#fabric barrier is important to this

[beepbeepbithc]

god i need to grind on someone’s hard bulge until i cum,, please

[plasticairenvironmental]

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[nonasuch]

IT IS TIME: Miss Universe National Costume 2023

it's here! the Met Gala for people who actually understand what camp is!

yes I'm like 3 months late, but I sat down and watched the damn thing. I put up with the horrible little rhyming couplets for each contestant so you don't have to. and without further ado:

Albania: Starting off very Victoria’s Secret this year! Apparently it’s gold for important symbolism reasons, not just because everything in this competition is blinged out to within an inch of its life. The wings do look nice in motion!

Angola has a good balance of bling, actual cultural dress, and oh hey it has surprise bonus art on the back! That will be a theme this year.

Argentina: Why is there a guy in a hat right down at the bottom edge of her cape. He looks like he’s staring at her butt. How does this represent their flag.

Aruba: This is fine. I like the coral. She thinks climate change is bad. Her parrot is clearly way too heavy to hold up and it wobbles like crazy in motion.

Australia: This is now multiple years in a row that Australia has just worn a fucking prom dress. It’s got native wildflowers on. You could have made this exact same dress with a Great Barrier Reef theme and I would have liked it 80% more.

Bahamas: This costume is allegedly based on a 19th-century doll from the Bahamas “world famous straw market,” which is already bullshit; I googled “bahamas straw market antique doll” and like. they both have big skirts? I guess? Anyway now I’m too distracted by the way she has a hoop skirt awkwardly jammed under there and hiked up on one side. Minus ten for poor construction.

Bahrain's theme is “Bahrain’s pearl heritage,” which like. I guess? The headdress and yoke are pretty. Put more pearls on the actual outfit. Kudos for getting to wear pants.

Belgium: Girl. No. Why is your theme “Latin dance” and why are you wearing a spangly cocktail dress with a totally unrelated piece of fabric fluttering behind it? (Apparently the fabric was designed by a member of Belgium’s royal family? Who is a fashion designer? This is what nepotism gets you.)

Bolivia saw Aruba’s parrot and was like, I can do that better. And she was right! It’s way less wobbly and the costume as a whole does work better. Also made from recycled materials, so we’ll see if that’s a theme again this year. The back of the cape is nice too.

Sadly, Bolivia's parrot supremacy was short-lived, because Brazil was like, bitch please. I see your sad little parrots and raise you FOUR giant parrots, and also the shoulder parrots are articulated and can turn their heads back and forth. I think Brazil wins the parrot competition that only she knew she was in.

[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 🥺

[linopls]

kinktober day four

roleplay hyunjin x fem!reader summary: hyunjin has invited you to his art studio where he says you need to brush up on some of your basic art skills. warnings: professor/college student roleplay, lots of praising, nipple play, unprotected p in v 1.2k words

“are you sure you should be asking a student that, mr. hwang?” you’re sat on one of the stools in the middle of hyunjin’s small art studio. he’s sat across from you, an easel with a large canvas acting as a barrier between you.

he peeks out from behind the easel and pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “knowing basic human anatomy is a very important basic art skill all my students should have an understanding of.” 

“but how am i supposed to learn when you’re the one painting?” you ask while slowly starting to unbutton your shirt.

“a bit of a smart ass, aren’t you?” he retorts, tying his hair back and out of his face.

you giggle and slide the silky white fabric of the shirt down your arms and toss it at the foot of his easel.

“now your skirt,” hyunjin instructs while picking up one of the large brushes from his side table and dabbing into a color and smearing it on the canvas.

you stand up from the stool and make a show of sliding your skirt down to the floor and kicking it with your shirt.

“do you often forget to wear panties when you're having one-on-one meetings with your professors?” hyunjin asks, observing as you sit back on the stool.

“just the hot ones,” you tease. 

hyunjin chuckles and makes his way to where you are sitting. “i’m gonna put you in a pose, and you can’t move or you’ll mess up my proportions, okay?”

you nod and hyunjin slowly parts your legs to face his easel. he places one of your hands on one of your knees and the other to rest gently on your exposed clit. you gasp slightly at the sensation. hyunjin then positions your head to look directly at the easel. he moves back to his seat and admires the positon for a second.

“hmm,” he thinks aloud. “that works.”

he sits back on his stool and grabs another brush and begins to work on the canvas. you’re entranced by his focus expression looking to your and back to the canvas.

“you’re doing so well for me, staying still,” hyunjin praises. 

his words run straight to your core and you whimper softly. the gentle feeling of your fingers resting over your clit are driving you insane.

after about thirty minutes of working silence, hyunjin sighs and leans back to look at the canvas. 

“what’s wrong, mr. hwang?” you ask.

he doesn’t answer you, instead he gets up from the stool again and walks behind you. you notice the tent in his pants as he makes his way around you and you can help the rush of arousal that runs to your core. 

you feel hyunjin’s soft fingers on your back and fidgeting with your bras clasp. you feel the clasp release and your lacy bra fall down your arms, getting caught on your arms. hyunjin walks back to stand in front of you and assists in moving your arms from the spots to remove your bra and places your arms back.

“i need to see your full beautiful figure to finish my painting,” hyunjin purrs, moving one of his hands to your breast and pinching one of your nipples between his finger tips. you moan out in response and hyunjin smiles and sits back on his stool and begins working again.

in between one of his glaces from your body to his canvas hyunjin smirks.

“what are you thinking, mr. hwang?” you ask, curious about his expression change.

“i’m debating on if i should paint the puddle you’ve made on my stool,” he laughs.

you face flushes a deep run and you quickly look down at the stool below you.

“i didn’t say you could move,” hyunjin snaps. you quickly look back up at him and fix your pose.

hyunjin laughs again. “i’m doing final touches now, it’ll only be a minute longer.”

he keeps to his word and as the minute passes hyunjin turns the easel around to face you. you stare at the painting for a bit. embarrassed that its your naked body on the canvas, but amazed by his ability to capture details in such a short amount of time.

“it looks amazing, mr. hwang,” you say sweetly. 

“thank you, y/n.” he smiles.

“will you now tell me how i can improve my own work?” you ask.

“touch yourself for me,” hyunjin says blankly. “you deserve a reward for being so good for me.”

you whimper and slowly and finally put pressure on your begging clit. you rub small circles on the aching bud and hyunjin watches in awe. after a minute, hyunjin unbuckles his belt and pulls his pants down just enough to free his aching cock. 

hyunjin notices your attention shift from his face to his cock. “come here, y/n.”

you quickly get up from the wet stool and make your way in front of hyunjin. “yes, mr. hwang?”

hyunjin puts his hands on your hips and guides you to stand above his lap. he grabs his cock with one of his hands and lines it up with your entrance. you slowly slide down on his member and wrap your legs around hyunjin’s middle. you place your hands on his shoulders to balance yourself and hyunjin moves his hands down to cup your ass and meets his lips with yours. 

hyunjin kisses you with passion and lust like never before. he begins to thrust his hips up to meet yours and you both into each other's mouths. hyunjin stands up from the stool and walks you both over to his desk and sits you down on it. he breaks away from the kiss and places one of his hands on your hip and the other to cup your cheek.

“mr. hwang, please fuck me,” you purr.

“jesus,” hyunjin moans. 

he slowly slides his cock out of your slick hole and slams it back in quickly. he starts to fuck into you at a steady pace. you move one of your hands down to your clit and rub circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves. you unconsciously clench down on his cock and hyunjin hisses and quickens his actions.

you both moan out loudly and hyunjin moves his head so that his mouth is next to your ear.

“do you fuck all your professors, y/n?” hyunjin grunts.

you shake your head, “no, just you.”

“good girl,” hyunjin moans.

he moves his hand from your cheek and grabs the underneath of your knee and push it up against your body. the new position has you seeing stars and moaning out of control.

“hyunjin! please!” you cry.

“what did you just call me?” hyunjin grunts.

“i’m sorry!” you exclaim. “mr. hwang, i’m sorry.”

“good girl, good girl,” he says before pulling you into another kiss.

you whimper loudly and feel yourself coming closer to your release. you pull away first.

“mr. hwang, can i cum please?” you whimper.

“fuck, yes, cum with me, please.” hyunjin moans. he quickened his pace and with a few more thrusts you both finish with loud moans and cries. 

hyunjin slowly continues to fuck both of your through your orgasms and you rest your tired head onto his chest. when hyunjin stops he sighs loudly and places one of his hands on the back of your head and rubs small circles on your scalp. 

“you’re such a good student, y/n,” hyunjin giggles.

“thank you, mr. hwang,” you mumble into his soft chest.

HYUNJIN GLASSES >>>>>>

@rockstrhanji @hyunjinhoexxx @mixtape-racha @euphoric-univers @haruharu-egypt @shit-why-what @twiggoblin @kookiesbunny @virgohannie @nataliee10 @ihrtlix @aaasia111 @lolli4me @lilcutieana @changbinsrightboob @hanjisunglover @chansducky10 @elissasimp @boi-bi-ahaha @lilquokka04 @anglerfishiey @sirenscall1031 @might-be-a-rat @jihyun2monster @kpflyn @samsmitty @imwithurmother @meilix @summer3sworld @mysweethannie @kittykattime @linoots @yaorzu-blog @sofiaeli 

@alemi-i @cupidsmoons @yoongles2025 @vixensss @chlooooop @lemontried @idkluvutellme @superiorbrownskinn @ana-stasssiaaa @amayaaseees @ilikecatsanddoritos @alnex05 @esairevmp @greysweaters-blog @sanzusfavgf @jutannies @faraonatojishady @hanniemylovelyquokka @chloeskzboomboom @quinnluvsmoney @burningupp-replies @aisha-md @jo-dinner @jeannie-beannie @httpsimmy @hazneezs @cuffier 

@dvbkie099 @il0v3skz @chrishak@quokkaaah @bex90997 @sheeshhhhfelixsworld @leeknowyah @tumadreposts @hyunniebunni @cipher-ipher @alice630 @jinnies-princess @bangtancultsposts @evrythinghqppened @rebellescauses-blog @juicypebbless @fawnpeaks @the-life-of-stella @lakoya @compersian @seung-mine 

[bookwormjust]

Bad fall on the stairs (Established relationship, Cassian’s mate)

It started as a small misstep. One second, you were descending the long, spiraling staircase of the House of Wind, and the next, you were tumbling down, your body hitting the hard stone steps. By the time you reached the bottom, pain radiated through your side, but you quickly pushed yourself to your feet, brushing it off. No one had seen. That was the important part. You didn’t want to worry anyone—least of all Cassian.

You’d been with him long enough to know how protective he could be, especially when it came to your safety. If he found out, he’d hover, his overprotective instincts kicking in, making a big deal out of what you convinced yourself was nothing more than a few bruises. So, you locked your side of the bond tight, trying to keep the pain, the stiffness, and the bruises hidden.

Throughout the day, you carried on as usual, doing your best to ignore the throbbing ache in your side and the way your body protested with every movement. The bruises had bloomed dark and blue across your ribs, and it hurt to even breathe deeply. Still, you acted like everything was fine, smiling through the pain during dinner with the inner circle, sitting stiffly in your chair to avoid jostling your sore body.

Cassian sat across from you, watching you with that familiar, attentive gaze. His hazel eyes swept over you from time to time as he laughed and joked with Rhys and Azriel. You thought you were doing a good job of hiding it, but Cassian knew you too well. He didn’t miss the slight wince when you shifted in your seat or how you reached for your glass a little too carefully, as if your body might protest the motion.

After dinner, as everyone dispersed, you tried to slip away quietly, hoping to avoid any more attention. But Cassian wasn’t having it. You barely made it to your room when you felt his presence behind you—warm, familiar, and unmistakably determined.

"Y/N," he called softly, his deep voice echoing in the hallway.

You froze, your hand still on the door handle, your back turned to him. "Cassian, I’m fine. Just tired. I think I’ll go to bed early—"

He was in front of you in an instant, faster than you could finish your sentence. His large hand gently cupped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his intense gaze. "Don’t lie to me."

You opened your mouth to protest, but his eyes were sharp, scanning your face, then trailing down to the way you held yourself, stiff and tense, the way your hand hovered protectively over your ribs.

He inhaled deeply, his jaw clenching. "What happened?"

You swallowed hard, avoiding his gaze. "I just… fell down the stairs earlier. It’s nothing. I didn’t want to worry you."

His brows furrowed, a mixture of concern and frustration clouding his features. "You fell? And you didn’t tell me?" His voice was low, and though he tried to keep it calm, you could hear the undercurrent of worry.

"It wasn’t that bad," you insisted, trying to step around him, but he gently caught your arm, his fingers featherlight on your skin. "Cass, it’s just some bruises. I’m fine."

He didn’t let go, his gaze dropping to the side of your body where your movements had been stiffest. His face darkened as he noticed the faint outline of the bruises, the way the fabric of your shirt clung to your side. "Let me see."

You hesitated, but the bond between you hummed with his concern, and even though you’d tried to keep your side of it locked away, his emotions flooded through, seeping past the barriers you’d put up. He wasn’t just worried—he was scared. Scared that you were in pain and hadn’t come to him.

With a sigh, you pulled up the hem of your shirt, revealing the dark bruises that spread across your ribs. Cassian’s expression shifted immediately, his hand hovering just above the bruised skin, not quite touching, as if afraid to hurt you more.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" His voice was softer now, the edge of frustration gone, replaced with a tenderness that made your chest tighten.

"I didn’t want to worry you," you admitted, your own voice quiet, guilt settling in as you saw the hurt in his eyes. "I thought it wasn’t a big deal. I’m used to bruises, Cass."

His wings drooped slightly, and he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "You’re not just anyone, Y/N. You’re my mate. You don’t get to hide things like this from me."

You felt a lump form in your throat as you looked at him, his hazel eyes so full of concern, love, and the faintest hint of anger—not at you, but at the fact that you’d kept this from him. "I didn’t mean to."

Cassian reached out, pulling you gently into his arms, careful of your bruises. His large hand rested on your lower back, holding you close as he whispered against your hair, "I’m always going to worry about you. But that’s because I care. I need to know when you’re hurt, no matter how small it is."

You nodded against his chest, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, easing some of the lingering pain. "I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to be a burden."

He pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks. "You could never be a burden to me," he said, his voice fierce with sincerity. "You’re my heart, Y/N. Don’t ever lock me out again, not when it comes to you being hurt."

Tears stung your eyes at the raw emotion in his voice, and you nodded again, leaning into his touch. "I promise."

Cassian kissed your forehead, then your nose, and finally, your lips—gentle, reassuring, full of the love you’d felt through the bond but had tried to ignore. "Now, let’s get you patched up," he murmured against your lips, his smile returning as he brushed a thumb over your cheek. "I’m not letting you out of my sight until you’re healed."

Despite the lingering ache in your side, you couldn’t help but smile, your heart swelling with the warmth of his love and care. You knew, without a doubt, that no matter what happened, Cassian would always be there to catch you—even when you stumbled.

[roseykat]

What would be skz(separately) fav type of underwear on their gf? like what underwear/lingerie do they like to see their gf wear...? Maybe a mix of sfw and nsfw?

TITLE: Their favourite types of underwear/lingerie you wear.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with these posts so please do not engage with my work and page whatsoever.

TAGS: mentions of lingerie and underwear, sex, oral sex - nothing too heavy.

A/N: I’ve actually never thought about this question until you raised it anon, so thank you. I hope I’ve done it some justice lmao x

BANG CHAN

Channie is the type to try and hide how much he’s affected by you walking around the house in such lacy lingerie. He’d actually get fully flustered and would stumble with his words if you tried to speak to him too.

In saying that, he does have a secret favourite set that he loves seeing you wear which is a black, dainty, slightly see through bra and panties with cute small coloured flowers scattered over the fabric. He loves it because it’s a sexy meets cute style that makes him wonder if he wants to dominate or be dominated.

-

MINHO

Now look, there’s almost no point in wearing lingerie around this man because it’s coming off either way. In my mind, Minho has a high sex drive, so easy access is important. Clothing on you is a barrier to him. That being said, Minho can appreciate a good set of lingerie preferably in either black, a deep maroon, or white. With or without, he thinks you look stunning regardless.

However, there’s a specific set of panties that are almost see through and have intricate patterns on which he likes to trace over with his tongue as he eases into fully going down on you which, can drive you insane. It’s a classic Minho movement to try and establish that he’s in charge and that you wearing such sexy pieces of lingerie aren’t going to affect him (when it really does).

-

CHANGBIN

Honestly, I feel like Changbin enjoys seeing you in just plain, simple, cotton underwear. It sounds so basic, but it’s so effective on him? Like when he comes home from work or the gym and just sees you in a t-shirt and underwear - even better, one of his jerseys and plain underwear. That would throw him off.

But there’s also a domestic feel to it for him. He knows that you’re comfortable enough to just stride around in the house wearing next to nothing. Even sleeping in underwear too which most people do, including Changbin himself majority of the time.

-

HYUNJIN

Hyunjin is the type of man who would see you in anything and fall in love all over again. At the same time, he has an eclectic and refined taste for seeing you in lingerie. A staple black set is gold to him. It’s so sleek, elegant, and sexy at the same time, and even though this sounds cliche, it makes Hyunjin want to take photos of you wearing it or draw you in real time.

On the NSFW side, Hyunjin will be the type of guy to push your panties to the side and fuck you. But he’s also the type to pull out last minute and decorate the material on your body with white strings of his own cum. He always follows up with the promise of buying you another new set, which he always stays true to his word.

-

JISUNG

He honestly thinks you look stunning in lingerie that it makes him want to wear it sometimes. In saying that, he has a similar taste to Changbin in the sense that he likes seeing you in plain underwear. In fact, he’ll wear his own around the house with you too. But again, there’s that domestic aspect to it.

At the same time, if you do happen to be wearing a nice set of lingerie, Jisung is a goner. For some reason he switches right back into a sub and just wants to be absolutely dominated. He’d want his hands tied behind his back and to use his teeth to pull garters from down your thigh. You don’t know how that affect could possibly occur, but you don’t ever complain about it.

-

FELIX

Felix is all for you wearing lingerie. He won’t only help you pick out what he thinks would look nice on you, but he also buys sets for you if he sees one when he’s out. Some of his favourite colours are more on the pastel side and likes the ones with delicate frills over the fabric on your hips. However, Felix will lean towards seeing you in darker sets and maybe a set of white because it makes you look angelic.

Similar to others, it is an aesthetic aspect with the way in which you suit it so well. Felix enjoys watching you walk around the house in nothing but a bra and cute panties that he bought for you. It shows your level of appreciation for his gestures.

-

SEUNGMIN

Seungmin is also another person who has a high appreciation for you in lingerie. He likes it when you wear them for scenes in the bedroom. You would be wearing a nice set that he might have picked out earlier on, something that compliments your body well because he’s also going to be accentuating it even more through the methods of shibari.

He thinks it looks clean cut, eye-pleasing, and photo worthy - something that should be presented in a kink museum. Sometimes he’ll opt for you to wear a black, silk yet sturdy bra and lacy black panties then will accommodate that with some red rope when he starts tying you up. Otherwise it's the opposite - red lingerie set and black rope. At times, he’ll also suggest you wear thigh high lace stockings that pairs well with your bra and panties.

-

JEONGIN

Jeongin would actually make the perfect boyfriend and we all know that, but he knows how to throw an outfit together - and for you in particular, Jeongin also takes the aesthetic of lingerie into his consideration. Whenever you’re both going out somewhere nice for food, Jeongin will help match your undergarments to your clothes.

If you’re wearing a top that exposes a bit of the bra underneath, he would help find the right colour for it. So in short, it really just depends and that’s the beauty of it because no set of lingerie he puts you in will be the same.

[grison-in-space]

Man, there is a huge bias in the way that hobby fibercrafters approach and think about textiles—and I say that as a hobby fibercrafter myself! See, weaving has a high barrier to entry relative to knitting, crochet, spinning—even embroidery or sewing, these days, as the sewing machine automated much of the tedium of the craft. All of those crafts require a lot less in terms of startup costs to the hobby crafter than the machinery of a loom does.

But... look, if you want to understand mass produced textiles or textiles in any historical context, you have to understand weaving. If you want to understand how most of the cloth that people wear is made, you have to understand weaving, because weaving is the oldest art for mass producing cloth that can then be turned into garments.

Spinning is also very important, of course. Spinning is how you get the thread that you can turn into cloth any number of ways. Historically speaking, though, the most common way that thread or yarn becomes cloth is inarguably weaving. More to the point, weaving is also a historical center of industry and labor organizing. Ironically enough for the argument about how no one asked a woman, the industrialization of weaving is actually an interesting early case example of men organizing to push women out of a newly profitable position.

Besides that, knitting and crocheting in particular are incredibly modern crafts. Most modern knitting as we would understand the craft is shaped by the inventions of Elizabeth Zimmerman, and even things like the circular knitting needle date back only to the past century. Historically speaking, the great innovation of knitting as a tool for fiber craft is the ability to construct garments for small, odd shapes that can stretch and grip: stockings, gloves, underwear. Even that great innovation, the knit sweater, is an artifact of the 1850s—and the familiar cable knit sweaters of the Aran Isles are even newer than that. Crochet is even younger: the entire craft originated in the 1820s as far as anyone can document.

None of that is any shade on anyone. Like I said, I knit; that's the locus of my personal interest in textiles. I just think that textile history is neat, but if you're going to make big pronouncements about the historical development of textiles, it's important to think about what changed about the technology of textile production in the most common ways of turning raw fiber into cloth—and you cannot stop at the level of understanding how to make thread or yarn, because the properties of the cloth are always going to be an artifact of the construction of the cloth.

That's technology, baby! It's literally weavecraft. But it's not obvious that weaving is missing from the bounds of a person's experience with textile manipulation until and unless they're trying to understand and work with a wide range of fabric types—and when you can quite reasonably go from raw fiber to a finished garment using modern popular craft techniques that don't rely on anything that appears difficult for a medieval craftsman to make, it's easy to forget the role of weaving in the creation of cloth as a finished product.

I suppose the point I am making is: think deeply about what your own areas of expertise are not bringing to your understanding of history. It's easier to miss things you'd think.

[himasgod]

Xiao x Reader

Where you approach him in the Lantern Rite

The Lantern Rite covered the sky of Liyue in golden flashes, as if the stars had descended to greet the mortals. From the top of the Wangshu Inn, Xiao watched the spectacle in silence. His sharp eyes barely blinked as he followed the lanterns rising into the sky, each one containing a wish or blessing from the citizens he protected without expecting recognition.

For the rest of Liyue, this night meant celebration, joy, and hope. For Xiao, however, it was just another battle, a night in which would relentlessly strike down any threat that disturbed the peace. He knew that the remnants of hatred and resentment could awaken at any moment, and as soon as they did, he would be the first to fall upon them.

A few steps behind him, you stood, watching him in silence. In all the time you had spent at the Wangshu Inn, tending to daily chores and fulfilling errands, you had noticed Xiao’s sporadic presence. You knew who he was, and although his visits were always brief and solitary, you made a point of leaving a small plate of almond tofu on the terrace table before he arrived. Perhaps he didn’t notice, or perhaps he thought it was a simple courtesy. But to you, this gesture was a way of silently thanking him.

Tonight, you decided to take it a step further. You approached slowly, without making much noise, carrying with you a lantern that you had secretly prepared. When you were next to him, he didn’t look at you, but you knew he was aware of your presence.

“I thought you might like to throw a lantern,” you said quietly, extending the one you held in your hands to him.

Xiao didn't move, but his gaze shifted slightly to the object you offered, a mix of curiosity and bewilderment in his golden eyes. It wasn't usual for someone to approach him, much less to include him in something so common, so human.

"I have no wishes to grant myself," he replied coldly, his voice as sharp and distant as ever. But there was a slight tremor in his tone, a trace of doubt that he hadn't noticed until now.

"It doesn't have to be a wish for you," you replied softly. "You could ask for something for others, something you think Liyue needs."

There was a moment of silence between the two of you, so heavy that you could feel it as a barrier between you. Xiao looked down at the lantern, his thoughts seeming to fly away from the terrace, towards the countless battles, the karmic burdens and the fragmented hatred he had endured for centuries. Those burdens were nothing more than shadows to the inhabitants of Liyue, but to him they were real, heavy.

Finally, Xiao reached out a hand, taking the lantern delicately, as if it were something fragile and unknown to him. He examined it silently, his fingers brushing the soft fabric that held the flame. You could see the battle in his eyes, the tension on his face, as if he was both considering your proposal and rejecting it.

“I don’t know what I could ask for,” he finally murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “After so many years, I’ve grown accustomed to fighting, to carrying the shadows of others. I have no purpose beyond this.”

His words fell heavily on your chest, and in that moment, you understood the loneliness and weight Xiao carried. Without saying anything else, you placed a hand gently on his, the one holding the lantern, and he looked at you, surprised.

“It doesn’t matter what you wish for, Xiao. The important thing is that you are not alone tonight.”

His eyes softened slightly, and for the first time, you noticed a small crack in Xiao’s imperturbable facade. He took a breath, letting the lantern's flame reflect in his eyes before finally letting go.

The lantern floated away, taking with it a wish he might never get to say out loud.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[cookie-crumblr]

Imagine slapping Ezra ass in front of his friends and then running behind ace

MINORS DNI!!

You are winning his story honestly just sayin’ he’d probably fuck you in front of them XD!!!! 😌✨🙈✨

ALSO my ER visit went good! ty for the messeges everyone! 🙈🙈🙈😭✨🥰✨ i’m all stitched up and i have my antibiotic to pick up today finally! phew 💀✨

Status: Dating

CW: GN!reader, no body descriptions for reader, reader referred to as they/them, names used against reader (stupid slut, slut, good slut, ), dacryphilia, ROUGH SEX(like no lube too, dudes((G/N))), p in hole, bullying of reader, public sex(like people are watching),

Ezra looks at you with an incredulous look, his head cocked sideways, then suddenly it starts twisting up devilishly.

Ace lifts his arm up sheepishly playing with his fluffy pink hair, and chuckles at your antics.

You peer around Ace to see Ezra walking your way with purpose.

“Come out. Now.” Ezra commands, he pinches a cigarette between his finger and thumb before tossing it down the college’s hallway. His one brow is raised, threatening you to challenge him. “Stupid slut I said come out from behind him, it’s time to learn another lesson.”

You probably should, not to make it worse… He seems pissed, you just wanted to be silly! How dare he! You swallow and your fists ball up into Ace’s shirt back. He widens his stance.

“Ezra what are you gonna do to them?”

“They’ll like it. If they just Come. Out. Now.” Ezra snaps his fingers and his guys come closer, “Block the halls”

Your face frowns, fuck that sounds bad!

They stand there staring at eachother in silent showdown for seconds that feel as long as minutes.

Ace laughs nervously and steps away, bowing out, “Sorry Y/N! I’m—ah—Late! For class!” He jogs out through the human barrier, that parts for just him.

“Nobody’s here to protect you now, slut. now, Come here.”

You stand taller, though still feet shorter than he is, pushing 7 foot. Just looking at him tightens your core. His bruised and bandaged skin, his silky strawberry blonde hair that he keeps long. Fuck. He even has pretty eyes…

“Heh, that’s my good slut,” He opens his arms for you to embrace him, and your eyes soften. You hesitate, but he doesn’t get upset. He just continues to smile that crooked smile at you.

You eventually step forward, he takes you under his arms, his chin resting on your head as he slouches over you. He leans closer to your ear, kissing down the side of your head, “I’m gonna fuck you in front of everyone here. Don’t you dare do that in front of my boys again. Got it, slut?”

Your legs tighten together as you nod in understanding.

“nuh uh, use your words, slut.”

“Honestly, I probably will,” Your smile widens wildly and you wink at him.

He grabs you suddenly by a fistful of your hair, and wraps a hand around your arm painfully tight. He bends it behind your back as he turns you around.

Youre slammed against the lockers fast, head and chest first. He pulls you back just to slam you against them again. “You need to learn your place,” His voice comes angrily through his closed teeth.

The hand in your hair relinquishes you and you at least feel relief there, but your arm still hurts at the weird angle it’s in thanks to Ezra.

His now free hand rips through your clothes until you’re no longer covered in the important areas, you still have a mess of fabric over your stomach, and tightly squeezing and burning your arms. “Ow! Ezra! my arms!” He doesn’t relent. He just frees his bully cock and forces it inside you, you let out a scream! It actually hurts!! “Fuck Ezra! OW!!! OW OW PLEASE!” You beg.

The guys watching take pictures and their smiles make your chest tighten. You know these guys, you hang out with them daily. How does that make you feel?

When he pulls out just leaving his tip he spits on his shaft. It doesn’t feel much better at first, but your body always accepts him quickly. Fat tears roll down the sides of your face and along the metal. His hand finds the front of you and rubs and fondles viscously.

Soon your sopping and your tears continue to fall, but now your groaning and moaning against the lockers, your fingers flexing almost unnaturally behind you and your legs becoming weak.

By the time your whole body is shaking and cumming he’s pulling out, dragging his dick along your walls giving you one last burst of pleasure before he shoots his load over your ass hole with a low groan, his hands spreading your cheeks roughly.

He pushes you down to the ground and snaps a pic of your bare, cum stained, and raised ass before leaving with his “boys”.

His still the same asshole you love.

[saiintvalentiine]

ASJDKNSALK SORYR IM BACK AM I TOO LATE. i seekomz mask ken. . .. . ..,,,.,ifyour reqs are closed it's gen OKAY BUIESHK FHAIDKJBHDSHJKFADGUVBVS HVHCD HKBJSC ADHA BSBKHCJN SBJCHDN JN DBSADN CBDJKLADVZHJKLDMADJKMN D

you were, in fact, too late for the original request period, but this made me laugh real bad so im christening this round of requests with it. to everyone who has been waiting diligently, i present to you: omz mask Ken bullying Wifies in an escape room. enjoy!

Word count: 995

He’s sloughing off skin next to this deep, bubbling lava pool. It's a disgusting feeling, like he’s going to melt into a puddle of sludge if he stands here any longer; he thinks about Ken traversing the Nether with banners, lava lapping at the fraying fabric edges, and garners a new appreciation for what Ken is willing to go through for a good puzzle.

“You’re cute when you’re thinking hard.”

That’s not Ken, he tells himself. It’s not. It’s not Ken, even though it sounds like him. It’s not Ken, even as Ken’s green and yellow sneakers dip into his sightline, even as he looks up and sees the familiar stack of hoop earrings on his green ear.

The mask is a powdery white, like fungal spores, like sickly pale moss, like a spreading infection that saps all the warmth out of the exposed skin of Ken’s face. He’s smiling, cheek bunched up and lip barely visible in its arc, but his golden eye is empty.

“Stuck?”

Wifies is trying to channel some of that infamous stubbornness everyone says he possesses. He doesn’t glare or rise to the bait, has been as diligent as possible in doing this by himself, even though his body is starting to ache and his mind is slowing down. Sure, he was made for this kind of thing, but it’s been hours— probably closer to a full day than not, though the sun doesn’t move here. It’s all bedrock and barriers and sunshine that makes his eyes sting.

“You’re so quiet!”

Ken— not-Ken— the body lounges in mid air, tail swaying imperiously as Wifies is looked down upon. An ear flicks, the clicking of hoops filling the air. Wifies keeps poking through his inventory over and over, trying to figure out what he’s going to do to get across the lava. Blocks rotate in his grip, a splintering wooden sword landing last.

“Oh no, are you mad at me? Is that it? I know it’s a hard puzzle, but you’re smart.”

He sounds smiley, the way he does when he knows he’s made something that’s going to drive Wifies insane. Wifies is so prone to binary thinking in these rooms that it’s easy to turn him around if it’s a puzzle that’s unintuitive enough.

“Do you want to know a secret?”

That mask fills his vision, upside down and as sickening as ever. Wifies can’t control the way he flinches. The gold eye squints the way Ken always does when he thinks Wifies has done something particularly affection-inducing.

“Heh, cute. The secret is this: you can’t get out of here.”

Wifies doesn’t believe that. He can’t believe that, more than anything.

“It’s so sad that you won’t talk to me,” a hefty sigh, ears pinning down. “Maybe if you did, I could’ve told you that you left behind some important blocks. Conserve resources, Wifies, when will you learn?”

He wants— something just as hot and awful as the lava fills him. He’s not the only stubborn one.

“What the hell is your problem?” Wifies finally snaps, taking a step back.

“Problem? I’m golden.”

Those sneakers thud as they land on bedrock, heavy and casual. Wifies steps back, and back, and back until his back hits a wall.

“Be more specific,” it tilts its head, curious and playful and not Ken.

“Why are you doing this? Putting me through escape room after escape room?”

“I’m not the one who wants to do that,” it clicks its tongue. “I’ve already seen you do this rat race again, and again, and again. Him, on the other hand. . .”

There’s that smile again. A clawed finger presses into his jaw. It’s cold and sharp. A reminder.

“He’s so fascinated by you. It was easy. All I did was—”

It’s a horrible, delicious crack. The pommel of the sword lands true— he’s better at this than Ken probably realized, movements honed, violence desensitized— and the body flails. Flipping the sword in his hand, the flat part of the blade becomes his bat as he swings again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and—

And it cracks in half, despawning over Ken’s bloody head, mask dislodged in the assault. He ignores Ken. He has to ignore Ken. He’s been ignoring Ken this whole time. He can ignore him for a while longer. He can ignore the gored heap on the floor that is Ken. He can ignore Ken and the welts swelling up on his palms and the wet, slick feeling of viscera on his face. He picks the mask up.

It trembles. Or he trembles. It’s impossible for him to tell.

There’s a saturation beacon somewhere nearby. He has to be fast.

He makes his way to the edge of the lava pool and falls to his knees next to it, eyes on the mask the whole time. He closes his fingers through the eyehole tightly. He dunks his hand and mask into the lava, keeps going down until it’s to his elbow, and holds.

The smell of burning flesh is something beyond nauseating. It’s inhuman, is what it is, a violation of natural order and harmony. But Wifies keeps his arm in it until he can’t anymore, until the muscles in his hands spasm and burn away and the mask drops into the bottom of the pool.

It takes everything he has left to not fall head first into the pit. He sways backwards and lands on the floor, pulling his hamstrings as he fails to straighten his legs out. It's just one more pain to register, between the burning in his body and the burning of the sun. He hasn’t slept in days, he’s pretty sure. Rolling onto his good side, he watches Ken’s body, watches it jerk and stutter as saturation forces it back together.

His eyes feel heavy. He closes them, just for now.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 34 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

In the giant walk-in closet John enlists your help in putting on a sharp black suit.You are supposed to be helping him with his buttons, but you just can’t stop kissing him while he stands before you like this, his tailored pants undone, his shirttails loose. '

His chest is a constellation of bruises, and you can’t stop yourself from pressing your lips to them. “Baby…” he sighs, his head tilted back for your ministrations, his long fingers sliding into your hair. “It’s ok. I’m ok. I’m used to this.”

Somehow, he knows there are tears in your eyes. He always knows. And even though you know what he says is technically true– you've seen his scars– it does not soothe you. 

“I just…don’t want you to be hurt anymore,” you say, perhaps stupidly. Yet the sentiment seems to move him, as he pulls you close with arms around your back.

“I feel pretty good, actually,” he says, a warmth in his eyes that quickens your heart. 

With your hands on his bare chest, you run your fingers over a nasty purpling bruise just below his collarbone. “I can’t fathom how that’s possible.”

Yet when he turns your face up to his with gentle fingers, the unsaid truth rings in the air between you. You stayed. It seems there are things he’s not willing to say aloud yet either. That’s fine. More than understandable. There is more important business you need to attend anyway…like staying alive. 

So when John begins to back you up with hands on your waist, pressing you into the wall, you aren’t proud of the ridiculous little sound that escapes you. It’s only been a week. You should not need him this much. 

But, you do. 

“John…” you scold, sounding utterly convincing as your eyes flutter closed, his lips on your neck. “You’re going to tear your stitches.”

“Then you’d better be gentle with me.” You can hear the smile in his words. 

“I thought you said we’re in a hurry…” you try again, even breathier than before. You’re trying to be gentle, but your hands wander on their own, around the gap in his waistband, your fingertips dipping in to find the firm curve of the top of his buttocks.  

He huffs with laughter against your skin, pressing you into the wall with his solid weight, the bulge of his manhood deliciously hard against you. “I’m not going to last long,” he admits, and you realize he is laughing at himself. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

I was right here.

You manage to restrain yourself from saying it, because you sense a sort of truce has arisen between the two of you that you do not want to shatter again. You realize that you’re not proud of how desperately you want to go back to the way they were before, when things were good between you. You want morning coffee, and dinners you cook together, and lovemaking on the couch in between reading a book. You just…want the locks on the doors open, is all. 

Is it really such an ask?

And maybe…no one breaking into the house trying to kill you both. That would be nice. 

You know there’s no dissuading him, when he’s in this mood. And…you don’t want him to stop, if you’re being completely honest. You’d be a liar, if you said the sight of him looking at you like this, expectant, vulnerable, his eyes filled with longing, after being without him for what ridiculously felt like an eternity, didn’t make your pussy pulse and ache, your clit singing to life.

You had since changed from your bloodied silk pajamas into a simple t-shirt and panties, unsure of what you were wearing for this mysterious location John intended to go. His fingertips tracing the outside of your thigh, up to the elastic over your hip, makes your flesh quiver. 

Those long, questing fingers push aside the thin barrier of fabric between your legs, finding you soaking wet for him already. It wins you a moan from deep in his throat; a sound that lifts every little hair on your body. You clench around his fingers, already on the edge of orgasm, your need for him is so sharp, so aching. 

“You missed me?” 

The answer seems so obvious, but the fragility in his tone ties up your heartstrings. No matter what he saw or heard in your week apart on his camera in the bedroom, he needs to hear it from you. 

“So much,” you admit, throwing your self-respect out the window, along with your sanity. 

“Mmm.” His forehead presses to yours, and there are questions you know you should ask him. Important ones. But your brain has stopped functioning, and he will not let you get away, with two fingers buried in your cunt and his thumb upon your sensitive clit, moving slowly back and forth. 

“Wait,” you keen, clenching upon those beautiful big fingers, but he only shakes his head, sucking delicately at the sensitive skin behind your ear. 

This was the last thing he needed to be doing. You needed to be taking care of him. But here he was, stubborn as ever, making you see stars. “Let me have it, y/n. Need to feel you cum for me.” He pins you with his penetrating dark eyes locked with yours, just as much as his large body caging you in and his hand upon you. His thumb presses down on your button, firm, knowing. Because you’re his, a little voice inside your head sings out, and the thought as much as his touch sends you careening over the edge, a ragged sound torn from your throat, your head rocking back into the wall. The crackling fury of the pleasure lifts you to your tiptoes, and he keeps touching you until you absolutely writhe with overstimulation, tugging at his wrist completely ineffectually. 

You feel his satisfied smile against your cheek, as the world returns into focus, and you can hear again past your heartbeat and your labored breathing. When at last you’re able to open your eyes you find him looking at you with that black-diamond glitter in his eyes, and a tenderness that nearly breaks you all over again. 

With your hand splayed on his chest you push gently. “Sit down,” you tell him, and he lifts one of those dark eyebrows at you. 

Even bruised and battered, a cut on his cheek and the bridge of his nose and a scrape on his chin, he’s so handsome it hurts. 

Once upon a time, he might have laughed at your command and continued to do exactly what he pleased with you. But tonight, maybe for the first time since you’ve met him, he actually does as he’s told, lowering himself to the padded bench in the center of the closet. It’s meant as a seat for putting on one’s shoes…but that’s not what you intend to do with it by half.

You brush his hair back gently, tracing the shell of his ear. His eyes slide closed, leaning into your touch, and there’s nothing you want more in that moment, than to make all his hurt go away. “Thank you,” you whisper. 

His eyes crack open minutely for you. “For what?” It’s as though he really can’t fathom what you mean. 

“For saving us.”

His eyes slide closed again, as though against some thought he cannot bear. “I was so afraid…” he admits. “That they would make their way up here to you.”

“But they didn’t,” you assure him, still sliding your fingers through his silky hair. “They didn’t stand a chance.”

He gives that bitter huff of laughter that makes him wince. “The last one might have…if not for you.”

“Mmm hmm.” You really don’t take killing a man so casually–but you are still numb, and John is the focus of your universe. Later it will all come crashing in. “See what a good team we make?” you ask, pulling your t-shirt over your head. He is eye-level with your bosom–he buries his face in your cleavage, resting his cheek in the mounded flesh of your breasts. The gesture seems more in the pursuit of comfort, than sex.

“Are you…suggesting we do things like this more often?” he quips into your cleavage.

“Just that you don’t lock me away again.” You realize how utterly batfuck insane this conversation would sound to an outsider. Maybe you really have lived in your own little world with John for too long, but it doesn’t matter to you. All that matters is the two of you, now, and you sense that maybe, just maybe on the horizon lays a glimpse of a possibility that maybe this thing between you could still arrive at a place where you could both be happy. 

“What a forward suggestion,” he deadpans. It takes you a moment to realize that he is, in fact, teasing you, in a way that suggests he knows that his behavior was not exactly kosher. He sighs, kissing the soft flesh of the top of your breast. Even after the bone-melting orgasm he just gave you, it makes a shiver roll down your spine. “I needed to think.” 

Your grip in his hair tightens as you remember the absolute agony you’d put yourself through, locked away for the week that felt infinite in its agony. You’re not sure what to say to that, that won’t immediately start a fight. 

Maybe he senses the spike in your pulse against his ear, because his hands glide up the curve of your back soothingly.

“And then…” he goes on. “I was…working on something. For you.”

This raises your eyebrows, and again you have to bite your tongue. Because you didn’t want more gifts, or surprises. All you’d wanted was him. 

You turn his face up to yours, catching his lips in a kiss that curls your bare toes. It wins you a moan from deep in his throat; a sound that lifts every little hair on your body. 

“John…” Your voice is hushed, hoarse, caught in your throat. “I would have preferred to just have you.”

He closes his eyes to that, as though you’ve bestowed some healing balm. 

“You’ve got me, baby. I’m sorry.” You feel like he means…for so much more than just your most recent stint in solitary. Your lip quivers, and now you are the one pressing your forehead to his, as though you can transfer your feelings to him through this touch. “I’m sorry you had to do…what you had to do. I never wanted to expose you to this part of my world. I thought I could make us a safe little oasis here…fucking christ was I wrong.”

“It’s going to be ok.”

Mostly, you even believe it.

He cranes his gaze up to you, and you see the doubt in his eyes. It breaks your heart all over again.

“You sound so certain.”

“I believe in you, John.”

Again, his lids slide closed, as though he just can’t absorb what you’ve said with eyes wide open. This man has been through Hell and back, and in this moment a ringing clarity settles over you. You resolve to do your best to carry him through this crisis, as best as you can. After you make it through–you’ll take care of yourself. You make yourself this promise–or tell yourself this lie–so that you can do what you need to do to help him survive. What will come after…you’ll worry about it when you get there.

If you get there.   

You start by sliding to your knees, and expressing your appreciation with your eager mouth on his torso, making your way to his beautiful cock. For once he lets you have your way with him, leaning back and enjoying your ministrations without bossing you once, moaning deliciously as you free him into your hand, and take his luscious tip into your mouth. His grasping hand in your hair sends thrills down your spine, a heady mix of triumph and adoration spreading like a warm drug through your veins, and you take him as far as you can into your mouth. 

He was right–he doesn’t last long at all.

***

You finally get around to helping John dress in a very sharp black suit, buttoning his shirt, threading his belt about his trim waist, and helping him affix various holsters for guns, ammo clips, and knives. It’s still distracting, having his body under your hands, even in the afterglow of your life-affirming midnight  delight. You keep kissing him between affixing his buttons, and he growls against your mouth in a way that raises every hair on your body, in the best way this time. “If we weren’t in such a hurry…” he tells you with that deliciously dangerous glint in his eye. 

“Behave,” you tell him, smoothing his lapels. You step back to take in the end result, sighing. “God, you look good.”

He lifts a cut-bisected eyebrow to that, amused. “I don’t look like a beat up old man?”

This again. You are going to lock that joke up in a box and keep it there. You’d only ever meant to tease him, not hurt him.  

“No. You look like a dark dream, and I want to fuck you silly all over again but we don’t have time. What the hell should I wear?”

He laughs at your obvious frustration, winces because it hurts him, and kisses you with toe-curling sweetness before helping you pick out an appropriate outfit for your destination. Dark pants, semi-sensible pumps, and a kevlar vest underneath your blouse. 

You are both dressed to the nines. 

You pack up the Rover with cases of your things. On your part, clothes so nice you never had occasion to actually wear them in the house. On John’s part, his bags are filled with as many guns as they are garments. Dog spreads out across the back seat like this is old hat, going on an adventure again.

It is with a surprising sadness that you pull out of the garage of the cabin manse in the Rover, watching it diminish in your rearview. That house has been your prison for months, and yet…there were so many good moments there too. You find you wouldn’t mind coming back, as long as the doors are not locked to you. 

You drive on the highway through the wee hours, until you reach the bridge, and the lights of what all you small town yokels call The Big City greet you. Towers of glittering lights, big water–and drivers who seem like they are bent on murder just as intently as reaching their destination. It’s easier somehow, to drive defensively behind the wheel of the Range Rover, rather than the few times you’ve done it in your tiny Toyota SUV.

You realize with some amusement that you don’t even know where your car is at the moment. It doesn’t really matter. 

You follow John’s directions through Manhattan, until you arrive at a unique sliver of a building that looks like new construction made to look old. You pull up for the valet, and follow John’s instructions of immediately standing on the first step of The Continental hotel. It’s like the safe base in a game of tag from hell, he’d told you.

You want to go to the passenger side to help John. However, he stands tall, moving better than he had at the house, barely showing sign of injury. You’re impressed until you see the tightness of pain at the corners of his eyes, then you realize he’s putting up a hell of a front. 

He’d warned you to show no weakness here. 

Don’t smile at anyone, or for God’s sakes I’ll have to fight off the whole fucking hotel. 

You think he was joking, but you take playing it cool seriously. In the Big Apple, you know everyone wants a bite out of you. You’ve got to be ready to bite back. 

John lets the red-suited and copiously tattooed bell boys get your bags, which tells you loads about how he’s really feeling. “Mr. Wick?” one of them dares address him. “We’d heard…you were dead?”

John just looks at the kid, not really smiling, but not brushing him off either. “Guess not,” he finally answers, and the boys all share a grin.

“Welcome back.”

John doesn’t exactly groan, but you read the weariness in his expression all too well.

“Thanks.”

John offers you his arm, and together you stride through the doors, Dog at your heels, feeling as though you are stepping through a time portal back into his old life.

At the front desk it feels like he’s speaking in code, so cordial and formulated it’s almost painful. After securing your room he asks, “Is the manager in?”

“He’s expecting you for breakfast on the rooftop, Mr. Wick.”

All you really want is to sleep, but you sense this too is part of some crucial ritual.

One of the bellboys takes your bags up to your room.

John inclines his head to you to follow him. You walk at his side, trying not to gawk like a fucking tourist at the opulent Art Deco lobby, or the people who bustle through this waystation for the Underworld, even at this hour of the early morn. 

The people are interesting, to say the least. Some dressed as though ready for a board meeting, excluding their neck tattoos, and some as though ready for a posh punk concert.

You feel the eyes upon you, and you know it has more to do with the legend of the man who you are with, more than yourself.  

“Winston really outdid himself with the rebuild,” comments John once you are headed up in the elevator. He’d told you about how during their war with the High Table the original New York Continental had been destroyed. 

“Does it stand up to the old one?”

John sighs. “I think my sentimentality prevents me from giving that an honest answer. And…I’d hoped I’d never have to come back here.”

You nod, looking around. Even the doors have ornate Deco metalwork caging you in. “It all looks pretty fucking rad to me,” you say under your breath, pulling a small smile from the corner of John’s mouth.  

“I’ll be sure to tell Winston you said that.”

“Oh God.”

He laughs a little, and winces. Immediately you feel guilty. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he sighs, and as the door opens he leads you with a hand on the small of your back out onto the rooftop terrace of the New York Continental. Dawn is just breaking over the rooftops of Manhattan–the view from so high is breathtaking. 

Winston Scott is every bit the dapper gentleman you expected, after hearing John speak of him so many times. 

“Jonathan,” greets the manager with a handshake and a smile that seems to hold genuine warmth. “Always a pleasure, though I regret the circumstances.”

“Same,” answers Wick. 

“And who do you have here?”

“Winston, this is y/n. She’s my…” You turn your eyes up at John, curious just how he will choose to describe you. Girlfriend seems entirely too trite. Captive? Lover? John actually flashes a sheepish smile that lasts precisely half a second. “This is the light of my life.” 

The old man raises his eyebrows in a gesture of my my. You are surprised when Winston kisses your hand with old world grace, rather than shakes it. You hope it doesn’t show. “A pleasure, Miss y/n.” 

“Likewise, Mr. Scott.”

“Please, call me Winston. So, Jonathan. Just what have you gotten yourself into this time?”

John groans, and slowly lowers himself into a chair. You do the same, and the three of you hash out what happened, and how to go forward, over a delectable breakfast of crepes, fresh fruit, and good coffee. You feed Dog bites of bacon under the table, his block of a head resting on your thigh while you listen to these old veterans of the Underworld formulate a plan. 

You take some small comfort in the fact that Winston sounds so sure of himself. He seems to know a little bit about everything there is to know, and no tidbit of gossip surprises him. You can tell that John values his guidance, the older man speaking to John almost like a father. 

Just maybe the two of you will make it out of this alive after all.  

[ozzgin]

Ok, could I just say I LOVE how you write for your Baki characters, they're always a treat 🥺✨️

May I request another prehistoric reader, but when they revived her along with Pickle, she just looked so roughed up that she looks like the definition of surviving

What could cause such scars? Well they wouldn't have to wait long since turns out she's like really clumsy, like "nearly losing an eye by tripping on air and onto a metal pole" clumsy

Pickle just has to be by her side every time to catch her before she actually lose something

I love the idea! I can definitely picture it, thank you for the suggestion and the kind words!

Baki Headcanons: Prehistoric! Clumsy Reader

Featuring Pickle and his challengers and one tough looking reader that turns out to be just extremely clumsy.

The men scan your features with a cautious defensiveness. Here you are, standing tall next to Pickle, with a similarly toned body yet peppered with scars and old wounds. Assuming you have the same survival skills as Pickle, what could you have possibly fought to leave you with such extensive damage? The air is tense as they analyze the possibilities. A T.Rex? It was your main source of food. Multiple of them? Entire packs of ancient elite predators? Were you the main hunter of the pack, taking on challenges that left the other humans scurrying away in fear?

It doesn’t take too long for the mystery to solve itself. The first one to pick up on it is Baki, who just happened to be visiting the enclosure. You’re in the middle of a playful scuffle with Pickle when you decide to impress the newcomer with your signature move. You extend one arm and twist your body slightly, as if gaining traction. Pickle can immediately tell what is about to happen and growls at you, but it’s too late. You swing, and the fist lands in your own face. Baki gasps in shock and you blink a few times in order to process the succession of events. Good Lord, you’re just clumsy. Terribly so.

Now, they have to admit, being this dangerous to yourself and making it this far is rather impressive. Whether in a good or a bad way is another story. The major force of reason in your life seems to be Pickle. Whenever possible, he’s there to stop your ungainly displays. He’s lifted you from the ground more times than he could ever care to count. Truth be told, he does enjoy the fact that you’re this dependent on him. Outside of your clumsiness you’re quite capable and he likes to have one area where he can prove himself as a partner to you.

It’s almost like you and Pickle crawled out of a slapstick comedy. The men are nearly temped to fabricate their own scenarios to check whether you come out unscathed. They’d rather not upset Pickle more than necessary, however. And witnessing your lack of coordination first-hand has also awakened a similar worry towards your safety.

Before they know it, they’re stopping mid-conversation to check on whatever shenanigans you’re up to, ready to interfere. Retsu will silently interrupt your failure and pretend nothing has ever happened, sparing your embarrassment. So does Katsumi, after having a good laugh about it. He finds you extremely entertaining and always compliments your gift of getting into trouble.

Jack doesn’t like to make his empathy known. He’ll ‘accidentally’ step in front of you moments before you’re about to crash into a wall. He just so happens to hold the edge of the barrier right before your head collides with it. Move along, there’s nothing to see.

With Baki there's always a 50% chance he'll fail miserably together with you instead. He's about to stop you from tripping and in doing so his chin hits the pavement at the same time as you. Thankfully Pickle has two hands.

Even Yuujirou is forced to comply with the unspoken rule. He’s been told repeatedly of the importance you and Pickle hold from a cultural and scientifically perspective and he doesn’t disagree with it. Depending on his mood he will laugh at your misfortune or arrogantly scold you, but either way he will prevent your injury. He’s also secretly impressed by your durability.

[felassan]

Hello again! Thanks for the suggestion in the last ask, it was definitely what I wanted~ Now I came to ask a question (again xD): that dagger that Solas is using in the ritual... it's not the same dagger as Rook is holding in some posters? Will it be important? I may have seen it wrong too, as I didn't see anyone commenting on it

hello! ◕‿◕ no worries!! I think it is the same dagger (pic of Solas with it below for comparison). given its prominence in that key art, its appearance as the previous game icon for the game on Steam (on the right here), and that Solas was using it during his ritual, I've no doubt that it will be important. (The world is "teetering on a knife's edge" too).

For Rook to have it in the key art, it seems that at some point after the gameplay reveal video concludes, the dagger somehow passes into Rook's possession.

The way we see him using it in the gameplay vid during his video - it's a ritual and there's magic going on too ofc, but it looks like the dagger is basically like cutting a hole or tear in the Veil. I wrote here,

"since we saw this image from the 2022 in-game cinematic and speculated that 1. this image shows Solas doing something to the Veil, and 2. the item he’s holding is the red lyrium idol in its ritual-blade form, what it’s reminded me of is the Subtle Knife from HDM (Pullman). Æsahættr cuts windows in the fabric between worlds; I wonder if the idol’s power as a magical ritual-blade is the ability to ‘cut’ through the 'fabric’ of the Veil (of reality), thereby tearing open the barrier that has been separating the two realms."

[msg refs this post]

[ghouljams]

Can you tell me more about the corset thingy like how long we can wear them or what kind of material suitable to replace the bra

Yeah I love talking about corsets.

So I will start out by saying corsets aren't for everyone, and there's a definite learning curve to them. There are also definite draw backs to corsets that I will get into briefly, but can be compensated for.

What you're looking for in a daily corset is going to be a cotton fabric, that you can wear comfortably under your clothes but over something like a tanktop. You want an "overbust" corset that's going to cup your breasts comfortably, and keep them in place. Most corsets these days are made for "slimming" but that shouldn't be your goal when corset shopping.

My personal favorite corset shops are: Timeless Trends, and Mystic City Corsets.

It's important to note that before bras, corsets were made to the individual's measurements so they were literally made to fit. These days it's all about knowing your measurements yourself, but there's still a LOT of variety in corsetry.

So the reason I advise a cotton corset is because they're more breathable, they're more comfortable against the skin, and they clean well.

For fit: you want something that feels like a tight hug. You should be able to breathe fairly normally in your corset but you'll have a little trouble bending over at first. You will NEED to season your corset. Seasoning is just breaking in the boning and making it contort to your specific body shape. This means 2-3 hours of daily wear for the first two weeks and then building up your time slowly. You want your body to be used to the corset before you start wearing it for 8 hours a day.

Corsets provide back support as well as breast support, a lot like a back brace, but this can also lead to some core weakness if you're relying on the corset to "lift" you. It should be lifting your breasts, and you shouldn't be slouching in it. It's something to keep an eye on, but isn't something to worry about. If you're taking care of your back, and using your core to stand up straight you won't have any issues.

A good corset is going to be pricey. I'm not going to sugar coat it for you, there's a reason bras became more popular. Corsets get hot, they're a lot of fabric, and if you're not used to them they can be incredibly uncomfortable, but they're also just underwear.

There's so much bad press around corsets these days, and a lot of it is so perplexing to me.

Did you know men hated corsets? Yeah. Hated them, because they were an added barrier between them and the woman they were attempting to grab.

Did you know only noble women tightlaced? Most women who wore corsets/stays wore them only as tight as they needed to keep their tits where they wanted them. Hell women worked in corsets, they couldn't afford to be out of breath like the noble ladies could.

Did you know that many corsets were tied with a single lace to make it easier for women to tie them themselves? Also corset hooks were common in a lot of ladies rooms to help them tighten the corset by themselves!

Look bras are... fine, I mean I try not to wear them when I can but I'm also part of the tiny tittie committee. They're more practical for large scale manufacturing, and they're easier to market at 1/4 the price of a corset.

If a corset isn't right for you, I highly, HIGHLY, suggest measuring yourself or getting fitted to find the right bra size for you. It changed my life and I lost a lot of the shoulder pain I was getting from wearing the wrong bra size. A Bra That Fits will do all the math for you with a few really simple measurements. No one (outside of sewing classes maybe) really teaches you how cup size is determined so most people just sort of wing it, and it can end up putting you in extremely uncomfortable bras.

Just in my personal experience with ABTF I went from an A cup to a C cup and my bras fit SO much better now. My boobs didn't get any bigger and they don't look any bigger in the bra, but the bra actually fits and holds everything the way it's supposed to. Don't be afraid to be comfortable, and don't be afraid to do right by your body.

[coven-of-genesis]

Time magic - Chronomancy

Time magic, also known as chronomancy, is a concept within the realm of magical practices that involves the manipulation, perception, or influence of time. Practitioners of time magic may explore various aspects of time, including past, present, and future, seeking to understand or alter events within the temporal continuum.

Chronomancy often involves rituals, spells, or meditative practices designed to tap into the fabric of time. Some practitioners may focus on divination methods specifically related to predicting or gaining insights into future events. Others might attempt to alter their perception of time, achieving a state of timelessness or experiencing time differently through meditation or altered states of consciousness.

In the realm of time magic and chronomancy, practitioners might explore additional concepts and techniques:

1. Temporal Loops: Creating or entering cyclical patterns in time, where events repeat.

2. Time Travel: Attempting to move backward or forward in time, either in consciousness or physically.

3. Time Dilation: Manipulating the perceived speed of time, making it feel faster or slower.

4. Causality Manipulation: Influencing the cause-and-effect relationships of events through magical means.

5. Temporal Sight: Gaining the ability to see glimpses of the past or future.

6. Time Shields: Creating magical barriers or shields that affect the passage of time within a specific area.

7. Age Manipulation: Influencing the aging or de-aging of living beings.

8. Temporal Anchors: Establishing fixed points in time that resist manipulation or alteration.

(It's important to approach these concepts with a recognition of their speculative nature, often rooted in mythology, fiction, and magical traditions rather than scientific principles. Time magic is a captivating element in various cultures, stories, and esoteric practices. Time magic is often speculative and imaginative, as time manipulation goes beyond our current scientific understanding.)