stand on their knees.

Mauhul instead moves to stand tall behind you, one arm wrapped around your waist, possessively holding you close while his free hand traces idle patterns along the curve of your thigh. Seeing you marvel at his sons then look up at him expectantly, uncertainty clear in your expressive eyes, he gives you a reassuring nod and a warm, indulgent smile. His eyes glow with pride and affection for you. You're such a delicate creature compared to his burly sons, to his burly self as well, yet here you are, ready to undertake this crucial task for his family.

"This is their chance to admire you properly," he explains quietly, leaning down to murmur in your ear, "to appreciate the beauty and delicacy of the female form... before they learn to ravish and conquer it."

His large hand trails lightly up your side, brushing the outer swell of your breast before cupping the back of your neck in a gesture that feels both protective and possessive. He draws your head back so you can meet his piercing black gaze without straining your neck. 

"They must show proper respect first and look upon you..." his gravelly voice drops to a conspiratorial purr, "...upon your pure unveiled beauty.”

You shiver at his purr and look up at your husband as if mesmerized. Your lips part but do not form words. You simply nod your head in consent, ready - as if you could ever be ready for something like this - to do whatever he asks of you. Your body suddenly grows too hot under the fabric of your dress.

With a satisfied grunt, Mauhul allows himself a moment to admire how beautifully you submit yourself to the situation - your eagerness to please him evident in every trembling breath and flustered blush painting your delicate features. Then, with a firm but gentle tug, he begins to untie the laces at the back of your gown, his fingers deftly working the knots of your bodice loose. 

"Mmh. You wore your best dress for this, kisee …" he murmurs appreciatively, his breath warm against your skin as he exposes more of your delicate flesh inch by tantalizing inch.

"Oh..." a soft gasp escapes your lips at his praise. You did choose this dress in the hopes he would take his time peeling it off of you. Your eyes flicker to your bodice coming undone and pooling at your wide hips. A red shade dusts your cheeks as you briefly glance at the two orcs kneeling before you, noting how hungrily they are drinking in the newly exposed sight, before you bashfully avert your gaze and bite down on your lip.

Mauhul chuckles deeply, amused by your modest reaction despite the situation. His rough hand slides up from your thigh to rest on the bulge of your soft belly, pressing your body closer to his towering form.

“You've got nothing to be ashamed of,” he assures you in a rumbling tone, tracing the edge of the fabric that now clings loosely to your curves. “They are honoured to witness such beauty.

“And so am I.”

With a final yank, Mauhul pulls the gown completely off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet. You stand now before him, clad only in a simple linen shift that does little to hide the enticing curves of your body. Your breasts strain against the thin fabric, nipples hardening in the humid air of the hut.

His sons' hungry gazes drink in every detail of your exposed form, their breathing growing heavier as they marvel at the contrast of your delicate features and petite frame against the robust, muscular build of their father, standing behind you like a looming shadow.

Your instincts urge you to press your thighs together and lean back against your husband's chest, as if seeking shelter. You refrain however from draping your arms across your torso to conceal your obvious arousal, visible even from beneath the linen shift. You keep your gaze away, a bashful look engraved on your face, yet you still try to catch his boys' gazes, ashamed albeit curious about their reactions. It's strange; deep down, you actually want his sons to like you so as to please your husband, to make him proud. 

“You needn't be coy with them, my love” he purrs, grazing his tusks along the sensitive skin of your throat. “They hunger for you, just as I do.”

Turning your face toward his, Mauhul captures your lips in a searing kiss, plundering your mouth with his tongue and staking his claim for all to see. When he finally breaks away, he looks down at your flushed face with satisfaction, noting how dazedly you meet his heated gaze.

“You please me greatly,” he whispers, his hands trailing up your arms, his calloused fingers gently peeling the strands of your shift down the curve of your shoulders. “And you’re about to please me even more.”

You feel a rush of satisfaction as you hear the praise. Your hooded eyes are fixed on his dark, mesmerizing pools. A soft, fond smile blooms on your lips as you keep staring up at your spouse, as if he is the beacon you follow, while he undresses you entirely.

As the last threads of fabric fall away, exposing your full form to his hungry gaze, Mauhul lets out a low, approving rumble. The sight of your delicate skin bathed in firelight is enough to stir the beast within. His sons' eyes widen in unison, relishing the sight of your creamy, supple curves.

“Beautiful…”, he mutters reverently, his gaze roving over every inch of your exposed flesh. From the swell of your breasts, down to the soft narrowness of your waist, to the roundness of your hips and thighs – each part molded with flawless generosity.

Mauhul reaches around to cup one of your breasts, his calloused palm enveloping the soft mound. He thumbs your hardened nipple, eliciting a startled moan from your parted lips.

“And so responsive too,” he praises, his voice dripping with adoration. “Such a treasure to behold and claim.”

His sons watch, transfixed, as Mauhul continues to fondle and tease your sensitive breasts. 

Your body arches against his under his eager touch. Soft moans leave your lips in appreciation, your skin tingling all over and rising with goosebumps. Your thighs squeeze together again, this time to create friction for the ever-growing ache in your core. This is the first time your husband touches you in such an intimate way and you're already lost in the pleasure his warm, rough palm brings you. You almost forget his sons are watching and are soon to witness their father claim you as his.

Feeling your thighs clamp together, Mauhul chuckles lowly, the sound vibrating through his chest and against your ear. His grip on your breast tightens, squeezing the soft flesh firmly as he watches you react.

“So impatient, aren't we?” he teases, pinching your nipple harder, drawing another sweet moan from your plump lips. “But we mustn't rush things, my love. This will be a long night.” his growl vibrates against your skin. “I will savour you and make sure you remember this night for the rest of your days. Just as my sons and I will.”

His free hand moves lower, skimming across your soft stomach until it finds its way to the moist heat between your thighs. As his fingers delve into your slick folds, he finds your swollen clit, circling it slowly.

The moment his thick fingers meet your nub, your breath hitches sharply and your whole body jolts in pleasure, knees buckling under your weight. Your head falls back against his broad chest and your eyes flutter closed. 

A guttural groan escapes Mauhul as he feels how wet you are already. His thumb rubs your clit faster, coaxing more sounds of delight from your quivering lips. His other hand squeezes and kneads your breast, tweaking the nipple roughly between his thumb and forefinger. With your back pressed against his front, Mauhul can easily feel every little response to his touch. Your walls clench around nothing, desperate for something to fill them. He groans deeply, feeling his own desire spike at the thought of taking you, finally claiming what’s his.

“See? Such a responsive little thing you are”, he murmurs into your ear, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive lobe. “You were made for me, weren't you?”

He continues to circle your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm. His other hand leaves your breast, tracing down your side before gripping onto your thigh firmly and lifting it, stretching your cunt. In this position, his touch feels even more intense, the thrills of pleasure coursing through your body are even sharper.

His sons watch, enraptured, as Mauhul's large fingers work magic on your quivering flesh.

With practised ease, he begins to rub faster, applying pressure that sends shockwaves of delight through your body. Your cries fill the air, mingling with the crackling fire and his son's heavy breathing.

"Oh, Mau-!" you whimper, writhing against his chest, hips seeking and at the same time trying to evade his greedy fingers.

Hearing his name fall so sweetly from your lips only fuels Mauhul's desire further. His movements become more purposeful, and relentless. He presses two thick digits inside your slick warmth, relishing the way you cling to him.

“You like that, do you?” he asks gruffly, curling his fingers upwards to stroke against your innermost walls.

The boys continue to watch in reverent silence, their eyes wide with fascination and barely concealed lust. Seeing their father take you so eagerly only serves to inflame their own arousal. Their erections already strain painfully against their loincloths, yearning for release.

Mauhul adds another finger, stretching your tight pussy even wider. Each thrust sends ripples of pleasure through both him and you.

You writhe against his firm body, your walls throbbing around his thick fingers stretching you out. Your hooded eyes look up, searching his gaze as you pant heavily. You can feel a hot pleasure coil in your lower belly, and your legs twitching more and more as the climax gets closer. The squelching sound his fingers produce by pumping in and out of your wet cunt drowns out every other noise.

Mauhul's eyes burn with primal hunger as he watches you lose yourself to the sensations he's creating. Your needy whimpers and the sight of your succumbing to his touch are intoxicating. Feeling your impending orgasm, Mauhul quickens his pace, driving his fingers deeper and faster. His thumb still circles your clit relentlessly, pushing you closer to the edge.

“That's it, cum for me,” he urges in a deep rumble. “Come apart on my fingers like the good little wife you are.”

He pistons his digits in and out of you rapidly, each thrust hitting that special spot inside you. Mauhul's own need is becoming unbearable, his cock throbbing painfully in his loincloth, pressing against your spine.

His words send you hurtling over the edge. Your pussy clenches tightly around his fingers as you cry out, your body spasming with the force of your orgasm. Mauhul keeps pumping, milking you for every drop of your release and you almost feel yourself faint from the overwhelming pleasure you experience. Heavy and loud pants fall from your parted lips as you sag against him, nearly dropping on the ground when your knees give out under you.

Feeling you come undone on his hand elicits a growl of satisfaction from Mauhul. He revels in the way your body trembles and in the vice-like grip of your spasming pussy around his fingers. He slows his motions, letting you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm and holding you steady, one strong arm hooked around your middle to keep you from falling. 

As you regain some semblance of control over your limbs, Mauhul withdraws his fingers from your dripping pussy with a lewd squelch and brings them up to his mouth, where he laps at them hungrily. A low grunt escapes him at the salty-sweet flavour, fueling his desire even more.

Slowly, deliberately, he sinks to his knees behind you and pulls you close, letting you lean your whole weight on him, your ass pressed against the upper side of his chest, your arm latched around his shoulders. He prays your trembling legs open again, holding your thigh up with his forearm and allowing his sons a perfect view of your glistening sex. 

"Behold," he announces reverently, "the most precious prize. My wife’s sweet honey."

He dips his fingers in your juices again, splaying them all over his palm, then presents it to his sons’ hungry gazes, stretching his fingers to display your sticky essence.

“Why don’t you give them a little taste, hm my love?”

His free hand nudges your own and your hooded eyes flicker to his face. Your mind is still hazy after your intense release and you struggle to register his words.

Seeing your confusion, Mauhul takes your small hand in his massive one and guides it towards your soaked folds. His sons' eager eyes follow the movement, drinking in the sight of your delicate fingers coated in your own arousal.

“Let them taste you,” he explains, his voice a low rumble. “Feed them.”

With Mauhul's encouragement, you hesitantly extend your fingers towards the boys. They hungrily lean in, their tongues darting out to lick at your sticky digits. Moans of pleasure escape their lips as they savour your unique flavour.

Your chest heaves with a shuddering breath upon feeling their avid tongues swirl around your fingers. The haze in your mind is slowly fading and the realization of what is happening has you blushing all over again, especially as you notice how their eyes remain locked on yours, watching your reaction intently.

Noticing your blush, Mauhul smirks, pleased to see such a response from you. The sight of his sons worshipping your fingers like precious gems is incredibly arousing. He can't help but let out a satisfied groan, the sound vibrating against your back. He leans into your neck, whispering words meant only for your ears. 

“Enjoy this, mìzaah . This is how you deserve to be treated – to be worshiped like a goddess.” His voice is a rough purr, filled with promise and intent.

Mauhul slips his hand up to cup and squeeze your breasts, thumb brushing over your hardened nipples. Shifting a little on his knees, he gently pushes your thighs wider apart. Your folds glistening wetly, inviting and tantalizing. His gaze shifts back to his sons, still licking and sucking thirstily at your fingers.

“Do you want more?” he questions them, voice laden with promise. Their nods and hums of approval are quick to follow and you can see their pupils dilate at the inviting sight of you stretched out so open for them. They glance back at their father, seeking his confirmation before they crawl forward, almost bumping their heads against each other in their eagerness to taste your juices directly from the source.

“Careful boys, there’s enough for the both of you.” he teases with a hearty chuckle, playfully squeezing your thighs as you whimper at the contact of their greedy tongues meeting your sensitive pussy.

Mauhul’s presence is large and imposing, yet his touch remains gentle as he helps you maintain balance while the boys worship your cunt. Their tongue action intensifies, their slurping sounds echoing in the room and their excitement palpable.

Looking down at them adoringly, he speaks in an authoritative tone, “Clean her properly, make sure you get all of her precious nectar.” His eyes land back on your face and an amused grin spreads on his face. “It will make you grow even stronger.”

Your arm squeezes tighter around his neck, seeking his grounding presence as his sons make you squirm and writhe against their tongues. Your head drops against his, your cheek pressing over his own, your shallow breaths fanning his skin.

The boys listen attentively to their father's instructions, their tongues swirling and probing deeper into your slick entrance. Mauhul's laughter rumbles through him, vibrating against your ear and sending pleasant tingles down your spine.

Watching his sons work diligently on pleasuring you only fuels Mauhul's own desires further. He can't help but let his eyes roam over your curves appreciatively, taking in every quiver and gasp that leaves your lips. With deliberate slowness, he slides his hand down from your breasts to trace along the side of your hips.

"Look how beautiful you are," he murmurs huskily. "My wife… my treasure."

His touch is tender yet possessive as he runs his rough fingertips across your soft skin, outlining each curve like he’s memorizing them.

The combination of your husband’s praises and reverent touches and his sons’ eager mouths sucking and lapping at you is too much to bear. A series of ever louder mewls fall from your lips, your grip tightening on Mauhul’s neck, as you feel another overwhelming orgasm crash onto you. Your body contorts sharply and your eyes roll back as white-hot pleasure blinds you. 

"That's it, my love," he coos, his voice a soothing rumble. "Let go, let us take care of you."

The boys continue to lap at you, prolonging your bliss until you finally start to come down. As your tremors subside, they look up at their father with proud, satisfied grins, their faces smeared with your essence, their cheeks flushed and chests rising and falling rapidly due to their exertions. 

“Good pups.” Mauhul looks at them fondly before turning his attention back to you. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his intense, dark gaze. "Aren’t they good pups, hm?”

You're still trying to ease your breathing as your heavy-lidded eyes meet his. You barely have the force to nod your head but take a deep breath and glance lazily at his sons, wishing to praise them for how amazing they made you feel. "G-Good pups..." you manage to say in a breathless and shaky voice.

A pleased smile curls at the corners of Mauhul's mouth, delighted by your response. 

“You heard her, boys?”

The pride in Mauhul's eyes is unmistakable and so is the reverent awe in his sons’.

He gives your chin a gentle squeeze before releasing it. His gaze never wavers from yours, filled with a depth of affection and possession that sends warmth spreading through your entire being.

"Now, we show them how a true mate submits to her husband... and how a true husband worships his mate."

With a swift motion, Mauhul grabs hold of your hips firmly, and hoists himself up from the ground, bringing you up with him as well. He cradles you in his arms like a precious treasure and carries you towards the centre of the room, where the firelight casts long shadows across the ground.

"And you, my sons," he addresses the boys over his shoulder, "watch carefully and learn. This is what it means to belong to someone."

With that said, Mauhul lies you down on the furs, positioning you right in the middle. The boys watch their father with wide-eyed fascination as he eases himself down on top of you. There's an air of expectation and anticipation amongst you all – eager for whatever comes next.

Your hooded eyes are locked onto him, unwavering from his towering muscular form; they lazily roam over his bare chest, lashes drooping slowly as you breathe deeply, still trying to regain control of your pounding heart. Yet, it is difficult for you to prevent your heart from stuttering at the sight of your handsome partner and the prospect of what he is, finally, going to do to you. You melt into the warm, soft furs beneath you, your tender body still trembling from the unparalleled ecstasy you've just experienced. Your hair is scattered all around your head, and your thighs are clamped together, curling lazily on top of one other. All the while, your eyes marvel at him.

A low growl escapes from deep within Mauhul's throat as he hovers above you, his massive form casting a shadow over yours. He reaches out with one hand, tracing the delicate curve of your jawline with his calloused fingers before cupping your cheek gently.

"You are so beautiful, my love," he whispers, his voice low and husky with desire. "I could stare at you forever..."

Slowly, deliberately, he leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. It's a kiss filled with passion, hunger, and adoration. His tongue delves into your mouth, tangling with yours in a slow sensual dance as he explores every inch of your mouth. When he pulls away, his breath mingles with yours, and his eyes burn with a smouldering intensity.

“Feel me”, he whispers hoarsely, his hot breath sending chills down your spine. His hands gently take hold of yours, guiding them to his taut muscular chest. “I am your protector, your provider, your lover.”

Your hands reverently plane over his muscles, lingering over his heart, feeling its steady beat under your palm and his muscles flexing beneath your touch. Your eyes rake over his body, taking in his powerful physique, each mark on his skin telling a story of triumphs and failures. You bask in his warmth and the trepidant feeling buzzing within you. You're about to finally consummate your wedding with your husband, to be united with him in the most intimate and primal way. You don't even think about his sons watching you anymore, it's as if there's nobody else in the room but you and your beloved. 

You meet his gaze again. Your eyes sparkle with pure devotion. The flickering flames of the fire are reflected in your big doe eyes, looking up at him so earnestly and expectantly.

There’s no mistaking the tenderness emanating from Mauhul’s touch as he lets go of your hands and begins tracing patterns along your exposed curves - mapping out every part of your body as if he has already learnt every curve and dip by heart.

His large hands slide down your sides, then grip your waist firmly, lifting you slightly to position your buttocks on his thighs. He captures your lips in another heated kiss as he presses his hardness against your core. He grinds slowly, relishing the sweet friction and the gasp that escapes your lips.

Your body arches instinctively into his touch. You are so ready, so wet, so incredibly eager for him.

With a tug he strips off his loincloth, revealing his fully erect cock to your hungry gaze. It stands tall and thick, a golden ring sitting at the base, its rosy head dripping with pre-cum, a visible testament to his keen arousal.

Your eyes widen at the sight of it, at its veiny-mapped look and mighty size which seems to stir something within your very core, a thrill running down your spine straight to your throbbing sex. There’s a hint of apprehension now clouding your gaze too, your body tenses just thinking of his thick, lengthy cock shoving its way into your hole.

“Trust me,” he murmurs as if sensing your concern, his voice rough yet reassuring. “I would never harm you.”

You nod and bury your hands in the furs at your sides as you brace yourself for what's coming next, anticipating both pain and pleasure. But he takes hold of your hands again, holding them tight in his warm palm, settling them on your lower belly. His eyes bore deeply into yours, engulfing you with a soothing warmth that permeates your whole body.

He lifts your legs higher with his free hand, spreading them wide across his hips as he aligns himself with your slick entrance. With deliberate slowness, he pushes in – just enough to breach that tight barrier, stretching you open inch by agonizing inch until he's buried balls-deep inside you, the golden ring is cool against your hot flesh. His eyes never leave yours.

Your walls stretch to accommodate him and clench tightly around his shaft. A groan rips from deep within his throat, pleasure coursing through his veins at this first intimate connection with his wife, as he feels how snug you are around him – how perfectly you fit him.

Mauhul drinks in the sight of you, his pupils dilating at the raw emotion shining in your eyes. He feels a surge of possessiveness and protectiveness wash over him, knowing that this precious beauty belongs to him now, body and soul.

Your body is shaken by faint tremors, your muscles tense, your walls throbbing around his unmoving length. Your locked eyes say everything about your connection, and the way he's gazing down at you, holding your hands and pulsating within your walls makes you feel so utterly... loved.

He holds still for a longer moment, savouring the incredible feeling of being completely enveloped by your warmth and tightness. His heavy lids briefly drift closed as he revels in the blissful sensations, letting out a low, rumbling moan.

A few beats pass, and then with a guttural grunt, he begins to move, withdrawing almost completely before plunging back into your welcoming heat. He sets a slow, deep rhythm, relishing each stroke as he fills you again and again, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with a lewd sound.

His gaze never departs from your own, drinking in the play of emotions dancing across your face – the initial tension giving way to relaxation, to acceptance, to growing pleasure. He can feel you responding to him, your inner muscles rippling around his shaft, urging him deeper.

"You are truly mine now," he growls, punctuating each word with a powerful stroke. His hand tightens on yours as he picks up speed, driving into you with increasing urgency, chasing the blissful release you both crave. “And I am yours. Completely.”

Shivers of pleasure consume every cell in your body as he thrusts in and out of you at the most tantalizing and blissful speed. You can feel his length sink deep into you under your palms resting on your lower belly, where his hand keeps them still as if aiming to make you feel even more connected to him. "Mauhul, ohh... gods-" you whimper breathlessly, your eyes crossing slightly as the pressure in your stomach mounts.

The sound of your sweet cries spurs him on and he increases his tempo, pounding into you with relentless fervour, driven by primal urges and a deep need to claim you thoroughly. His hips slam against yours with each powerful thrust, the force sending jolts of pleasure radiating outward from your joining point.

He can tell you're nearing your peak, your moans turning to breathy cries of ecstasy, your hips bucking against his to meet each of his powerful thrusts. His strong arms wrap around your smaller frame, dwarfing you, and making you arch against his body. He leans down, capturing one of your nipples in his hot mouth, sucking hard on your sensitive button as he continues to plunge into you with unyielding force, setting a relentless pace designed to drive you wild with pleasure. 

The dual stimulation sends shockwaves through you, intensifying the throbbing contractions of your pussy around his cock. Your hands reach out to grab onto something, finding his thick biceps. His muscles flex and ripple beneath your fingers as he drives into you with abandon, the rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh filling the air. 

His dark eyes lock onto yours, watching intently as tears well up in your eyes due to the overwhelming sensations. Pride, satisfaction, and adoration mingle together in his penetrating gaze.

“Come for me, mìzaah ,” he urges, his voice husky with desire. “Let me feel you squeeze my cock as you come undone.” He rocks into you harder, faster, seeking that perfect spot inside you to send you over the edge.

His lips leave your nipple to trail searing kisses along your jawline, nipping and sucking at the tender skin there as his cock drills relentlessly into your slick folds. He reaches down with one large hand to press firmly against your clit, rubbing the swollen bud in time with his thrusts, intent on throwing you over the edge into a shattering climax.

And he does push you to the brink of madness, sending your body convulsing against him, with cries of ecstasy tumbling out of your parted lips. Your walls clench tighter around him, milking his throbbing shaft, drawing him closer to his own peak.

He revels in the sensation of total possession, feeling you unravel beneath him. His grip tightens on your curves, dragging you along the slippery fur bed as he seeks out every last drop of pleasure from your coupling.

With a savage roar, he tightens his arms around you and buries himself to the hilt, his shaft pulsing as he erupts inside you, flooding your womb with his hot seed. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes over him, his vision blurring as he loses himself in the all-consuming bliss of your joining. For long moments, he remains buried deep, savouring the aftershocks and the feeling of your still-clenching warmth around him, while you’re lost in a haze of ecstasy.

You’re still panting heavily, feeling thoroughly spent as your hooded eyes slowly regain focus, landing on your husband, taking in his dishevelled state, his sweaty skin, his long black braid draped over his shoulder, his blissful expression... and you feel your lips curl up into a lazy but content smile.

As the waves of pleasure recede, leaving behind a sense of profound satisfaction he pulls out slowly, allowing his spent length to slide free from your clenching walls with a wet pop. The sight of his cum dripping down your thighs and tainting the furs elicits a primal satisfaction from him, a grin spreading across his features.

“Mmh, ùmah (mine),” he coos racously, brushing a calloused thumb over your slick folds, smearing his seed over your soft skin and pushing it back inside your walls. He draws lazy circles around your clit, teasing it gently until you flinch away in protest, still too sensitive to touch.

His eyes roam hungrily over your flushed skin, the sheen of sweat glistening on every curve and valley. His fingertips proudly trace over the mark he's left on your breast with his tusks, as though claiming ownership of your body once more. His fingers then trail back downwards, following the gentle slope of your stomach until reaching the apex of your thighs. He gives your mound a playful smack, chuckling deeply when you squeal in surprise.

His laughter is rich and full, echoing off the stone walls of his chamber as he teases you mercilessly with gentle slaps and pokes, enjoying the way you squirm and writhe beneath his touch, and the lazy breathless giggles that escape your lips. He leans down, planting a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your lower belly and inner thigh. Reaching the apex of your legs, he parts your folds with his thumbs, exposing your sensitive pink flesh to the humid air of the room. His nose brushes against your sex, inhaling deeply the intoxicating scent of your arousal mixed with his own essence. 

"Mmm, you smell like spring," he growls appreciatively, before he moves lower on the furs, spreading your thighs wide with his massive hands. His tongue darts out, flicking across your wetness in a slow swipe, tasting your juices mingled with his own.

“And you taste like victory,” he declares, dipping his head further between your legs to feast upon your sweetness. Each lick is drawn out, each suckle meant to draw forth another whimper of delight from your quivering form.

His onslaught on your still sensitive bundle of nerves has you wriggling and trashing on the furs, soft strained whimpers falling from your mouth, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging meekly on it. But suddenly you freeze, your heavy eyes landing on the two figures kneeling just a few feet away from you. His sons. How could you forget that you had an audience? They have been watching you coupling as part of their rite! Lost as you were to pleasure you didn't pay them any mind. But now, all at once, your husband's words rush back into your mind, bursting through the fog that has been numbing it. "My sons will learn from me... and then they will learn from you, as you please them as well." Your cheeks flush crimson again at the realization, and they only get hotter when you notice the massive bulges under their loincloths and the way their bodies tremble as if they're about to explode.

Mauhul feels you tense up and follows your startled gaze to where his sons kneel nearby. A low rumble emanates from his chest, somewhere between amusement and paternal pride at the sight of them, so aroused and fascinated by the act of mating. He knows they're learning valuable lessons today, about the power of desire, the thrill of conquest, and the depths of passion that can exist between husband and wife.

“Ah, look at them,” he says, his deep voice laced with mirth. “Look how much they enjoyed watching us. They've learned much about how to please their future mates.”

He shifts, laying beside you, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at your form sprawled languidly on the furs. His rough fingers trace the curve of your hip gently before resting on your plump belly, feeling it rise and fall with each ragged breath you take.

With a nod, he gestures for his boys to come closer, his voice low and commanding. “Approach, lads. Come to claim your new status.”

You watch in both apprehension and trepidation as his sons scramble forward eagerly, their cocks straining against their loincloths as they reach your side. The youngest, Moth, looks a tad more composed, although his breathing is uneven and quick, betraying his internal turmoil. Beside him, Torak appears visibly shaken; beads of perspiration trickling down his forehead, his normally resolute countenance displaying palpable trepidation. Yet both share the common hunger, the craving to experience such carnal intimacy like their father just has, guided by instinct and nature's demands. None move into action, waiting for their father to give them instructions.

Mauhul watches his sons approach, noting the mix of excitement and nervousness etched on their faces. He feels a surge of pride seeing them so eager to claim their place as adults, to follow in his footsteps and assume their roles as warriors and protectors and fathers.

He leans down, pressing a kiss on your shoulder, before sitting up straighter and addressing his offspring.

"Torak, first," he simply states while directing his attention to his eldest son. His tone exudes authority, demanding utter compliance, to which the firstborn responds by taking a tentative step forward, his large hands fumbling with the leather ties that hold his loincloth in place. The material drops away easily, revealing his throbbing cock, fully erect and pulsating with unspent lust. 

Your sight settles on his veiny meat, and you linger there for a moment. It's not nearly as large or long as his father's, but it bends slightly upward, giving it a wicked look that makes your walls flutter.

Mauhul glances at you, your face showing signs of nervousness mingled with lustful curiosity – the perfect mix for this particular scenario. There’s something intensely satisfying about watching his family unite like this, bonding through tradition.

“Show her what you’ve learned,” his voice booms through the room, filled with pride and expectation.

Torak’s hands tremble slightly as he reaches out to cup one of your breasts. His touch is tentative at first, unsure, but quickly gains confidence under his father's approving gaze and your soft hums. He leans down, taking a hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking gently while his hand continues to knead the other breast.

Watching his eldest son attend to you stirs something primal within Mauhul, a surge of possessiveness mixed with satisfaction. He leans back on his heels, allowing Torak space to explore and learn while keeping a protective eye on the proceedings.

A smirk plays on his lips as he watches the young orc's tentative touches blossom into confident caresses, spurred on by your moans and the way you arch your back, offering yourself further to his son’s attentions.

You bite onto your bottom lip to muffle your moans as you feel the young orc’s hand travel along your stomach and slide between your thighs. Your lashes flutter and your head cranes slightly to the side to search your husband’s gaze. One of your hands reaches out as well, seeking contact with him. Your fingers find his thigh, resting near your head, and dig slightly into his tight flesh.

Mauhul meets your gaze, his eyes burning with intensity as he allows you to ground yourself through the touch. He covers your hand with his own, holding it firmly against his thigh, the contact a reminder of your connection amidst the sea of new sensations washing over you. His other palm comes up to brush stray hair from your sweat-dampened brow, tucking them behind your ear tenderly.

His voice is a low rasp when he speaks, meant only for your ears. "That's it, kisee . Let yourself feel everything. Remember, my sons are learning from you too - teach them well."

The praise sends a shiver down your spine, his words igniting a fresh wave of arousal but also a deep sense of responsibility. You think you realize now how important this moment is. How meaningful your role is in this rite. And so you brush aside the lingering awkwardness you feel towards this unorthodox orcish tradition, releasing your inhibitions to try and take on the duty your husband has bestowed on you.

Your free hand moves down towards Torak’s head to gently stroke his long dark hair tied in decorative braids, your fingers weaving carefully in his loose roots.

“You’re doing good, Torak.” you praise him softly, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. "Don't be afraid to touch me as you wish." Your stomach flutters when you see the young orc look up at you in a mix of shock and awe, then the instant glint of confidence that flashes across his eyes before he lets his fingers brush against your wet folds and rub around your entrance. His eyes are locked onto yours to gauge your reactions. You moan and nod at him in approval, your hands tightening their relative hold on Torak's hair and your husband's palm. 

Mauhul's grip on your hand also tightens reflexively as he watches his eldest son gain courage from your encouragement. Pride swells in his chest, not just for Torak's growing boldness, but for your poise and grace in guiding his son. You embrace your role as a mentor with a natural instinct that takes his breath away.

The sight of Torak's fingers disappearing into your slick heat sets Mauhul's blood aflame, but as much as he longs to join you and stake his claim once more, he knows he has to wait. This is his sons’ moment and he won’t rob them of it. Instead, he leans in close to your ear, his hot breath fanning across your neck as he murmurs, "Such a good mate you are. My precious little wife… helping my sons become Shakran’z. "

Your heart leaps at his words, your languid gaze flickering up to briefly meet his eyes before you lock it onto his firstborn’s expectant look once more. Your fingers curl around the end of his braid, gently pulling on it. Your attention seems to spur him on, leading him to push his thick fingers inside your already thoroughly stretched and naturally lubed entrance. He’s still slightly hesitant in his actions, but you smile at him and roll your hips against his hand, to reassure him that he’s on the right path. “Yes, like that, Torak. Curl your fingers…”

Mauhul delights in the spectacle before him: you, the precious gem of his tribe, deflowering his young in service of mating traditions, but with all the grace and love of someone who genuinely cares for those they guide. It ignites a fire within him unlike anything else.

"That's it, Torak," his voice breaks through the silent haze of lust that fills the hut, gruff yet filled with paternal pride. "Please your mate before you claim them."

His father's words further encourage Torak to be more confident in his actions. His fingers curl and start to slide in and out of you, teasing that spongy area inside of you that has you instantly moaning in pleasure. His other hand moves to your lower belly, positioning his thumb over your clitoris just like he has seen his father do earlier. The pad of his thumb draws uneven circles on your swollen nub, managing to elicit shivers to run through your body.

Your head falls back on the furs, your body writhing and arching under his ministrations. Your palm tightens on Mauhul's hand and he squeezes it back as he watches intently, drinking in every detail of your shared intimacy. The flush spreading across your cheeks, the way your breasts rise and fall rapidly with each moan escaping your lips, the sway of your hips matching Torak's rhythm.

"Good boy," he praises Torak, his voice rough with need. "Make sure she’s ready for you... Make her cum..."

A whimper falls from your lips as Torak quickens his movements, wanting to take you over the edge just as his father said. Your hips buck against his hand, your eyes squeeze shut as you feel that pressure growing in your lower belly all over again.

"Yes... Oh... Yes..." you encourage him, cradling his braid in your shaky fingers until you can't take it anymore and start to convulse in pleasure, a muted scream falling from your parted lips.

You don't have time to recover, however, because feeling your walls clench around his fingers has sent Torak's hunger to the roof. His instincts kick in, overpowering his lack of experience. His eagerness to finally claim his maturity is so deep and ardent that he grabs his cock and pushes it inside you while you're still spasming.

"Oh! Gods!!" you cry out, eyes widening in shock and landing on Torak's hips just as they start to move back and forth with an erratic and disjointed pace that makes your whole body shake and jiggle.

With a low growl, Mauhul witnesses as his eldest plunges into you. Watching as his progeny claims you with his throbbing cock brings forth memories that burn bright within his chest - his own rite of passage decades ago, the impatience of youth, the yearning, the awake of his primal instincts, the overwhelming sensation of completeness, the deep-seated need fulfilled. Your pleasure-laden screams fill the air, mixing with his son’s huffs, setting off an echo of past bliss inside him.

“Easy now,” he growls soothingly through clenched teeth, giving his son a pointed look, to which Torak immediately responds by steadying his thrusts, even if only barely. Since the start of the rite, he’s felt his length throb maddeningly, an ache which only worsened as he watched his father claim his wife. And now that he is finally inside you, he can't hold back any longer. His grunts become louder, his eyes squeeze closed and his warm palms grab onto your hips as he plunges deeper inside you, seeking his first release. Release that comes quickly and overwhelmingly, with hips bucking erratically against yours as his hot seed fills your channel. 

Your stunned gaze flashes towards your husband, searching his face, silently questioning if his son was supposed to cum inside you. The proud look etched onto Mauhul's face is enough to convince you that Torak's did exactly what was expected of him. You feel his palm squeeze yours as he cups his son’s jaw, drawing his hooded eyes on him.

"Let it be known," he declares in a loud, clear voice which echoes through the room, "That Torak, my firstborn, has finally become a Shakran .”

The sound of Torak’s shallow breaths mingling with the crackling of the fire and the gazes of the three orcs so full of intensity and pride creates an atmosphere that is both raw and sacred. You don’t even dare to breathe as you lie there on the furs, your mind spinning and walls twitching around Torak’s softening cock as you stare at the scene in awe. Your wonder only intensifies as you catch your husband dipping a sharpened bone in a pot of ink and puncturing his son’s skin with it, skillfully etching a marking onto his chest. You’re not sure what the intricate lines mean but you’ve seen identical marks on your husband’s chest and you can definitely tell how significant they are. Torak’s passive reaction to the puncturing is also worthy of notice; he maintains his attention on his father and keeps his muscles from twitching despite the droplets of purplish blood rolling down his thick green skin.

Once the marking is completed, Mauhul gives his son a final proud nod. You can feel his seed leaking out of your walls, as well as the humid air meeting your wet folds, as Torak slowly detaches from you, but not before smiling down at you and whispering, "Raak ut, ishtà-kurme."

You've been with the clan long enough to grow familiar with the way the orcs express their gratitude, although perhaps not long enough to understand what the term 'kurme' means. Now, however, there is no time to dwell on translations because, while one son has completed his rite, another has yet to go through the passage. And so, everyone's attention is drawn to the youngest, who has been patiently waiting, in reverent silence, for his turn.

As soon as Torak pulls away from you, leaving behind a trail of your combined fluids, Moth steps closer to take his place between your legs.

Leaning back on his heels, his large hand finding your hair, Mauhul allows his eyes to roam over the youngest orc. He’s not particularly large like Torak, but he carries a strength in himself, an aura of determination. The same determination that was in Mauhul when he became an adult, years ago. Even you can notice the uncanny resemblance between the two now that Moth is so close. Both of his boys resemble your spouse in more ways than one, but the youngest exudes the same calmness and tenderness that Mauhul has. The way his palm reaches for your face to gently wipe a stray tear from your cheek - a tear you had no idea you shed - and his kind eyes smile down at you as if he's the one supposed to reassure you only serve to reinforce your impressions.

You’re so lost in his dark eyes, marvelling at just how much his gaze resembles that of your beloved Mauhul that you barely manage to catch a glimpse of brownish freckles scattered across his throbbing length before he rubs its head along your slit and gently but firmly pushes inside, eliciting a soft gasp out of your lips. He feels larger than his sibling as he stretches your walls. The wet sound of flesh slapping against flesh soon fills the room again as Moth picks up the tempo, his pace much more controlled and steadier than Torak’s. One would almost think this was not his first time, although watching his father first and his brother second must have given him enough visual clues to know what to do. Soft whimpers fall from your lips as your body is rocked by his thrusts, your heavy-lidded eyes unwavering from the youngest's face.

“Strong, steady strokes,” Mauhul advises softly, his voice carrying an air of approval. He feels a surge of pride swell in his chest seeing how Moth seems to have taken in everything, moving with such control and purpose. It reminds him of himself, years ago, determined to make the most of this rite, eager to prove his worth. He runs a comforting hand over your sweat-drenched hair, noting the exhaustion etched on your face but also the satisfaction shining in your eyes.

Moth nods, acknowledging his father's words without breaking the rhythm. Yet, it's clear that he needs no prompting, every thrust a deliberate caress designed to elicit moans both from you and him. His hands cup the soft mounds of your breasts, thumbs teasing your hardened nipples, adding to the rousing sensation. Each stroke sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, causing your walls to clench tighter around him. 

“...You're doing well, my son.” Mauhul praises him, his massive hand slides possessively over your stomach, feeling the tremors beneath his palm as you respond to Moth's attention.

Your eyes meet the dark pools of your husband's, and even through the haze, the exhaustion, and yet another orgasm brewing in your belly, you find yourself smiling up at him, searching for his touch with your smaller hand, his name falling from your lips in a hushed plea.

The sound of his name rolling off your tongue causes something to stir deep within Mauhul. A warmth spreads across his chest, mingling with pride and love, a blend that makes his heart throb painfully. “My beautiful kisem… ” he murmurs, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender kiss. Meanwhile, the rhythm between you and Moth grows more frantic, your hips rolling lazily to meet each of his powerful thrusts. Your body moves of its own accord, responding naturally to the sensations flooding through you. You're teetering on the edge once again, the pressure building in your core threatening to burst forth at any moment.

Moth’s fingers meet your swollen bundle of nerves, interrupting the kiss by eliciting a loud whimper from your lips. Your hooded eyes meet Moth’s again, his gaze locked onto your face, eager to capture your every reaction, ready to change his actions accordingly.

You only have the force to rest your free hand upon his - the one still squeezing your breast - and nod meekly in approval before you drop your head back, resting it on your husband’s thigh. Every nerve of your body is awake and on fire, your muscles tensing, your thighs twitching at every stroke of his cock and flick of his finger against your clit, your face contorting in pleasure as one more orgasm rapidly approaches.

Mauhul’s hand caresses your hair, providing a grounding presence amidst the storm of sensations overwhelming you. The sight of you losing yourself to pleasure over and over again is intoxicating, he’s already grown addicted to it and he can't wait to witness it every day from this moment forward.

Moth seems to sense your impending climax, his movements becoming erratic as he chases after his own. His strokes grow shorter and more insistent, his fingers rubbing tight circles around your sensitive nub. With a final, deep thrust and a low grunt, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, holding still as he unleashes ropes of cum into your channel. He doesn’t stop pleasuring you though, even as he reaches his first release. Only a few moments later your back arches and a strangled cry tears from your throat as ecstasy crashes over you in waves.

Mauhul watches in awe as you shatter apart, your entire body trembling and writhing against his and his son’s. Pride swells in his chest at the sight of his youngest son bringing his wife to such heights of pleasure. He leans down to scoop you into his arms, cradling you against his broad chest. "You did wonderfully, my love," he praises softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, his tusks grazing your sweaty skin. 

His gaze shifts to Moth, who is withdrawing from your quivering body, a satisfied smirk playing about his lips. "It seems my young warrior has inherited his father's prowess in the art of lovemaking." he announces with a smug, then looks at Torak and adds, “Both of my young warriors. You have made me very proud.”

His look then turns solemn once more as he fixes his dark eyes on his youngest son and declares: “Let it be known that Moth, my secondborn, has finally become a Shakran .” And just as he did for Torak before, he grabs the bone from the floor, dips it in the pot of ink and brings it to his son’s heaving chest. Mauhul presses his other palm on his skin and looks at him with affection and reassurance as his son’s body gradually eases its tremors. Only then does he start to mark his skin with the same intricate lines as earlier. Even through your droopy lids, you can’t help but reverently watch as your husband’s hand makes quick work of the tattoo. Your tired eyes rake over the young orc’s skin, rising to his face. He’s calm even now, a perfect picture of serenity, which deeply amazes you. He too, just like his brother has done before, moves his gaze back to you and smiles as he whispers the same orcish words with a devotion that makes your still racing heart miss a beat. You cling to your husband’s side as you nod at his son, acknowledging his words despite not fully understanding their meaning, already thinking of inquiring about them to Mauhul later.

With the completion of the ritual, Mauhul sets the bone aside and pulls you closer, his embrace enveloping you completely. As he rests his chin atop your head, his voice booms out, filling the room with a mix of pride and love.

“You've earned your rightful place among our adults,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Today, you became true Shakran’z - protectors, providers, and lovers. May these marks serve as a reminder of your role in our tribe. When the time comes, you’ll carry on our line of truebloods by providing your seed to the clan’s zàgartha but you will also take wives and repopulate our tribe with strong warriors, children of the bond you will build with your drùda’z.”

Mauhul's gaze drifts to you, looking exhausted but content in his embrace. He brushes a strand of sweat-dampened hair from your forehead, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone.

“Tomorrow we will celebrate. Now… you may go.” he dismisses his sons in a whisper, without taking his eyes away from you. 

He wraps his massive arms around your tiny frame protectively, holding you close against him. The warmth emanating from his large body envelops you in its cocoon-like embrace as he cradles you. 

You struggle to keep your eyes open, feeling too spent, drained of all your forces after the physically straining rite you've taken part in, your body still buzzing from the intense series of orgasms you've just experienced. Your sweaty forehead rests on his chest, your frame sagged against his muscular torso. 

"Mau?" you meekly call out for him. Your droopy eyes lock onto his, your fingers lazily drawing patterns on his broad chest. You wait for him to hum back before speaking again. 

"Your sons have called me… 'kurme'," you point out, curiosity twinkling in your tired eyes. "What does that mean?" 

A deep, rumbling chuckle escapes Mauhul's chest, resonating through your frame pressed against him. He looks down at you adoringly, his expression softening at the adorable sight you present - so exhausted yet curious like a mouse. His broad hand strokes slowly down your back in soothing circles as he responds.

“That is the orcish word for mother,” he explains in hushed tones, his dark eyes beaming down at you. “However, they have not simply called you mother but ‘ishtà-kurme’. Guiding mother. The mother who lights the path.” His thumb draws idle figures on your bare shoulder. The gentle motion seems to ease your strained, tender body.

“In our culture,” he starts again, his deep voice growing serious. “It's a term of utmost reverence and devotion. To a Shakran orc, the ishtà-kurme is someone held dear and sacred. They have shown you immense respect by calling you that, my love. They will hold you in high regard for their whole lives for what you have done for them today… and for all the things they will learn from you in the days ahead.”

Slowly he lifts his hand, cradling your delicate face gently within the expanse of his huge, calloused palm. He lowers his roughened lips against yours, capturing them in a tender kiss, conveying a wealth of emotion that words cannot match. “You became their yazàkurme , chosen mother, the moment I took you as my kisem… ”, he pauses as a fond smile curls up his lips, his black eyes sparkling as they reflect the warm glow of the fire. “My kisee -” he coos affectionately in a softer tone, making your stomach flutter. “My wife. And one day you’ll be kurme to our children.”

You sigh, feeling your heart swell with love. “Those are a lot of names…” you quip back with a soft huff of a chuckle, your tired eyes crinkling in both amusement and affection as they gaze lovingly up at him.

With a hearty laugh, Mauhul’s deep voice fills the room, echoing off the stone walls. His laughter fades into a soft hum as he gazes down at you, his eyes sparkling with undisguised adoration.

“Indeed, many names for one little human,” he muses aloud, a touch of pride evident in his voice. “But each one holds its weight in significance. For us orcs, titles matter. They define bonds, roles, and responsibilities.”

He releases your face, allowing his roughened hand to slide down your neck, coming to rest on the swell of your breast, just above your heart.

“You lost your name when you left your village to join us,” he whispers solemnly, his eyes flickering to his hand as his fingers splay over your soft flesh, feeling your heartbeat under his palm. “So we shall give you many, in return.” His eyes meet yours again, a genuine and fond smile blooming on his lips, one that causes your heart to stutter under his palm. “But one will always stand above all. And that is mìzaher. My mìzaah, that's what you are. My life companion, my only love.”

Your palm comes to rest on his cheek, softly cradling his face as you gaze deeply into his eyes, a faint veil of emotion blurring your vision as you return his adoring smile. You're physically drained, still a tad unsure of what has just occurred and what it all means for you, but one thing is certain: the overwhelming feeling of being loved, treasured, and protected that envelops you fully now as you rest in your beloved husband's arms. You wish for this feeling to last forever. 

Mauhul leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment as he savours the gentle caress. When he opens them again, they shine with a depth of emotion you have rarely seen in another being - pure, unadulterated love.

"You need rest, mìzaah, and a bath," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates against your palm. His eyes crinkle in amusement as he adds: "I can gift you more names tomorrow."

He shifts, carefully scooping you into his arms without breaking eye contact. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist as he stands, cradling you against his broad chest. 

“You can close your eyes. I’ll take good care of you.”

🪷. You can leave me a tip on ko-fi if you want to support me ♡

a.n.: any kind of feedback is highly appreciated! Let me know what you think pls 🥺

[vesprynna]

I began this in 2021 or something and it was supposed to be a standalone illustration, but I never finished it. The following year I picked it up again and decided to add a second illustration and make a comic. I didn't finish this time either... I almost finished the sketches last year but uh guess what happened 😂 finally finished it tho hahaha!

Ruenak is @unicornia93 's handsome satyr chief, and my Orelka is his lovely wife. They rule over a clan of mountain satyrs and have a good relationship to the orc clan led by Oltorn and his wife Helartha. Regardless, Ruenak prefers to shirk his chiefly duties to cozy up with the wife instead 😂

[momolady]

What if a monster, like, fucked you.

With, like, consent.

And then they, like, cuddled you afterwards.

Because the dick was so big.

[mxnsterbabe]

Male Vampire/Female Reader

SFW

Wordcount: 3,665

Commissions | Ko-fi | Masterlist

When your friend begs you to help her brother, you have no choice is to agree. But what is he?

When you ripped the front door open, the sight at your doorstep stopped you cold. There, bathed in the harsh glow of the porch light, was your best friend; but something was terribly wrong. Her clothes were soaked in blood, her face etched with a panic that sent a ripple of fear through you. 

“We need to come inside.”

You stammered out, “of course, come in,” your mind reeling to keep up.

Before you could even form a question, she brushed past you, half-dragging, half-carrying an unconscious figure into your house.

“What the hell is going on?” you stammered, but Ir1ina pushed past you, stumbling inside without even acknowledging you’d spoken.

The living room turned into an emergency scene, as she laid the person down with more care than you expected from her frantic entrance. It took a moment for the reality to sink in. The person on your floor was Dumitru, Irina’s older brother; but he looked… wrong. Not least because of the blood now pooling on your hardwood floor.

"You need to get him to a hospital," you told Irina, eyes narrowed. The gash on his head looked deep, and his stillness was unnerving.

Irina shook her head vehemently. "You're a paramedic, can't you do something? Please," she begged, the plea in her eyes impossible to ignore.

Despite the doubts swirling in your mind, you couldn't turn away from the silent appeal in Irina's gaze. With a deep breath, you set to work, your training kicking in despite the circumstances. You cleaned the wound as best as you could, the blood washing away to reveal the extent of the damage. The gash was deep, and you knew it needed stitches.

You fetched your medical kit, your hands steady as you threaded the needle. The act of sewing the wound closed was familiar, a procedure you'd performed countless times, yet never in your own living room, and never on someone you knew. 

With each stitch, you couldn't help but worry about the lack of response from him. Concussions were tricky, and without the proper equipment, there was only so much you could do.

You worked with care, trying to keep your stitches even, the thread pulling the edges of the wound together. The silence in the room was heavy, filled with the tension of the moment and the weight of your thoughts. 

What if Dumitru needed more help than you could give?

After tending to the gash on Dumitru's head, you shifted your focus, carefully moving him to the sofa to conduct a more thorough examination. Your hands worked methodically, guided by your paramedic training, as you checked him for any other concealed injuries that might have gone unnoticed in the initial panic.

Gently, you palpated his abdomen and limbs, looking for signs of internal bleeding or fractures, your touch deliberate but gentle. You knew the importance of being thorough; hidden injuries could be just as dangerous, if not more so, than the visible ones. 

Thankfully, aside from some bruising and minor lacerations, there didn't seem to be any other significant injuries.

Concussion was a concern, given the blow to his head. You couldn't perform a scan, but you did the next best thing, checking his pupils for signs of asymmetry or sluggish response. You kept the room dimly lit and ensured he was lying in a recovery position to maintain an open airway.

It wasn’t much, but it was as all you could do.

Once satisfied you'd done all you could with the resources at hand, you turned to Irina, the weight of responsibility heavy on your shoulders. "He needs to be seen in a hospital," you insisted, your voice firm despite the fatigue nibbling at the edges of your resolve. "I've done what I can, but he needs a full medical evaluation."

Irina's reluctance was palpable, her answers evasive. "We can't," she murmured, avoiding your gaze. "It's complicated."

The vague response did little to put you at ease. "Is there something you're not telling me?" you asked, the puzzle pieces not quite fitting together. "Why can't he go to a hospital?"

Before Irina could respond, a soft groan from the sofa cut through the tense atmosphere. Your attention snapped back to Dumitru, whose eyes were fluttering open, confusion and pain etched across his features as he tried to orient himself.

Dumitru's slow return to consciousness allowed you a closer inspection, you swallowed down your unease. His skin, though naturally tanned, carried an ashen pallor that seemed at odds with his otherwise robust appearance. His eyes, dark to the point of being almost black, looked different to normal. Despite the grime and blood that marred his features, there was an undeniable, almost ethereal handsomeness about him…

Yet, as he moved, something about him seemed fundamentally off. His teeth, when he cringed, were uniformly sharp, more reminiscent of a predator's than a human's. His posture, too, was peculiar, his back hunched in a way that suggested something wrong with his skeleton, and his limbs seemed to bend in ways that made you uneasy.

When he spoke, his voice was a low rumble, tinged with confusion. "Where am I?" he murmured, his gaze flitting around the room, landing on his hand as it retreated from his wound. The sight of his own fingernails, tapered to points like claws, seemed to shock him as much as it did you.

Your instinctive step back was halted by Irina's steadying grip. Dumitru's eyes widened in realization, a dawning understanding that his appearance was the cause of your alarm. "I'm sorry," he began, his apology cut short by your demand for clarity.

"What's going on, Irina?" you pressed, your voice a mix of fear and the need for answers. "What is he?"

The silence stretched on, the tension in the room making your pulse thrum. 

Irina, usually so open and forthright, remained tight-lipped, her gaze averted. Dumitru, for his part, seemed lost in thoughts of his own, his dark eyes clouded with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher.

Your instincts were at odds, the ingrained desire to help clashing with a creeping sense of fear that whispered caution. Dumitru kept his head low, but you could still see how wrong he looked. The more you stared, the more obvious it became; his once rich skin was now ashen grey, lips peeled back as if his teeth were too sharp for his mouth.

It was difficult to look at him, really, and you suppressed a shudder.

It was Dumitru who finally broke the silence, his voice so different from the gentle, lilting accent you remembered. Now, it was rough, almost guttural, carrying a depth that seemed to vibrate through the very air. 

"I didn't want you to find out like this," he confessed, each word seeming to cost him. "I never wanted to involve you in this... in my world."

The raw honesty in his admission made your stomach turn. "What does that mean?" you demanded, your voice steadier than you felt. "What are you?"

It was Irina who answered, her voice barely above a whisper, "He's... it's complicated, but the closest thing we have to a comparison is a vampire. There are those who would see him dead."

The revelation was a jolt. Your legs crumpled beneath you, and Irina couldn’t dash forward in time to catch you as you collapsed on the cold floor.

A vampire, in your living room, bleeding and vulnerable. Not only that, but he was your friend.

The weight of the revelation pressed heavily upon you, each breath feeling thicker, harder to draw. You needed space, a moment to process the impossible reality that had just unfolded in the safety of your home. 

"I need a moment," you managed to say, voice wobbling as you clambered to your feet.

Irina made a move to follow as you turned towards the door, her instinct to comfort and explain battling against your clear need for solitude. "Please, just give me some space," you said, a firmness in your tone that brooked no argument.

Behind you, Dumitru's voice reached out. "Please, I never meant for any of this. I don't want to hurt you.”

Whatever he was going to say next cut short as you slammed the front door shut. 

Outside, the world lay bathed in the gentle glow of the moon. You took a deep breath, the cool air filling your lungs, and rested your head on the porch railing.

You fought for composure, for the calm that seemed so elusive now. The cool night air worked its subtle magic, each deep breath grounding you, until you remembered how to breathe properly.

Your thoughts shattered when Dumitru's voice drifted through the closed window, his voice unsteady. "I've put her in danger," he muttered, the gravelly undertone of his voice more pronounced than before. "She must hate me now. I've ruined any chance of being close to her."

The confession halted your retreat, a jumble of emotions clouding your thoughts. Driven by curiosity, heart thudding, you approached the window.

Peering through the glass, the figure you saw made your stomach drop Whatever… glamour that had once cloaked his true form had fallen away, revealing his raw, unmasked essence. His skin was paler now, an ashen hue that seemed almost translucent under the dim light. The sharpness of his features was more pronounced, his cheekbones jutting, his jawline too sharp. Even his ears were elongated, tapering to points that seemed to twitch slightly, angled down in… embarrassment?

Yet, it was the vulnerability in his posture. It was the slumped and uneven shoulders and the haunted look in his eyes, that struck you the most. 

The sight of him, so changed and yet so familiar, stirred a well of emotions within you—fear, yes, but also a deep-seated pull towards him.

With a resolve that surprised even yourself, you turned away from the window, the decision to face what lay inside solidifying with each step. 

Maybe you didn’t understand what was going on, but he was still Dumitru. 

As you re-entered the room, Dumitru's eyes lifted to meet yours, a glimmer of hope flickering there. The sight of him—hunched, nervous, unnatural—didn't repulse you as you might have expected. Instead, a wave of sympathy washed over you.

You approached and took a seat beside him, and it seemed to take both him and Irina by surprise.  You leaned your head against his shoulder, taking comfort in the odd coolness of his skin.

"I'm sorry," you said softly. “For running away.”

Dumitru's response was a soft, pained noise, but he sank into your side anyway. 

Irina watched, a silent observer, saying nothing.

"If people want you dead," you continued, your voice steady, "I'll protect you."

Dumitru smiled, showing razor-sharp teeth. “Thank you.”

***

Over the next few days, the tension began to dissipate, the immediate danger receding into the background as Dumitru's wounds healed. With each passing day, he regained more of his human appearance, until all that remained was a faint scab on his forehead and his unnaturally pointed teeth.

Now, the atmosphere in the kitchen was light, almost domestic, as you and Dumitru moved around each other with an easy familiarity. The sound of sizzling and the aroma of breakfast cooking filled the air, music playing faintly in the background.

"You know, you didn't have to do this," Dumitru said, nodding towards the stove where you were flipping pancakes. His voice was soft, inhuman edge almost gone.

You shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips. "I wanted to. Besides, cooking's more fun with company. Pass the sugar?"

As you reached for the syrup, Dumitru moved to grab the sugar. The brush of his arm against yours sent a jolt through you, and his quick, murmured sorry did little to calm the flutter in your chest.

The urge to turn and kiss him was almost overwhelming, so sudden that it left you breathless. Yet, you held back, acutely aware of Irina's presence just upstairs.

A knock at the door sliced through the comfortable hum of the morning, sending a ripple of tension through you.You weren't expecting anyone, and the timing felt too coincidental for comfort.

Your stomach churned. "I'll check it out. Stay here," you instructed Dumitru, a protective instinct flaring within you as you moved towards the door. 

Irina, alerted by the knock, made her way downstairs, a question in her eyes that mirrored your own concern.

Your hand hesitated on the door handle, the quiet murmur of Dumitru's and Irina's movements behind you a small comfort. With a steadying breath, you opened the door, peering out to confront the source of the disturbance.

Two men stood on your doorstep, their presence immediately setting off alarm bells in your mind. One bore the unmistakable mark of a recent injury, a gash down his cheek in the process of healing.

The only warning you had was Irina’s sharp intake of breath. The men, having spotted Irina, shifted with a predatory quickness.

Before you could react, before you could slam the door or call out for Dumitru, the men darted for you. A forceful push sent you tumbling to the ground, the impact jarring as you hit the floor. 

Pain lit up your side as you landed, vision swimming. Scrambling to regain your footing, your mind raced for solutions, for a way to protect yourself and your friends. 

As one of the intruders lunged towards Irina, the other, knife in hand, loomed menacingly over you. The glint of the blade caught the morning light. Your heart pounded in your chest, pulse roaring in your ears.

Before he could do anything though, a guttural scream pierced the air. 

Suddenly, Dumitru launched himself at the man standing over you with a ferocity that was staggering.

The room became a blur as Dumitru threw himself at the attacker. His movements were swift, driven by a desperation that made him seem larger, more imposing. 

Dumitru and the man slammed into the opposite wall in a tangle of limbs. You caught a flash of sharp teeth and a gaunt, grey face as Dumitru turned to look at you, before rounding on your assailant again.

The other assailant, seeing his companion in distress, quickly joined the fray. Shoving Irina aside, he launched himself at Dumitru, blade catching the light. 

Dumitru tried to dodge, but two against one quickly overwhelmed him. The knife glinted, and suddenly Dumitru was on the ground, writhing, as crimson blood dripped onto your floor.

Seeing Dumitru in trouble, your fear transformed into action. You pushed yourself off the ground, darting for Irinia before either of the men could turn on her.

With Irina safely behind you, you darted into the kitchen, your eyes scanning for anything that could serve as a weapon. The knives, frustratingly, were out of reach, but your gaze landed on a heavy pan resting on the stove. Without hesitation, you seized it, the weight of it oddly comforting in your hands.

As you re-entered the fray, the scene that greeted you was one of grim determination. Dumitru was on the ground, the two men towering over him, their intent clear in their raised weapons. 

Your heart raced, fear and anger swirling within you as you took in the sight of Dumitru, fighting against the odds.

“Come and get me, assholes!”

The nearest one turned just in time to meet the pan as it swung through the air, connecting with a resounding thud. The impact sent him crumpling to the ground, unconscious.

You dropped to Dumitru’s side. “Are you all right?” you asked, taking his jaw in your palm. His old wound had reopened, and his dark eyes met yours.

Then, he surprised you. In one swift movement, he flipped you over, positioning his body as a shield between you and the remaining assailant. The world upended, and for a moment, all you could see was Dumitru's determined gaze.

As the remaining assailant lunged forward, weapon in hand, Dumitru didn't hesitate. Curved around you, a physical barrier against the threat. The blade found its mark, but not in you; Dumitru took the wound meant for you, a grimace of pain briefly contorting his features.

Yet even as he shuddered from the impact, Dumitru's resolve didn't waver. With a swift, almost graceful movement, he disarmed and incapacitated the assailant, knocking him to the ground and sending the knife clattering. 

The last man fell, crumpling next to his unconscious companion, and the immediate threat evaporated.

You finally allowed yourself to breathe, the adrenaline that had sustained you through the confrontation slowly ebbing away.

Dumitru wobbled, his strength waning with the adrenaline's fade, and Irina was there to catch him.

Together, you helped lower him to the ground, your paramedic training springing to the forefront of your mind as you assessed his injuries. The puncture wounds were serious but, thankfully, avoided any vital areas—a small mercy.

"Is that all of them?" you asked, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. "Are more coming after you?"

Dumitru's eyes, clouded with pain, met yours as he shook his head. "That's all," he confirmed, his voice a whisper. "They wanted me dead because of what I am... because I was stupid enough to reveal my true . I thought they were friends.”

The revelation burned like acid. 

Sighing, Irina brushed dark hair from her face. “I’ll get your first aid kit,” she murmured, “it sure has been getting a lot of use lately.”

Irina's quick departure left the hallway feeling suddenly quiet, the aftermath of the chaos settling like dust around you. Your breath came in heavy, uneven pulls, the adrenaline that had spiked through your veins now giving way to relief.

You glanced towards the unconscious men, considering the practicality of securing them to prevent any further threat. "We should probably tie them up, just in case they wake up," you murmured, more to yourself than to Dumitru.

Before you could move to act on your thought, Dumitru's arm encircled your middle, drawing you close with an unexpected gentleness that contrasted sharply with the violence you'd just witnessed. The proximity was startling, his presence a solid reassurance that grounded you amidst the aftermath.

He drew you in, the stark sharpness of his teeth, the undeniable otherness of his face that had once seemed so jarring. Yet now, in the quiet, those inhuman features seemed less like markers of a monster and more like… just like him.

Warmth washed over you, melting away the last dregs of fear. The space between you felt charged with a new understanding.

Without a word, you leaned in and kissed him. His response was immediate, a mingling of relief and something akin to wonder, as if he too had been waiting for this.

Dumitru's lips were cool against yours. There was an underlying taste of copper, a reminder of his injuries, but it did nothing to deter you from pressing yourself closer. If anything, it grounded the kiss in the reality of what you'd both endured, what you'd survived together.

As you pulled away, Dumitru whispered, “thank you.”

Laughter bubbled to the surface. “I didn’t do much, though the pan came in handy.”

"It's not just for the fighting," he clarified, his voice rough. "Thank you for accepting me... for not being afraid of what I am."

His hands, gentle despite their strength, cradled your face, sharp nails skimming across your skin. 

In response, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, right above the cut, a silent reassurance. "It's all right now," you murmured.

The bubble burst with Irina's return. She stood at the doorway, a first aid kit in hand and a knowing smile playing on her lips. The amusement in her eyes was clear as she took in the scene before her, her brother and you, together.

"Am I interrupting something?" she teased, the warmth in her voice taking any sting out of the words. "Should I come back later?"

Dumitru's laughter, despite the circumstances, was beautiful. He beckoned Irina closer, and she all but collapsed at his side.

As he attempted to shift into a more comfortable position, a wince of pain flickered across his features. Quick to reassure, he managed a strained smile. "I'm fine," he insisted, though the evidence was to the contrary.

Together, you and Irina set about the task of tending to his wounds, the first aid kit's contents spread out before you. The work was methodical, each bandage and antiseptic application a step towards healing, towards normalcy.

It was inevitable that your thoughts turned to the unconscious men still lying in your home. "What about them?" you asked, your gaze flicking towards the room where they lay. "What do we do with them?"

Dumitru's response was immediate, a shadow of his earlier humor returning. "I'll take care of them," he said, a statement that sent a jolt of alarm through you.

“Wait, hold on—”

"No, no," he assured, shaking his head as much as his injuries would allow. "I'm not going to kill them. I can... make them forget about me."

The concept, so outlandish yet spoken with such certainty, left you reeling. Then again, everything else was so crazy, why not?

With Dumitru's wounds carefully tended to, the atmosphere in the room shifted, the tension easing. You leaned in, and with a gentle sureness, you kissed him. His lips were cold against yours, and his teeth grazed your lip with an edge of sharpness.

“I don’t know how the hell we managed that,” you murmured, “but the three of us made a pretty good team.”

"We did," Dumitru agreed.

Then, heedless of Irina’s laugh, you dove in for another kiss.

[eruden-writes]

Got any Valentines Day monster fuckery you want to see?

Send requests to my inbox.

For inspiration, check out TV Tropes' Romantic Tropes. (I'm not writing incest or anyone under the age of 25.)

Oh, and let me know if you want a particular monster or OC.

[monstersandmaw]

Male kelpie (dad-bod, single father, biker) x plus size f. reader - Part One (sfw)

Background info post on the Full Moon Motorcycles group here Oats Appreciation post here

Featuring a plus-size, bisexual, not very confident reader, and a divorced, Scottish, single-dad, biker kelpie with a soft-dad bod and a heart as big as his bike’s engine (possibly bigger).

CW: there is a very brief moment where a character (not Oats!) insults the reader for her size and uses some fat-phobic language towards and about her, unaware that she can hear him. If you’re sensitive to that, it is brief, but you can skip from “…you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.” to the paragraph beginning, “After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror…”. Also, if you squint, there’s a passing moment that could possibly be interpreted as the reader having some potential issues with food, but it’s not intended to be a big deal and it’s only for about two sentences. Still putting it in here too, just in case. 

Wordcount: 7562

You pushed open the glass door of Full Moon Motorcycles and willed yourself not to feel self-conscious or out of place.

Having both an older brother and a mother who rode motorbikes had at least given you a fair bit of familiarity with bikes and the general ‘biker culture’, but it was mostly the fact that almost all the ‘biker girls’ you saw posing on social media were slim and toned, which you were decidedly not.

From the utterly foetid takes in the comments section of the one post your brother had shared on his page with you in it, you’d also got the impression that the biker community was not particularly kind to any woman with a waist over 25 inches. It probably wasn’t the case, but your one experience with it had been enough to make you very wary.

And yet, as you made your way towards the bike shop’s counter and the older man with floppy, greying hair and warm brown eyes looked up, you were greeted with an open, welcoming smile.

“Hi there,” he said, standing up with a grunt from the comfy chair where he’d been sitting in the corner near the shop’s antique cash register. “What can I do for you?”

You smiled shyly and glanced along the wooden countertop before returning your gaze to him. “I’m looking for a present for my brother, but I’m kind of on a budget…”

“Gotcha. We’ve got some silly key fobs there,” he said, indicating a rotating display rack at one end of the counter, with mottoes that ranged from funny to explicit, “But if they like working on their bike themselves, you can’t go wrong with some maintenance supplies… Not the most glamorous but I promise they’ll be grateful to you all the same.”

“Could always tie a festive ribbon round it,” you said, and he chuckled and nodded.

“That’s the spirit.”

You eyed the reasonable price of the fobs with some relief, and then followed his gesture towards the various bottles of chain degreaser and the like, and a few other useful tools and kits that were stacked on shelves on the back wall to the right of a door that presumably led into the back and store rooms.

The right hand side of the shop had the counter and some shiny, new bikes that had been parked in a row around the perimeter of the space, and the left hand side was more open with a bench or two against the brick walls, and some red, mechanics’ tool-chests tucked against the back wall. A number of leather two- and one-piece suits hung in racks at the furthest end though, with helmets on shelves and a few rows of t-shirts, jeans, gloves, and boots displayed too. There were oil stains in the centre of the polished concrete floor, and you suspected that tinkering took place there outside of the shop’s usual opening hours.

The whole vibe of Full Moon Motorcycles was friendly and cosy, with a slightly industrial, grungy note for some flavour.

In short, you loved it.

“There are also some fun helmet covers –” the older man chuckled, and added, “A number of the regulars here have them, and there are also some earplugs, or perhaps a tough phone case and mount? A chain care kit? There are some vinyl stickers too, and t-shirts, socks, neck warmers, balaclavas, mugs, helmet care kits, thermals…”

Laughing, you held up your hands for him to stop, and he started to chuckle too.

“I’ll let you browse in peace, sweetheart,” he said, his whisky brown eyes twinkling. Even his un-looked-for endearment came across as kindly instead of creepy, and not many men could pull that off. “You just holler if you have questions and I’ll be happy to –”

The door opened behind you and he broke off as his attention was snagged by the arrival of a heavy-set guy in dark jeans and a softly-worn, black leather jacket. He held a black helmet with a tinted visor in his large hands, and he looked more than a little wind-blown and rumpled.

Incongruous with his rather roguish-dishevelment, a lock of his long, thick, slightly grizzled, black hair was held back by a little hair-clip with a Barbie-pink, fabric bow. It didn’t fit with the dark scruff of stubble on his jaw or the piercing green-blue eyes at all, but he seemed completely unfazed by its presence.

“Oats!” the older man exclaimed with obvious joy, clapping his hands. “It’s been a while, my boy! How was the trip to Scotland? You make it round the NC500 this time?”

The ‘boy’ looked to be in his mid to late thirties…

“Ach, no’ a chance this time, Hank,” the man chuckled with a heavy, Scottish accent lacing his rich, rough baritone. Exactly where in Scotland he was from, you couldn’t tell, but it was lyrical and attractive all the same.

“Ah, next time, next time. And is Natalie well?

“Oh aye, my wee Loch Ness Monster is doing just fine. She’ll be terrorising her mother for the Christmas holidays. I came straight from the road though — clutch started playing up just south of Birmingham.” He grimaced, but even that looked charming somehow. “Sort of hoped you might find a minute to take a look at it for me if I left the Old Girl here. No rush though.”

“No problem, Oats. We’ll get her running properly again in no time. Bet you’re missing little Natalie already,” Hank added sympathetically.

“Ah, you have no idea,” the man, peculiarly-named ‘Oats’, sighed ruefully, shaking his head.

“See she left you with a parting gift though,” Hank snorted, pointing at the bow hair clip.

With a slight frown to his dark eyebrows, Oats reached up and patted at his head until he found it, and then he laughed. It was a loud, delighted, full-bellied sound that reverberated through the space while it lasted, and he left the hair clip where it was with no trace of self-consciousness as he lowered his hand again. “Aye, that she did. Surprised it survived the journey down with my lid on and everything. Oh –” His unusually pale green eyes landed on you, watching him and lurking near the rows of t-shirts on the back wall, and he went still.

Those sea-grey eyes raked you up and down, clearly noting the way your black leggings clung to the curves of your thighs and hips, and the black hoodie, which maybe went some way to hiding the softness of your stomach a bit, and he swallowed visibly. He looked… hungry. That was not the usual reaction you had grown accustomed to from men, and you let the flare of heat lick up your insides for just a moment, daring to hope that maybe he did find you attractive.

“Sorry,” he said in your direction, with a soft, dusky smile. “Didnae mean t’interrupt.”

“It’s fine,” you managed to croak back at him before returning your attention, however reluctantly, to present options for your brother while the older man, Hank, hobbled out around the corner of the wooden counter to chat amicably with the man. You couldn’t hear what was said as the two chatted in lower voices, but it was evident that they were good friends. While they talked, however, you couldn’t help noticing that he stole occasional sidelong glances in your direction, and you felt your face warm pleasantly.

‘Oats’ was certainly an unusual nickname, but then again, almost everyone who rode with your brother also had their own nicknames for one reason or another. As you browsed, you wondered what Oats had done to earn that one. He certainly looked like a snack to you, but you vowed not to let your attraction to the stranger show. Awkward situations (or worse, silences) tended to arise when you let that happen.

He had a tanned, outdoorsy complexion, and longish, black hair that was tied back in a low ponytail that brushed below the collar of his black leather jacket. It looked like it had a tendency to flop into his face when not restrained by that out-of-place pink bow. He filled out the jacket very well, and clearly had a soft paunch, and his thighs looked frankly delectable in those thick, indigo jeans. You prayed you wouldn’t have to see him fully from the back if he turned around, to witness the way he filled out the seat of his jeans too.

Fuck. Concentrate.

Bike gifts for brother, not delicious-looking stranger you’re never going to see again.

“Well, I shouldnae hang about, I suppose.”

Oats’ voice cut through your musings in front of chain degreasers and you jumped a little. Glancing back over at him, you offered him a smile when he too turned to look at you one last time, and a slow, charming smile crept onto his handsome face.

“See you,” he said with a dip of his head. Before he strode from the shop though, he let his eyes roam once more down the length of you and he bit his lower lip, almost regretfully, then turned away abruptly.

Oh yes. He absolutely did fill out the ass of those jeans beautifully.

Quite honestly, you weren’t totally sure what you ended up getting your brother for his birthday. You took whatever it was to the counter in a daze, your mind replaying over and over the way he’d looked at you.

“Must say,” Hank said conspiratorially as he fished your change from the antique cash register and slid it across the polished, wooden counter towards you. “I’ve never seen Oats quite so taken with someone, miss.” He chuckled, his kind, whisky-brown eyes glinting. “You take care now.”

Swallowing, you nodded and left the shop, hoping perhaps to find Oats waiting for you outside on the street, leaning against his motorcycle, but life was not a movie, and wherever he was, he was not lingering in the hopes of seeing you. In fact, the street was completely deserted, so you crossed, clambered into your little hatchback, and drove home with the feeling that you’d let a pivotal moment in your life pass you by.

Your sour mood persisted like a raincloud for the whole week, but by the time you were driving over to your brother’s on Saturday for his birthday ride, you were trying to pull yourself out of it. You had your own helmet with you, secured in the back of the car, and beside it was (now wrapped) the present you’d got him. In fact, it was a chain care kit, and, although you hadn’t noticed at the time, Hank had thrown in a free keychain that said ‘In my defence, I was left unsupervised’ which was very on-brand for your brother. You had planned to go back and thank him for the freebie as soon as you could, but your brother’s birthday ride had been planned for that Saturday, and work had been hell that week, so you’d not had the chance.

Predictably, Alex wasn’t in the house when you rang the doorbell, so you followed the sound of metallic clinking and laughter, and went round the side to find him tinkering with his mad little Honda Grom in the garage, while his two best mates — Eggs and Sparky — were lounging around and either making unhelpful suggestions or lewd comments.

“Yo!” Sparky grinned when he saw you, sitting up straighter and almost falling off the mechanic’s tool chest he was leaning his weight against. At Sparky’s exclamation, your brother sat up and banged his head on the handlebars of the short little Grom with a curse.

“Hey,” you mumbled in Sparky’s general direction. “Happy birthday, Alex.”

Alex scrambled upright and came over to hug you, probably smearing grease and dirt all over your armoured jacket, but since it was black anyway, you didn’t mind too much. Alex was about as opposite to you as it was possible to get — straight up and down like a beanpole, and tall. You took after your mother, inheriting all her thick curves and soft edges. Soft heart too.

“Thought this might come in handy,” you mumbled when Alex released you and you held out the brown paper bag stamped with the logo of Full Moon Motorcycles.

His eyes lit up when he saw the logo, and he tore into it like a chipmunk after a peanut, grinning in delight when he’d dismembered it, and in particular he showed off the keychain to his mates. Eggs snatched it and tried to claim it for himself, but Alex was having none of it, and the three of them scrapped and goofed around while you sat down on an old, metal stool in the corner and waited for the other two of your small party to show up, with a cool, curdling kind of dread in the pit of your stomach when you heard one name in particular. Nooner.

Within an hour though, you were all out on the road.

You took the pillion seat behind Alex, and warded his mates off at red lights when they came for his killswitch to immobilise him. A while later though, Alex zoomed off down the open road that would take you all out of town and towards the somewhat famous biker cafe, ‘Elusive Neutral’, that sat nestled amongst the fragrant heather of the rolling hills surrounding the old market town.

The sky was a gorgeous, autumnal blue and the weather was perfect, neither too hot nor too cold, and as your brother’s Yamaha flew along the winding A-road that was every biker’s dream, you cracked a smile and gently tipped your head back. As much as it had scared you when you’d first ridden behind your mother all those years ago, you did love the feeling of being out on a bike. Not that you were actually brave enough to want to try and learn yourself though. Something always held you back, made you wary and unsure, and then you inevitably felt down about that too. God, you wished you had Alex’s wild confidence.

Nothing good ever seemed to last for you though, and when Alex’s R1 had purred into the car park behind Eggs and Sparky, and you’d hopped off to let him reverse more easily into a space, you caught the conversation drifting over from the other guys who’d arrived just ahead of you.

“…if he didn’t have his fat sister with him, we could have fucking ripped it up along those twisties.” That, of course, had come from Nooner, named for the fact that he rarely stuck to two wheels and always pulled wheelies, or ‘nones’, whenever he got the chance. Out of all of your brother’s friends, he was the one you liked the least, for… obvious reasons.

“Talk about killing the vibes, huh?” Eggs replied, trying to suck up to him, as ever. “More like ‘crushing’!”

The reason Eggs had earned his nickname was that he’d lost a bet and shaved his head when they’d all been about sixteen, and he’d looked like a boiled egg til it grew back. You wished you had the sass to remind him of that every time his spine seemed to crumble in favour of earning a half-hearted snicker out of Nooner.

When Alex joined you, he caught the crestfallen expression on your face and frowned, but you shook your head and walked away from them, heading for the cafe alone.

“Can’t wait to shove some cake in her fat gob already,” Nooner added as an aside to Eggs, and your vision blurred as tears welled along your lashes. Why did people have to be so cruel? To trample all over someone else just to feel a little taller themselves?

You vaguely heard what sounded like Sparky’s voice countering the comment, but you didn't stick around either way. If you mentioned it to your brother again, he’d just say it was banter with the guys and not to take it to heart. Easy for someone who's never been on the end of that kind of comment to shrug it off, after all.

You ducked straight for the toilets when you got inside the airy, modern cafe, not even bothering to look around or find a table first.

After some deep breaths and a check in the mirror to see that you hadn’t turned your eyeliner into a panda cosplay, you headed out again and made for the little bar that doubled as a counter for people who were there solo to sit and eat instead of taking up a whole table to themselves. None of your brother’s friends joined you, and when you glanced back over your shoulder, you saw that they’d settled themselves around a table in the far corner and already had a number for a server to bring their food order over. They hadn’t even waited for you.

“Fuck them,” you hissed through gritted teeth, taking a seat at the bar instead. The stools were made of old tractor seats, and they were surprisingly comfortable, and as you leaned your forearms on the countertop, the young woman behind the counter came over to you with a smile that made you feel a little better.

“Hey,” she said. “What can I get for you?”

You ordered a hot drink, and then took out your phone while you waited for her to make it for you.

For half an hour or so, you sat scrolling through social media and sipping your drink and telling yourself this was your brother’s day and not yours. He did come over a couple of times, but you declined to sit with his friends, and because he’d never had any real reason to doubt you before, he took you at your word when you told him you were happy enough where you were. “I don’t want to get in the way,” you said, and he believed you.

Patting you on the shoulder, he left you for the third time, and you looked down into the dregs of your drink with a heavy sigh. “This sucks.”

Outside, the sound of more bikes arriving made your ears perk up, and you wondered idly what they rode. Elusive Neutral had once been an old cattle barn, but it had been completely redone and the walls on two sides had been replaced with vast picture windows that showed the sweeping expanse of moorland beyond, and a small sliver of the car park at one end. Craning your neck, you saw a group of maybe five or six bikers draw up, some on hipster looking cafe racers and others on racy sports bikes. There was even a Ducati Panigale among them, and behind them followed an old, battered, blue pickup truck.

The door opened a little while later, and you glanced over, eyes drawn instinctively by the movement.

Above the general chatter and merry chinking of china in the room, the energy of the new group of bikers rose like a cloud of dizzy mayflies; buzzing and excited and full of joy. You watched them all with interest from your perch at the counter.

The first through the door was an absolute Amazon of a woman, with her long black hair restrained in a thick braid, and shoulders the width of a barn door. She was lean and tall, and in her biker gear she looked… incredible. Her face was strikingly handsome, but until she glanced down at the woman walking beside her, her features were hard and glowering and unspeakably stern. She held the door open for one of the others to follow her inside, but when she locked eyes again with the brunette by her side, her whole expression melted into unguarded adoration. Your gut twisted briefly with jealousy.

It wouldn’t matter to you who looked at you like that, if only someone would.

You looked away, and by the time you glanced back at the bikers, the whole group had filed in from outside. There was a guy with golden-brown skin and beautiful dark brown eyes who had his arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a pale, skinny guy in black jeans and a moth-eaten, black jumper, with his long hair tied back in a bun, and behind them came a strikingly attractive guy in a manual wheelchair, flanked by a very short biker with slightly anaemic looking skin. You wondered fleetingly if the guy in the wheelchair had ridden a motorbike there, and if so how, before you realised he was probably the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, with long, flowing red hair and dark green eyes, and the kind of mouth that was made for laughing, and for kissing.

Jesus, was it an unwritten rule of being a biker that you had to be unfairly attractive? Even Hank, who you recognised with a start of surprise coming in behind the guy with red hair, wasn’t unattractive, in a bulky, older man kind of way.

The guy walking with him though… he truly made your stomach swoop.

It was Oats.

You looked away before he could spot you, sitting alone at the bar like some pathetic creature waiting for cocktail hour to begin. It was lunchtime on a sunny, autumnal Saturday though, and there you were sitting alone because you didn’t fancy sitting with your brother’s loser mates.

God, the way Oats had looked in his tough-looking leather jacket, with his eyes crinkled mid-laugh at something the guy in the wheelchair had shot back at them over his shoulder… You bit your lip and stared into the bottom of your cold, empty mug like it would divine some kind of solution to your situation for you.

The new group didn’t seem to notice you while they filed up to the counter, jostling and joking, and when they drifted off to another corner of the cafe, you turned back to your phone, trying desperately to resist the almost overwhelming urge to keep turning over your shoulder to watch them.

Before too long however, you startled at a soft tap on your shoulder, and you looked around to find Oats himself stepping back to a polite distance and smiling down at you like he’d found a treasure in an unexpected place.

“Hey there,” he said in that rolling, Scottish accent that did unspeakably indecent things to your insides. “Sorry if I’m intruding, but you were at Full Moon last week, right?”

Mute for a moment, you nodded, and mustered up a slightly dazed smile for him.

“You… here alone?” he asked, eyeing the currently-empty seats to your left and right. In fact, someone had only just gathered up their belongings and left.

“Kind of?” you croaked, letting your eyes slide over to the table where your brother and his friends were hunched over one of their phones, snickering at something. “It’s… It’s my brother’s birthday today. I… tagged along as pillion, but… you know… I’m kind of a spare part really.”

At that, Oats’ dark eyebrows knitted into a scowl and he looked across the room at them before returning his attention to you. Then, his unearthly, almost prismatic, silver-green eyes took in your empty cup and he grinned. “Can I get y’a top up?”

Your instinct was to refuse, but you bit your lip. This didn’t feel real. A cute, handsome, courteous guy was actually taking an interest in you.

“Sure. Thank you.” And the smile that spread itself across your face telegraphed your delight in a way that was impossible to disguise with any kind of suave grace.

Oats, however, seemed equally delighted, and nodded. The barista came back over and he leaned his weight on the counter to talk to her. He seemed to have that enviably easy manner with everybody, and he even charmed a free slice of cake out of her too with what felt like no effort at all.

“Chocolate? Or something else?” he asked you.

“Pardon?”

“Cake.”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” you said, but he frowned.

“You sure? I’m gonna have a bit of their chocolate cake. It’s so good, it’s practically a sin.”

“I…” you faltered.

He didn’t pressure you though and shrugged easily, turning back to the barista. “Gimme two forks with that, love. Just in case.”

“No problem,” she beamed back while she bustled about, and Oats eyed the empty bar stool next to yours.

“May I?”

You swallowed your nerves and nodded. “Please.” And then, because apparently a demon of confidence had temporarily possessed you, you eyed his slightly helmet-flattened forelock and said, “No pink hair clips today?”

He guffawed loudly enough that your brother actually glanced over and frowned when he saw you talking with a stranger.

Oats snorted and shook his head. “No, not today. My daughter is still up in Scotland with her mother.” He fixed you with a more serious look and said, “She and I divorced, before you get the wrong idea about me flirting like this with a beautiful woman.”

The compliment caught you so off-guard that you just froze for a moment, but when the heat of a blush filled your face, you looked away and he chuckled.

“I’m not normally so forward, but I’ve been kicking myself for not talking to you when I first saw you in Full Moon. Hank was telling me just this morning what a muppet I’d made of myself for walking away like that.”

You looked behind you at the group of his friends and then turned back to him. “Won’t they think you’re being rude, ignoring them like this?”

He shook his head and smiled. “They’re probably all taking bets on how quickly you’ll shoot me down.”

“What? I’d have to be an idiot to do that.”

At that, his face split into a huge, handsome grin and he shook his head just a little. “Lucky me,” he said. “You ride?” he added, eyeing your jacket that was obviously a motorcycle jacket.

You shrugged. “Pillion. I’ve never ridden myself, but my brother lets me come out with him sometimes.”

Oats nodded, and then, as the barista set down his coffee, your top-up, and the plate of decadent chocolate cake with two forks, he said, “I’m Euan, by the way, but everyone calls me Oats.”

You introduced yourself, and then said, “Oats?”

He snorted and nodded. “Not the worst nickname, for sure.”

“Can I ask where it came from?”

Oats nodded and shunted the plate towards you first before leaning his elbow on the bar and watching you while he spoke. “I think it’s because I’m a dad, but I’m always prepared for most situations, and when it comes to my Natalie, she’s always hungry. I’ve usually got about a thousand granola bars stashed away about my person —” he said, cutting himself off to pat conspicuously at his jacket pockets. Pulling a slightly dog-eared crunchy bar from his breast pocket, he wielded it like a magic wand at you and said, “Case in point.”

“Hence, Oats,” you said, eyeing the healthy brand name on the packet.

“Exactly. Like I said, it could be worse. See the tall lass over there with the dangerous scowl?”

You didn't need to turn around to know which of his friends he was talking about, but you did anyway. “Yeah.”

“We call her Pixie.”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Probably not,” he chuckled, stowing the granola bar back into his pocket and taking a huge scoop of the chocolate cake with his own fork.

“What do you ride then?” you asked.

“Triumph Bonneville T120,” he said with almost exactly the same intonation and fondness as he’d just said ‘because I’m a dad’, and you couldn’t help smiling. “Can’t be doing with all these glitzy sports bikes and the like,” he added with a laugh, setting his fork down and blinking slowly. His lashes, you noticed, were thick and dark and enticingly long.

Laughing, you smiled. “Don’t say that too loudly — my brother rides an R1.”

“Nice,” Oats grinned back. “But nothing could entice me away from my girl.”

“I’m surprised you’re here, flirting with me then,” you said. Evidently that confidence demon was still lurking.

Again, Oats laughed, though it was more of a low whicker this time, and it rolled right through you and lit you up all over. God, how long had it been since someone had laughed like that for you?

“There are… exceptions,” he said in a rumbling murmur. “Tell me about yourself?” he asked, and you did.

You spent the next hour at least talking in an easy back and forth with him while he charmed a few more refills from the barista and a lot of answers out of you, before one of his friends sidled up shyly and waited for a lull in your conversation.

“Sorry to butt in,” the small, unbelievably beautiful woman said. She was the one who’d been on the receiving end of the adoring look from the Amazon, ‘Pixie’. She had chocolate-brown hair falling in thick ringlets around a gorgeous face, and, you were pleased to note, she had wide hips and a softness to her that a lot of the biker chicks you’d seen online didn’t have.

“Coco,” Oats beamed. “Meet my new friend.” He introduced you by name, and Coco smiled at you, holding out her hand.

When your palms connected, you felt a warmth rush through you and you felt like your heart skipped a beat. The feeling like you could tip forwards and drown in her endless, dark brown eyes almost unseated you, but she let go of you and stepped back with a pretty smile on her Cupid’s-bow lips. “Pleasure to meet you. Just wanted to tell Oats that we’re thinking of heading off soon. Ariel has a photoshoot he wants to get to in an hour or so, and Demon’s keen to get going as well.”

Oats nodded, and you tried not to let your stomach drop down to your boots at the thought of all this coming to such an abrupt end.

Coco turned her head sharply to look at you just as the feeling hit, and she smiled faintly. “You could always stay here though, Oats,” she added with a pretty smile. “We’re only going back to Full Moon, and Demon clearly has no intention of lingering there…” She shot a meaningful glance back at their table. Demon, the guy with dark hair and tanned skin, was seated with the guy he’d entered with now draped in his lap, his skinny legs dangling as he sprawled languidly back against the guy’s muscular chest. Demon whispered something into his ear before he clearly bit the shell of his boyfriend’s ear, which made him sit abruptly upright and flush a vibrant pink.

Oats laughed again and shook his head. “Fuck me,” he chuckled privately. “Never thought I’d see the day. You guys go on. I’m… I’m very much content here.”

“I can see that,” Coco smirked, and walked away.

When she was out of earshot, you turned to Oats with a hot flush of your own in your face and said, “Don’t stay if you don’t want to… I’m sure my brother will be leaving soon anyway…”

Just as you said that, and before Oats could reply, Alex reappeared at your side and jutted his chin in Oats’ direction. “You good?” he chirped at you.

“Fine,” you replied. “This is Oats. I met him at Full Moon Motorcycles when I was buying your birthday present.”

“Oh,” Alex replied, holding out his hand for Oats to shake. “Good to meet you, man. You tell her what to get for me? If you did, it was a good choice.”

“No,” Oats said carefully, his grey-green eyes sliding back to your face even while he shook your brother’s hand amicably. “No, whatever she got you, it was all her.”

“Oh, cool,” Alex said. “Listen, sis, we’re gonna hit the road in a while. Nooner and Eggs want to hit the twisties for a bit, but I can’t really do that with a backpack, so Sparky said he’d give you a ride home, if that’s ok.”

You swallowed. “Um…”

“I can give her a lift,” Oats replied after a swift glance in your direction. “She’s already got her own lid, and there’s room on the Bobber’s double seat for both of us.”

“I don’t know, man,” Alex said with a wary frown.

“Your choice,” Oats shrugged easily, looking at you and holding his hands up just a little.

For a fleeting moment, you weren’t sure, but the idea of wrapping your arms around Oats’ thick middle and sitting astride his gorgeous bike kind of decided it for you. Besides, it was a long time since you’d done anything truly just for yourself; simply because you wanted to. You nodded at your brother. “It’s fine. You go ahead.”

“You sure?”

Nodding to reassure him, you smiled again and Alex backed up a pace. “Cool. Text me later, ok?” he said as he retreated towards his friends, clearly trying to hide his excitement at not having a passenger for the great, twisting section of A-road they were heading for.

“Will do. Have fun, and don’t crash!” you called after him. “Or get a speeding ticket!”

He waved a hand over one shoulder without looking back, and you laughed and returned your attention to Oats. “Brothers.”

“Bikers,” he replied. “You try telling that to any of that lot though —” he gestured towards his own group of friends who were now filtering out of the door. “You ready to head out too or do you want to stay?”

You did want to stay, but the seat wasn’t that comfortable anymore, and you wanted to move around a bit. “No, I’m good to go,” you said and prepared to slide off the stool, but Oats stepped down first and held out his hand to you. You didn't need helping down, and his playful little smirk told you he knew as much, so you rode out the last of that demonic possession and let your fingers slide across his palm and he steadied you off the stool.

“Thank you,” you smiled.

“Pleasure.”

You picked up your helmet from where you’d stowed it on the floor at your feet and straightened to find him waving casually across the room to the good-looking guy with the ethereally pretty boyfriend. Before he stepped away from you and made towards the door though, you cleared your throat and said, “Oats?”

“Mn?” Looking down at you, his entire attention honed in on you, like you were the centre of the universe, and you swallowed back a sudden welling of emotion.

“Listen… Thank you… for… coming over to me today. Like I said, it’s my brother’s birthday, and he was here with his friends, and he only included me so I didn’t feel completely left out, but…” Accursed tears washed over your eyes for a moment but you blinked them away furiously and ploughed on regardless. “I’m really glad I came along today anyway,” you finished rather pathetically.

His full, beautiful lips curled into a gentle smile and he blinked softly and exhaled. When he spoke, his voice was low and his words private, as though you weren’t standing in a busy cafe surrounded by people and the cheerful clatter of coffee cups and laughter. “I’m really glad I did too. I wasn’t going to, you know? I was going to stay at home and edit a boatload of raw photographs for a client, but Demon convinced me to come out. I guess I owe him.”

“‘Demon’? For… For the speed?” you asked, wondering how he came by his nickname.

“For the horns,” Oats replied in deadpan humour. “Have a look if he’s still there when we go outside. You ready?”

You followed him out of the cafe with a nod, and just as you took a deep, indulgent breath of fresh, heathland air, Oats’ group of friends filed out past you on their bikes. The one named Demon was in the lead, and the nickname made immediate sense. Sitting astride a blood-red Panigale, with his boyfriend clinging on behind him like a limpet, the guy had pale, curving horns fixed to the crown of his helmet.

“Yeah, that tracks,” you said, and Oats waggled his dark eyebrows.

The Amazon had a Yamaha R1 like your brother’s, but hers had a pearl-white wrap that made it look almost spectral, and riding out in front of her was Coco on a yellow and black Honda Hornet.

The telltale red plait told you that the guy in the wheelchair was on a modified Kawasaki, with unusual struts at the back that looked like they would come down when he stopped to stabilise him instead of having to take his legs off the foot pegs, where they were currently Velcro-ed in place. Watching the whole group file out was Hank, standing beside a battered old pickup. In the bed of the truck, you could just see that the red-headed biker’s wheelchair secured in place.

Hank waved the last of them off, then glanced over at Oats. The older man lifted his nose just a little, as if he too was enjoying the fresh, moorland wind that whipped across the car park, and he nodded once at Oats, and then at you to your surprise, before clambering stiffly up into his pickup and closing the door. It shut with a raucous yelp of rusty hinges.

You stood there and watched Oats’ friends all file out, all waving at Oats as they passed, before they set off down the road in a roar of revving engines to leave a lonely looking Bonneville waiting patiently near the stone wall of the car park nearby.

“Yours, I presume?” you said, nodding at it.

“Yup.”

“She’s a beauty,” you mumbled, self-consciousness prickling at the sides of your neck for the silly comment.

Oats beamed though, his sea-foam eyes lighting up as the crinkles around his eyes and the slight dimples in his cheeks creased under the force of his obvious pleasure. “Thank you. She’s my pride and joy. You ready? Oh, wait, you should put your address into my phone before we get going,” he laughed.

You nodded, taking the offered phone from him. Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you took it, and a tiny thrill passed through you that you did your best to quash. With your address plugged in and a route home waiting to be followed, you handed it back to him and looked up into his handsome, rugged face as he smiled.

“Cheers. Let’s go,” he said, and you trailed along beside him over to his bike, heartbeat thudding in your ears with your nerves.

He swung a leg over and turned the key, then pushed the bike upright and nudged the side-stand in with his left foot before flicking the switch and bringing the bike to life. She growled beautifully, the low, thundering rumble of her engine sounding far more visceral and primal than your brother’s sports bike did. Perhaps it was the design of the lower-slung Bonneville, with its visible parts that made you think of a Steampunk aesthetic, but you instantly preferred it. Plus, the double seat looked way more cushioned — and less precarious — than the one you’d perched on to get to the cafe that morning.

Oats got himself comfy while you slid your helmet on, then he looked over his shoulder at you and nodded, so you took that as your cue and got settled on the pillion seat behind him. The footpegs were already down. The pulsing purr of the machine beneath you was almost enough to distract you from the fact that you were entrusting your life to a relative stranger, whom you’d never seen ride before, and as you climbed on and rested your hands politely on his shoulders, you felt a shiver travel through your whole nervous system.

“Do whatever’s comfortable for you, obviously,” Oats said over the noise of his bike, “But if you want to hold my waist — if you can actually get your arms around my middle, that is,” he chuckled self-effacingly, “— feel free. Totally up to you.”

“Thanks,” you yelled back, and, because apparently that pesky demon of confidence was still kicking around, you hugged his torso.

It was wonderful.

Slowly snaking your arms around his middle, you felt your chest press against his back and you caught the way he inhaled slowly and tried not to wonder what it meant. It felt so good to hold him that you had to remind yourself it wasn’t a hug. It was to keep you in place while a gorgeous stranger drove you home on his equally gorgeous bike. With a final thumbs-up to check you were happy, to which you replied with a nod of your head and tried not to clack your helmet against his, he pulled away and your heart leapt for the sheer joy of it.

Where the R1 was built for sleek speed and bursts of power, the Bonneville was build to be enjoyed, and oh gosh, did you enjoy every curve.

And not just the curves in the road, either.

Oats was soft, but he was solid, and the urge to rest one hand on his thick thigh was almost overwhelming, until he took the corners at just the right pace to be exhilarating without you having to worry about your safety, and you clung on instead and laughed behind the safety of your visor.

It was all over way too soon, and as the Bonneville chugged into your road like a steam train and halted outside your poky, terraced house with its quaint little kitchen garden out the front in the postage-stamp of space between the pavement and the house, your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. Please don’t let this be it, you thought desperately.

You went through the motions of getting carefully off the bike without staggering or falling, and again, Oats held out his hand to help steady you. You gripped his fingers gratefully and when you gave an extra little squeeze to his hand at the end, you could have sworn he answered with one of his own and a throaty chuckle.

He dismounted too, which surprised you, and you wondered if you were going to have to ask him inside. As much as you wanted that in principle, you desperately didn’t want it to happen today because the house was a mess: laundry was still hanging up all over the place, and you’d cooked a curry the previous night and it was definitely still lingering in the air.

Oats took off his helmet but left his bike idling, which went a little way to reassuring you, and when you looked more closely at his expression, you thought you saw a hint of something familiar lingering in the corners of his eyes. Was he nervous?

Swallowing thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing behind the thick, 5 o’clock shadow that looked like it lingered pretty constantly no matter the time of day, Oats took a deep breath, held it, and then smiled at you. “Fuck,” he exhaled, and laughed. “I’m… very rusty at all this.” He held his helmet in both hands before him, toying with the strap.

“If I gave you my number, would you maybe like to meet up again?” you asked, taking pity on the man.

“Very much,” he said softly. “Like I said, Natalie is with her mum for the holidays, and apart from a wedding I’m covering next week, this is a pretty slow time of year for me. I’m free… mostly whenever.”

The reminder that he had a daughter with someone else did make you wonder what you were letting yourself in for. Children weren’t really something you had any expense of, since neither you nor your brother had shown any parental inclinations yet, and you weren’t particularly close to your cousins who had small kids.

“Ok, let me give you my number and we can figure something out.”

That done, he slid his phone back into his pocket and zipped it up, biting gently at his lower lip for a moment. “I know it’s bold,” he said, “But may I kiss you?”

Your heart skipped and soared. Breathless, you looked up at him and whispered, “Yes.”

His tiny, gentle, lopsided smile heralded the kiss’ approach, and he took your jaw delicately in one, leather-gloved hand as he leaned down and brushed his lips against yours. They were soft but insistent against yours, and you answered with a little moan as your eyes fluttered shut.

He groaned, pulling you closer with a low growl so that you were pressed flush against him for a moment before he stepped back and exhaled roughly. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Thank you. I’ll… I’ll see you soon?”

You nodded, feeling like you were floating inches above the ground.

You watched him re-mount his bike and adjust himself a little once he was settled, then he revved it playfully for you, and rode away after a final look back at you. He flipped his visor down as he pulled away, and you watched the bike and its rider disappear down the road.

‘Soon’ couldn’t come soon enough… 

__

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[enby-jellyfish]

Shout out to my fellow ace monster lovers <3

[running-with-kn1ves]

cw: borderline nsfw, werewolf tings, tit sucking

Im thinking... sinfully perverted thoughts. Sucking on your werewolf boyfriend's big ol' tits. It started out simple-- he was just a moving pillow, chest so soft and pliable with a curved body that could practically envelop you with its warmth and softness.

When you laid on him at the end of each tough day, buried your face in between his pecks to avoid the sun's wrath in the morning, watching him stroll around with bedhead and no shirt as a tooth brush hangs from his mouth-- they all lead up to your depraved obsession. You joked with him at first, grabbing his chest from behind and using him as a stressball, saying you'd have to start buying bras for him to cover those D-cups. But a heavy makeout session can make you do things without a forethought.

Such as, leaving a trail of love bites below his collar bone, hickieing below his right nipple, latching on as if it was the most natural continuation. A slight "ah-" leaves his bitten lips. But you continue like nothing, letting him put a clawed hand against the back of your head, trying to pull you back to his lips. It was his fault for being fresh out the shower, shirtless and wet hair calling you to run your hands through. You had kissed your way up to his other peck before you were dragged into a mouth of sharp, throat-cutting teeth.

"Such a weirdo," he mumbled, massaging the hickie you left on his sensitive bud. But it wasn't long before you found you way back to the untouched left peck, straddling his waist after a dry hump session he initiated into you from below. It was only a few more weeks until rut season, you were treading dangerous waters getting him worked up like this with no release.

But like an addict you ran to his free nipple, ignoring the werewolf's desperate attempts to shimmy off his sweatpants. The once wet strands sticking to his forehead from the shower, now sheened with sweat. Tongue circling, small rubs just below his belly button, you were creating a mess of drool and embarrassment below you.

"Why you keep doin' that.. feels weird.." He gruffs, almost bucking into your palm when your hand reaches his upper thigh. "Can't you suck a little lower." He laughs with a short palming of his crotch, wishing the stiffness below his lazy cotton sweatpants was what you were obsessed with keeping your mouth on.

But your boyfriend realizes you won't let up, not when his tanned, enlargened chest muscle popped in your mouth like a sweet treat. Shiny eyes looking up at him with mischief, watching him pant with an open mouth and a wince everytime you pinched his free nipple. He might've not enjoyed it as much as you did, but the slowly inching fingers below grey fabric and his boxer-less hips was more than enough to make up for your teasing.

You relished in his groans, bulged biceps curling to grab a pillow to shove over his face. He practically bounced into your hand, squeaking when your teeth bit at his nipple, bite marks on the side of his breast. It was freeing, having the ability to pay him back for all the wolfy slobbering and harsh teeth sinking he did when the full moon rose. And you didn't feel bad one bit-- in fact, you should've taken up this tit obsession sooner.

[monstersighing]

MDNI 18+

Summer Storm

Tentacled Sea God Monster x AFAB Reader

Words: 1600

Content Warnings: NSFW, tentacles, non-human genitalia, light somnophilia, blindfolding, come play, praise kink, face fucking.

A prequel to this.

+++

You move to the town in spring. It’s a quaint place next to the sea and the job you lucked into keeps you busy during the day, but the nights are lonely.

The locals are nice enough but seem shocked whenever you tell them you’re living right next to the seashore. The rent was suspiciously low and the homes on either side of you are empty. You assumed it was because it was out of season and the other houses were holiday homes. Once, your colleague muttered about bewitching sea creatures. You laughed because who believes in things like that in the modern world. You chalked it up as a story made up to scare out-of-towners.

+++

Summer should be over, but a late heat wave has you hot and restless. You’ve left the window open a crack and the breeze blows over your skin as you lie on your bed. It’s humid and you’ve stripped down to your underwear. You hope the weather will break soon.

No one comes to this end of the beach to walk or even in a boat to fish, perhaps because of the sharp rocks that poke out of the sea, visible even at high tide. You leave the curtains in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in your bedroom open at night. You don’t bother to close them when you slide your hands up to palm your chest and tease each nipple.

You’re restless, so you tease your hands over the sensitive skin of your thighs, circling your fingers closer to your cunt and then away, over and over. You think about what you want: to be held tight, to be told what to do, to be fucked until you can’t think. You slide two fingers across your leaking cunt, gather the wetness and rub it over your clit. When you push those fingers inside your hole you imagine being fucked into and brought to the edge of pleasure over and over until your cunt not being filled would feel like a loss. You come hard, with your pussy clenching at your fingers.

I want someone to take me, you think as you fall asleep.

You dream of walking out of your home and onto the sand, and then into the cool water of the sea, guided by a voice that tells you it will give you what you want; that it will give you what you need. The water laps against your ankles, and you wade forward until you are knee-deep. You turn and look at your home on the seashore, your bedside lamp lighting up the bedroom.

You sense a presence behind you. Before you can turn, hands grasp your arms and sharp teeth press into the side of your neck.

“Mine,” a voice says, warm and possessive.

A body, tall and broad, presses against your back and then you feel something slipping over your waist. You look down to see tentacles. Tiny pinpricks of light shift over their surface, and their tips stroke across any exposed piece of skin they can reach.

“Yours? Take me then.” You push your underwear down your hips and kick them into the water, and press your ass back against the body behind you, then--

You wake up to the blare of your alarm.

After lying in bed for a few minutes replaying the dream – how vivid it was, and how strange - you shake it off and get up to get a shower before work.

+++

This dream is different. You’re laid out on your bed and being covered with a thousand touches. Tentacles shift against your thighs, others squeeze your breasts and use their suckers to pull at your nipples, making them stiff and tender.

You push your thighs together, aching for friction.

“No,” a voice says.

You jerk and open your eyes, but it stays dark. Your hands reach up and you feel something pressing across your eyes. Heavy, cylindrical, cool to the touch: another of this creature’s appendages, then? It’s pressed lightly across your eyes, like a blindfold.

“I came for you,” a voice says from above you. It’s the voice from the dream, low and vibrating.

“You- you were a dream.”

“I’m not that. I am what the people here used to call a god of the sea, and worship as such. I hear pleas like yours. And I decide whether to answer them.” The bed dips under his weight and you smell the bright marine scent of the sea god as he crouches above you. His hands press down on either side of your head, and he rumbles in your ear, “I heard you, and then I saw you. You looked so desperate laid out on your bed. So alone. I decided to answer. And now I am here.” He presses a thumb to your lower lip and strokes. “Do you want me to continue?”

You nod your head.

“Out loud.”

“Yes,” you say.

“Good girl,” the sea god says, and you feel a rush of heat flush down your face and neck.

“My name is [name], not girl,” you say.

There’s a huff of amusement from the sea god, and he says, “You may call me Lir.” And then the tentacles around your thighs tighten and pull your legs apart and fold your knees.

Lir’s finger trails up your slit and begins to rub at your clit. “You look perfect,” he says. You feel vulnerable, exposed like this.

“I want to see you,” you say.

“When you’ve earned it.”

He kisses you then. His mouth tastes of salt. His finger continues to rub at your clit as a tentacle joins it, circling your entrance. It pushes inside slowly, the girth increasing as it goes until you feel stretched and full. Another feeler wriggles in after. The two tentacles set up an undulating rhythm, pushing in and out in counterpoint. Pleasure rises within you in overlapping waves.

Lir’s position above you means you can feel his cock graze the skin of your heaving belly and drip pre-cum on your skin. The brush of his cock, the sound of his tentacles inside your wet hole: It’s both too much and not enough. But when you try to shift - to push the tentacles further inside or pull away, you’re not sure - the appendages on your thighs just grip tighter, holding you immobile.

The tentacles inside you twine then stiffen further, pushing at the walls of your cunt. You tilt up your chin, a silent please to be kissed, and Lir does. As his tongue slips into your mouth there is a simultaneous push in and up by the tenacles inside you, and they hit a spot that turns everything into white noise. They return to that spot again and again until you come with your hips trying to jerk up and failing, your body still pinned in place.

The tentacle over your eyes slips away, but you keep your eyes closed. The ones in your cunt untwine and slowly slip out of your swollen hole, leaving you feeling empty. Your legs are lowered to the bed.

“You were good,” Lir says. “So you may open your eyes.”

You do, and you see he is beautiful. Bent above you so your face is almost touching his, you can see his skin is mottled in shades of dark and paler grey. His eyes are large and intense, and his hair surrounds his face in black waves. His face looks kinder than you imagined, and his mouth is wide and generous.

You look down and see the proud jut of his cock. It’s thick, with a ring of suckers near its base. A fringe of small feelers surrounds it where a man might have pubic hair. You want it in your mouth.

“Please,” you say, “please let me-” And you don’t finish because Lir’s hands are around your waist to pull you up against the headboard of the bed. He rises and pushes his cock towards you, and you lean forward to suck it into your mouth.

The thickness of Lir's cock makes your mouth stretch wide, and drool drips down your chin. It’s too long to fit fully so you alternate between taking as much as you can and pulling off to twist your hand around the base whilst lapping at the head. Lir’s hips shift minutely back and forth. His hand settles on top of your head but it doesn’t push. With a frustrated noise, you pull your mouth off his cock and say, “Do it.”

Lir's hands tighten in your hair, and he pulls your face forward until your lips are stretched around the ringed base of his cock. You feel it head slam against the back of your throat, shift back and then slip past as he fucks your face. Back and forth, back and forth: his cock fills your mouth so fully that you can’t breathe. Your eyes water as he holds your head against his crotch and his cock slips deep into your throat. You feel his cock twitch, and with a grunt, he pulls you off and tilts your face back. He grips his cock with his other hand and pumps it - once, twice - and comes across your mouth and chin in spurts.

When your breath has become less ragged, you lean forward, close your eyes and lick the head of Lir’s cock clean. The tendrils around the base of his cock fan across your face as you do this, brushing the spilt come into your mouth for you to swallow. Your mind drifts, and it’s only Lir’s hand on your face that makes you open your eyes again.

“Sleep now,” Lir says. He turns you onto your side and settles behind you. His arm drapes over your waist, and his tentacles tangle around your legs.

“Sweet dreams,” you say. Lir makes a noise that might just be amusement and presses a closed-mouthed kiss to the back of your neck.

You look out of the window and see that it has begun to rain.

[teratosfavouritesnack]

~Wet for the Doctor~

gynecologist!lizard man x fem!human - medical kink, dub-con (is it?), gyno exam, vaginal fingering, finger fucking, multiple orgasms, soft dom/sub power dynamic, monster with human kink

You've been missing your doctor so much that you come up with a dumb excuse just so you can see him again.

3,7k.

The chill, comfortable aura of the clinic wasn't really helping soothe your nerves; your thighs were twitching and your hands sweating even more than usual. You pressed your palms on the fabric of your dress, attempting to stop your legs from shaking and wipe your skin.

You weren't scared. On the contrary, you were excited. Your jitters weren't caused by apprehension but rather by... anticipation. 

Yes, anticipation. You had been waiting for this day. You had called in, asking for an appointment way before your routine check-up because you had been missing him terribly. 

It was a wicked attraction. Deplorable even. You couldn’t help it, though. Just thinking of him made your whole body tingle in elation. You couldn’t control it. You couldn’t fight against it, no matter how much your mind implored you to.

“-see you in three months. If the issue resurfaces in the meantime, call me immediately so we can reschedule our appointment.”

You could hear a muffled but very familiar voice coming from behind the door. You squeezed your thighs, squirming on your seat, seeking out relief from the ache between your legs. You had been on the edge since you woke up in the morning, tensed up and wet even before you left your house to head to the clinic after lunch. The moment you’d see him again was getting closer and your body was growing restless. It was as if it ached for him, longed for his touch. Only he could give it solace.

The sound of steps grew closer. Your eyes were already locked on the door as it swung open, seeking to lay upon the source of all your sinful thoughts. A tall and lean elf woman stepped outside, lingering by the doorway, blocking your view of the room. Your jaw clenched upon seeing the saccharine smile plastered on her chiseled face. 

“Thank you dr. Duskcale. I wish you good work. May Lady Arassea watch over you.”

“Ah- Thank you. Take care.”

You were burning holes into her skull, mentally ordering her to leave and you didn’t avert your gaze from her until you saw her walk away and disappear behind the corner. It was ridiculous to feel jealous over someone you had no right to lay any claim to, someone who had to deal and take care of plenty of people’s needs on a daily basis, as his job requested. Many people like you. Yet, it made your stomach churn to think that anybody else beside you could harbor similar sympathies for your doctor. In your mind you were… special. You were different. His behavior towards you implied so, you were sure.

“Y/N.”

His voice startled you. Your head instantly snapped towards the door and there you saw him, standing in all his imposing height, the white coat hanging open from his broad shoulders, its pristine color a stark contrast to the teal blue shade of his skin. His long scaly tail was resting heavy on the floor beside him, with just the tip raised from the ground, swaying gently in your direction. Your chest fluttered the moment your eyes met his and you noticed the small smile grazing his reptilian features. Frustration left your body at once, jealousy leaving room for gratification as he gave you yet another confirmation to your thoughts; you were the only one he would welcome in himself instead of sending his assistant. That had to mean something.

“You may come in.”

You nodded and followed him into his office. Your hair stood on end, feeling his almond bright eyes trained on your back. When you turned your head to look at him, his gaze was indeed traveling over your body, pupils dilating and contracting in that odd way that you had grown very fond of. You had heard reptilians had a superior vision than humans and most other creatures, some could even see infrared rays… You prayed the latter wasn’t the case for your doctor, otherwise he would be able to see how hot your blood boiled under his gaze. How incredibly warm he always made you feel.

“Such a beautiful dress you’re wearing today. It suits you perfectly.”

A bashful smile took form on your lips just like every time he complimented you and your appearance. No matter how many times he did it before - at least once during each appointment - he’d always take you by surprise. Perhaps it was his way as a doctor to create a more friendly and easy going environment for the patient, or perhaps it was something he did only with you. You preferred to think it was the latter.

“Thank you… doctor.”

He had encouraged you to call him by his first name after only a few visits, but you preferred to use his title since you enjoyed watching him adjust his coat on his large body and give you a long look every time that word left your lips.

“Please, remove your underwear and lie on the table.”

And perhaps he enjoyed how he was always able to affect you with that routine request. His keen vibrant eyes remained on you until you nodded and moved behind the room divider to undress. 

You hurriedly removed your shoes and folded your soaking undies on the chair before returning to the center of the room. You tried not to pay too much attention to the cool air of the office meeting the dampness between your thighs. Your motions were rapid, almost hurried, yet sure as you hopped onto the table and laid on your back, shifting your body to find the most comfortable position. He approached you just as you were about to settle your feet on the footrests, his large rough palms gently wrapping around your calves to assist you. Your body buzzed with a wicked thrill as you watched him delicately roll the dress over your tummy to get it out of the way.

“There you go.” he whispered with that warm gentle voice of his, and you almost went into ruptures. Even with only a few simple words he could have you melting into a puddle at his feet. You were truly and utterly infatuated. 

At that point it was impossible not to focus on the humid air touching your damp folds, spread out as you were in front of him, nor at any slight brush of his coat against your skin. He could even as much as exhale in your direction and your body would shiver in response.

You locked eyes with him as he rested his hand on your thigh and squeezed it softly, almost affectionately one would say - it certainly felt like that to you. Your walls instantly fluttered at the contact.

“So… What’s the matter? Something must have come up for you to take a new appointment before our routine checkup in three months.” There was a hint of concern in his tone as he said that, as well as in his gaze as he let it sweep your exposed pussy. He took a seat between your legs and his pupils started to do that weird thing again while he carried out the general pelvic examination. “I don’t see any changes from last time…”

As soon as his fingers made contact with your folds, your legs jolted and he halted his ministrations to look at you. Even from a seated position he towered over you so you could easily watch as his face scrunched up in a soft frown.

“Do you feel any pain?”

“Y-Yes… Well, no… Not exactly-”

His puzzled expression told you it was time to provide him with an explanation. It was time to reveal the ridiculous lie you had made up simply to have an excuse for seeing him again. When you went over it at home in the days leading up to the appointment, you didn't feel as silly and embarrassed as you did now that you stood - well, laid - in front of him. Despite how dumb you felt however, you couldn't avoid it.

"I recently started to see someone…a-a werewolf." you blurted out and instantly felt your stomach clench as you watched his eyes narrow. Did he… not like that? You had only seen him look that pensive, maybe even irritated, when he had to postpone one of your previous visits because his agenda was too full. He didn’t say anything about it though, so you cleared your throat and resumed with your lie. “He is very… uhm… endowed. Perhaps too much for me… So I'm afraid we can't… uhm-”

He hummed thoughtfully. His eyes were scanning your face now, peering at you as if he could see right through your blatant lie. Were you so easy to read? Or did he actually have some crazy eyesight abilities?

“Did you have intercourse with this… werewolf?”

You should have expected such a question, yet it caught you off guard, almost making you jump. One of his hands promptly moved to your upper thigh to knead your flesh as if wishing to ease your tension.

“I need to know in order to proceed.” he pointed out, his tone gentle and nurturing. “I’ve had many a patient who had very unfortunate encounters with such creatures. Werewolves tend to lose all lucidity when sexually aroused, especially when in heat. I should hope this wasn’t your case-”

“Oh, no no-! I-It wasn’t like that… Nothing really bad happened..”

“Well, that’s good to hear. But I still need you to answer.”

You nodded and bit your lip as you held his intense gaze.

"I did." you replied, watching his face harden. "B-But it didn't feel good so we stopped almost immediately!" You rushed to add, hoping that instead would please him.

You were mentally face-palming yourself at what you were saying. You hadn't really thought this through, you realized; you hadn't considered how nervous you'd be in his presence. Making up a lie was easy, saying it to his face was a completely different matter.

He was not pleased with that information, at all. He exhaled heavily, as if disappointed by what he had heard, and his gaze landed on your genitals once more. He stroked his fingers across the flesh of your inner thigh a few times before raising his thumb and slowly trailing it over your labia in a circular motion and then along your slit. His palm still resting on your thigh eased your instant tremors.

"He must not have had much experience if he couldn't manage to please you. He may not have prepped you adequately or at all... Inconsiderate, selfish beast." 

The gruff note in his tone was something you'd never heard before, but it rivaled his typically sweet and gentle voice in the way it made your stomach twist and your body heat up. It's possible you made a mistake by bringing up a werewolf since he seemed to have a quarrel with those creatures, or perhaps that could ultimately work to your benefit...

"It's not your fault," he said, eager to comfort you, sounding like himself again. That honeyed voice of his and the following flick of his thumb on your clitoris had your butterflies fluttering. "You are healthy. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you.” 

Your breath hitched as you felt the enlarged tip of his finger probe at your wet entrance, teasing contact that sent you quivering in anticipation. You gulped in a poor attempt to pace yourself.

“However, I do need to carry out a vaginal examination just to make sure he didn’t cause any damage.”

He looked back at you, eyes silently asking for your approval. Only when you meekly nodded did he move his free hand to rest upon your lower abdomen and turned the other palm-up as he slowly placed one finger inside your hole. It slid in quite easily - given how slick you were at that point - despite being at least two sizes bigger than a human finger. 

You shuddered and turned your head to the side, making an effort to focus on anything besides him so as to release your muscles and delay the inevitable, which you sensed was already on its way. 

Your wandering gaze landed on the tools on the nearby table: a speculum and other strange-looking metallic objects he had never used on you before. There were also lube and gloves. He had never used those either. You were always ready for his examinations, and lubrication would be wasted on you. And the gloves… You had seen him take them off when the patients before you would head out but he never, not once, put on a new pair for you. 

He had given you an explanation at one point, as if picking up on your curiosity, stating that the large tips of his fingers were particularly sensitive to touch and could better detect irregularities when there was no layer between them and the surface being examined. His words made reasonable sense, although they didn't exactly explain why he wouldn't wear gloves for you, specifically. From that point on, you had more than once entertained the possibility that he actually enjoyed touching you with his bare hands…

You did now as well, that wicked thought redirecting your attention back to the finger exploring your channel and the friction caused by its scaly, bumpy texture rubbing against your sensitive walls. That rendered all of your efforts futile. You stiffened even more, unable to focus on anything other than the way it curled into your g-spot, hitting it insistently and expertly, until an orgasm crashed into you just a couple of seconds later.

You tried as hard as you could to mask it, sealing your jaw, stilling your tremors, gripping the edges of the table with your hands as hard as you could, but he could definitely feel you fluttering and gushing juices around him. You didn't look up, too embarrassed to meet his gaze, but you felt his palm fondly rub your tummy, which combined with the overstimulation, made it even more difficult for you to remain silent. You had to gnaw on the inside of your cheeks to muffle your moans, nearly to the point of bruising yourself.

If he sensed your orgasm, he said nothing about it as he kept on rubbing your throbbing walls. With your hole even more slick than before, he added another finger to the examination and pushed them both all the way to your cervix, curling them to reach that tender spot with his large fingertips. Your lips parted in a muted cry and your hand promptly rushed to cover your mouth.

“Do you feel any pain?”

He knew you felt no pain, he knew for certain but he still played the part, maybe because it aroused him just as much as it aroused you.

You hastily shook your head in response, your gaze returning to him to chance a look. You regretted it immediately. He was already staring at you, probably relishing your blushing and contorting face or perhaps even your stiffened nipples showing beneath the fabric of your dress. He seemed to have been waiting for you to look at him because the instant he had your attention, he stood up, opening your legs even wider, and pushed a third finger into you, forcing you to bite your lips to conceal a lewd whimper.

“He hurt you, didn’t he?”

You were too overwhelmed by the warmth and shivers rushing through you and forcing slick to gush from your hole to understand what he was referring to and so you simply nodded your head.

His face hardened again but the motion of his fingers didn’t falter. It remained slow, careful yet precise and deliberate. A touch that only someone like him could offer. A touch that would make anyone lose their right minds. It certainly made you lose yours.

You were totally unprepared when he inserted a fourth thick finger inside you, and you could not hold back a cry this time, nor stop your back from arching away from the table or your sock-clad feet to curl and fight against the footrests. The huge palm on your belly pressed gently but firmly into your soft flesh, pushing you back down onto the surface. 

"It's okay… It's okay.” he crooned. “You’re a bit tight. Please, try to release your muscles… It will be easier.”

Release your muscles? You had barely any control over your body at that stage but you mindlessly obeyed, only to tense up all over again when you felt another finger probe at your entrance, meeting resistance. This time, he rushed to your aid by pressing his other thumb against your clitoris. The additional stimulation of its pad tapping and rubbing tight circles over your pulsing bundle of nerves did the trick and his fifth finger promptly slid in, filling you up so perfectly as if it had a place within you designed specifically for it.

“Mmm… Good. Very good." 

The stretch was so insane, it took your breath away. You had his whole hand inside you. A hand that could easily exceed the huge girth of any werewolf’s cock, was moving in and out of you, fucking you leisurely, its fingers curling when deep inside your walls and hitting your cervix every damn time. You would have been trashing if he didn’t hold you still with his other palm resting on your hips, a palm that covered the whole expanse of your stomach. Even only the sight of it could make your insides melt in wicked pleasure and the thought that its exact twin was now buried inside you had your brain turn to mush.

“Is everything ok, sweetheart?” 

You gasped, your eyes widened in shock and locked on him. He had never called you like that before. The sound of his lovely, warm voice addressing you in such an affectionate manner caused you to short-circuit. You watched, dumb and panting heavily, as his free hand stroked your belly and traveled possessively up your stomach, even past the rolled hem of your dress, nearly touching the swell of your breasts before trailing back down to settle on your lower abdomen in an intimate and protecting grip. His thumb came to contact with your swollen bud again, and you barely had time to register the knot snapping in your belly before your body began to spasm violently and your vision went white. Waves and waves of pleasure overwhelmed you, triggering every nerve in your system to send electric shocks to course through your body.

His fingers continued to move inside you, slower than before, guiding you through the aftershock, while his other hand tenderly caressed your tummy, providing a comforting touch that helped you ground yourself.

"That was such a... good response." He said and you thought you heard his voice crack through the haze clouding your mind.

His cool palm settled on your cheek, fingers wiping the drool of saliva rolling off your lip. You struggled to focus your vision back on him, your heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open and closed a couple times before you managed to fix your gaze back on his face.

"Did he stretch you out like I've just done? Did anyone ever do it?"

You lazily shook your head, chest heaving hard, gaze still hazy. A low threatening rumble reached your muffled ears but it was gone before you could pinpoint what it was.

"That's very unfortunate. I'm sorry you had to encounter such miserable individuals." 

His fingers finally slid out of you with a lewd squelching sound that made your walls flutter and your face redden. His eyes were trained on your slick cunt, fingertips gently dragging along the slit, smearing your juices from your hole to your clitoris and back, causing you to jerk at each touch.

"Some beasts shouldn't be allowed to be intimate with anybody." he grumbled, eyes attentively following the movement of his fingers against you. "Especially not with creatures so fragile...so precious…”

It looked like he was talking to himself rather than to you. His tone was so soft you could barely hear it but packed with emotion. His head bent down towards you as if attracted like a magnet, and his jaw parted to reveal his forked tongue. The tip flicked through the air with clear purpose... 

Was he tasting your scent?

“You deserve so much better…”

His shocking words made your still tender body shudder and a gasp erupt from your lips. The sound seemed to break him out of whatever trance he'd fallen in. His eyes met yours, and the slit in his pupil narrowed so much to turn into a thin line. He drew back abruptly, as if he had caught himself upon doing something inappropriate. Turning to the adjacent steel table, he grabbed the paper towels and cleaned you with newfound self-control.

“I… need to see you again. Soon. As soon as possible.” He announced as he walked to his desk, discarding the dirty towels on the way. He sat and buried his smooth snout in his agenda, scanning over the pages with ever-growing irritation.

You still didn't feel completely like yourself as you eased down from the table and anchored your unsteady legs on the floor. Silently, you moved behind the divider with quick mindless steps and pulled your panties back on as well as your shoes.

When you came back out, he was standing in front of the desk, facing you and looking rather disappointed.

“We’ll have to see each other next week. Same day, same hour. I postponed some appointments but this is the best I could do.”

You simply nodded, unsure of what to say. You didn’t really trust your voice yet, anyway.

"I must ask you to abstain from attempting penetration again with that werewolf... or anybody else, if possible. Until I finish with your treatment."

You hadn’t the faintest idea what kind of treatment he was referring to but you didn’t dare ask. Whatever excuse he had for having you come over again worked for you. At least you didn't have to make up another stupid lie yourself. 

His bright eyes seemed to pierce you, as though expecting your agreement, and you rushed to answer.

"I w-won't see anyone."

"...Good."

You both fell quite for a moment. Your gazes were locked but your mouths were sealed shut. Neither of you risked giving voice to your thoughts, nor acknowledge the obvious tension buzzing between you two. 

He broke the silence first by clearing his throat.

“I hope you have a good week, Y/N. It's been… a pleasure to see you again.”

You took a long breath, hoping to ease your thundering heartbeat. Oh, you were hooked. Totally smitten with him… and whatever had happened only a couple minutes earlier made you believe that he had a soft spot for you, too.

“It's been a pleasure for me too… Adryan.”

🪷. You can leave me a tip on ko-fi if you want to support me ♡

Tagging: @strawberrypoundtown, @hikotaru, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @loveloveloveeee, @just-a-sewer-goblin, @h0n3y-l3m0n05 🖤

[monstersmashorpass]

SMASH OR PASS: Beast, Beauty and the Beast

Note from Mod Ghoul: Y'all this dude's an OG monsterfucker monster. A gateway to this for soooooo many. You better be voting to smash/date/cuddle/etc. House of Michael Mouse did my man dirty by turning him back okay-

Please reblog for greater sample size, as per usual!

[vesprynna]

🍃🍎Forbidden Love🍎🍃

🥳🥳Happy Birthday dear @unicornia93 !! 🥳🥳 I hope you have a wonderful day!! I decided to draw one of our oldest couples this year, my orc Tuska with Uni's sweet elf Nimue 🥰

Nimue, a young and naive elf from a woodland village living border to border with a brutal and unforgiving clan of orcs one day finds herself in a terrible predicament. She's been trapped in a snare, unable to free herself. Someone approaches, and she knows all too well what will happen when the orc who set the snare gets hold of her. She expects death - or worse, being kidnapped and taken away to the orc kraal to sire them more children.

But Tuska is not like other orcs. Tired of the bloodshed, of the death and the sick twisted ways the orcs have come to live by. He lets Nimue go, something he'd come to regret soon after. Her own clansmen leap to her rescue and in the ensuing fight, Tuska kills several elves in self defence. He and his warg are eventually brought down by strong sedatives and taken to the elven village for execution...

Devastated by the anger and vengefulness of her people, Nimue plots to release Tuska. His act of kindness towards her did not deserve to be rewarded with punishment of death - even if the elves and the orcs have been at war for generations. Someone had to be the first one to offer peace, and Tuska had shown her that it was possible.

So Nimue releases Tuska and his warg, Virga. The two later meet again while hunting, and as it often does, a forbidden attraction sprouts despite their better judgement. The two former enemies soon become lovers, but their love could not remain a secret. Tuska is found out, and his clansmen drive him out. Set to murder the young orc, the hunting band chases him through the woods where he runs into Nimue. They flee together, barely escaping after too much blood is spilt... Their future is uncertain, their love a crime, but can they persist? Can their love eventually change the hearts of others?