[Image ID: A moving 2 frame gif with the digitally handwritten hashtag #ockiss26 written in black over a white background. A few pink hearts blip in and out on each frame. /.End ID]
♥ Welcome to #ockiss26 ♥
Get ready to get those OCs smooching!
♥ #ockiss26 CALENDAR ♥
from FEBRUARY 9th, 2026 to FEBRUARY 15th, 2026
♥ #ockiss26 MINI FAQ ♥
What is OCkiss? It’s a week long event in which artists, writers and other creators produce content about OCs kissing.
Who can participate in OCkiss? Do you have an OC? Do you want to participate in OCkiss? Congrats, you’re in! Create something and upload it during the event with the tag #ockiss26
My OC doesn’t have a significant other, can I still participate? Of course! OCkiss is not restricted to romantic kisses - they can be friendly, they can be familiar, they can just be kissing their pet!
Can I use other people’s OCs? If they have stated that their OCs are up for grabs for this event, of course! If you’re not sure, please, please always ask the OC’s owner first.
Can I offer my OCs for other people to play with during the event? Yes. If you want to use a template you can find one here, although it’s not mandatory.
I’m a bit lost and don’t know what to create! You can ask other people for prompts, make your own, or follow the official #ockiss26 prompt list down below!
Can I participate with OCxCanon!character content? No.
If you have more questions, please refer to the main FAQ! Whole FAQ under a Read More at the end of the post for people who have difficulty accessing it!
Remember to tag your OCkiss creations with the #ockiss26 tag! I aim to reblog everybody who participates and I will set up a queue to that effect. Reblog culture has gone down on Tumblr, and I want to change that and promote creators to the best of my ability - it would be awesome if you joined me on this! If you don’t want your work to be reblogged here, please say so in the tags!
[Image ID: A digital image of a lined notebook page scan with digital lettering on it. The lettering reads: #ockiss26 official prompt list: impulse, playful, heartbreak, wedding, heated, hand, blush Each word is highlighted in different neon colors. /.End ID]
OCkiss FAQ
• What is OCkiss?
It’s a week long event in which artists, writers and other creatives produce content about OCs kissing.
• Who can participate in OCkiss?
Do you have an OC? Do you want to participate in OCkiss? Congrats, you’re in! Create something and upload it during the event with the tag #ockiss26
• I don’t have an OC but I want to participate!
Consider making an OC just for the event, or challenge yourself and create one based on a random character generator! It could be a great exercise in creativity!
• My OC doesn’t have a significant other, can I still participate?
Of course! OCkiss is not restricted to romantic kisses - they can be friendly, they can be familiar, they can just be kissing their pet!
• Can I participate by doing a collab with another creator?
Absolutely.
• Can I use other people’s OCs?
If they have stated that their OCs are up for grabs for this event, of course! If you’re not sure, please, please always ask the OC’s owner first.
• Can I offer my OCs for other people to play with during the event?
Yes. If you want to use a template you can find one here, although it’s not mandatory.
• Can I participate with OCxCanon!character content?
No. This event is to uplift creators of original characters! HOWEVER, you can participate with fandom OCs and Player Characters that are customized.
Due to constant harassment about canon characters, if you participate with OCxCanon, I will block you for hijacking the event and misusing our official tags, and you will lose access to this blog.
• Are fankids allowed?
No.
• Is OCxCanon allowed in the background, but the main protagonists are OCxOC? (Or any other version of this question)
No.
• Are there rating/nsfw/nsft restrictions?
Go nuts, show nuts. Whatever. (Tag appropriately)
• Who runs this blog?
That would be @artofmisi
• If you don’t own OCkiss, why are you organizing it?
I had been organizing this event three years in a row over at my artblog @artofmisi and people kept asking me, and they say three time’s the charm, so I went for it as a way of having things organized in one blog, and so people who want to participate in my version of this event can have an updated and controlled place to stay informed. Also, I just love OCkiss :P
• Has OCkiss been organized by other people?
Absolutely, and I take no credit for their idea nor their work! As far as I’m aware of, @/becausedragonage is the first one who did it on this post in 2016 with #ockiss16, and then @/slavetothemocha followed with #ockiss17 the following year on this post. From 2018 until this day, I have organized it every year. I’m not aware of other people organizing it, but if you do, please let me know and I will add them to this list!
• Is OCkiss exclusive to Tumblr?
You can participate and post on your preferred social media, however, OCkiss will only be sharing entries here on Tumblr. There are two reasons for it: 1) I really want to help reblog culture on this site, and promote creators by sharing their work and 2) I simply don’t have time to check every social network!
• Why is it in February / will it always be in February?
Why: because I want to fill St. Capitalism-dressed-as-Love week with genuine enthusiasm and love towards original characters and their creators. So yes, this version of the event on this blog will always be organized for whatever week Valentine’s falls on that year.
Chapter 5 Heated Delia x Tommy x Remy
Delilah ‘Delia’ Scheinberg woke up squirming as power and pleasure was running through her body.
Remy kissed her hard and deep.
Running his hands down her sides.
She squeaked pulling away a bit as it tickled.
Tommy wasn’t in any better shape.
Remy chuckles once more kissing Tommy just as deeply while running a hand down Delia’s back.
She was the least experienced of the thruple.
Tommy’s hands were running over both lovers.
Breaking their kiss and turning their attention to Delia.
A squeak turned into a gasp as they quickly overwhelmed her.
Remy pulled her back against him kissing her back and shoulders.
Gently grabbing her wrists while he and Tommy teased her.
They will be insatiable until the soul-bond settled and stabilized.
Notes: I don't know which version of jewelry/jewellery is Canadian.
Radka stared at Damir, unsure she’d heard him correctly. The square was crowded with market stalls and people, groups of children running and ducking between it all, and it was certainly loud enough to miss his quiet voice. “Sorry, what?”
“We should get married,” he repeated. He nodded towards the Temple of Ephion on the other side of the square. “Temple’s quiet today.”
“Are you—hold on.” She paused to finish chewing her cheese-filled ponchiki. “Are you proposing?”
He shrugged. “Only if you’re saying ‘yes.’”
“You don’t want to be a bit more romantic?” she asked as she gestured around them. They sat on the steps of the opera house, passing a paper bag of assorted ponchiki between them. The afternoon sun was half-hidden behind fluffy white clouds, and it was warm enough that she was wearing one of her lightest skirts, but they were still eating street food in a public square.
“You want a big proposal?” he countered.
She frowned. “No.”
He raised a brow.
Radka took another ponchiki—apple filled—and waved him off. “You could’ve asked before we were covered in powdered sugar.”
“We?”
She stuck her fingers into the sugar that filled the bottom of the bag and smeared it on his cheek. “We.”
He tipped his head back and laughed. She couldn’t help but smile in return; after everything they’d been through, these moments of joy were to be savoured.
He pulled her closer with an arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Want a ring?”
“Of course I’m going to wear a wedding band,” she replied around her last ponchiki. “Going to get one for you, too. Do you want them to match?”
“I… don’t know. Never worn jewelry before.”
Radka leaned into him. “We’ll figure it out. We have however long it takes for us to save up for them.”
There was a moment of silence before Damir uncomfortably cleared his throat. “I meant an engagement ring. Proposal is meant to come with a gift of gold and silver.”
“You don’t have to—” Her words cut off as he produced a ring from his pocket. A thin band of gold with a tiny delicate flower that matched the one on her necklace.
“Not much, but—”
“It’s perfect,” she interrupted. “Are you telling me this wasn’t a spontaneous proposal?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Was waiting for the right moment.”
She wanted to ask what had made this the right moment, to ask how long he’d had the ring, to ask when he’d decided he wanted to marry her. Instead she held out her hand so he could slide the ring into place. It was ridiculous how giddy she felt; insides buzzing, heart beating loudly, unable to stop smiling. It was just a piece of jewelry.
And yet.
She cupped his cheek and kissed him sweetly. “Let’s go get married.”
She kisses the palm of the wightwood and steel left hand—of his left hand—he feels it. Not the chapped texture, but the warmth of her lips.
"You're okay," she says. "I'm here, and I'm not going away. Not unless you want me to."
"What do you want?" The words come out rough, his voice hoarse with a week of more time in sleep than awake.
He expects her to smile. She doesn't. Her eyes are hard, and for a moment he thinks he's about to lose her. But instead: "I want to stay."
She says it with the intensity of her wightwood work, the focus that called searing light down on their enemies. The last thing he saw before his injuries took him: Ketra, or whoever she decided she was, eyes like lightning as the world around them burned. That focus, turned on him, frightens Teo a little. But more than fear, something in his chest uncoils, a fist he didn't realize was clenched around his heart loosening.
One week, that is what it took to learn who entered the castle within the last two years, to get Andrius to let go of the pearl and the complete list and prepare everything. It was slower and faster as expected, Ivara had to admit.
The day a young Wayfinder brough both was the same day they rounded up every suspicious staff member in the great hall. The number was smaller and bigger at the same time as expected: twenty-eight people from all areas within the castle.
The pearl and the list under Radek’s watch, Ivara walked into the great hall, dressed in her new clothes. The clothes her uncle had commissioned before his death, a set of dark red pants in the cut of the Wayfinders and a cream-colored tunic down her knees with a fake skirt part and dark red embroidery of her favorite flower at the hem around the neckline. It was royal, practical, still feminine enough to not cause an uproar.
The heels of her boots made a harsh sound as she entered the hall with Nynette and Wyborn behind her. Soldiers stood at each door, nodding to her in greeting. Her eyes wandered over the twenty-eight people. Roughly half of them were stable hands which meant the chance was low, it was one of them, but not impossible.
“All of you were brought here today because you are the newest staff members of the castle and we suspect one of you worked with the attackers who killed King Elfred and princess Bernia, poisoned princess Bernia to cause her mind to wither and opened the gates for the attackers to accomplish this despicable cowardice act.”
Rumbling and whispered went through the group. The three of them watched them closely. Who reacted shocked, who tried to look away, who searched for an escape, who talked with who.
“Those two kitchen aids, the freckled one and the one with the strong curls”, Nynette whispered to Ivara.
As expected, the stable hands appeared shocked, confused, appalled but it could also be an act, but the two kitchen aids Nynette pointed out, they were scared, looked around, eyeing the door next to them and whispering.
“Wy?”
“On it.”
The kitchen aid’s gaze fell on a servant who looked equally nervous and eyed the door. From there it was a chain reaction. A second servant, a third, a third and fourth kitchen aid, a seamstress, a gardener. Nine people, plus the two servants who attacked. That made thirty-one new staff members in two years and a third of them were planted to spy and kill. Eleven they found now and heavens knew how many were under the old staff.
Separated from the rest who glared at them with a deep fury Ivara felt as well stirring inside her, those nine they picked out now held their chins high in defiance surrounded by soldiers.
Ivara stepped in front of them, picked out the freckled kitchen aid Nynette found and looked at her. She was maybe three years older, not ugly but also not extraordinarily beautiful, just an average woman. An average woman who decided to poison a princess.
“You work for King Odard.”
A simple statement, no question, no assumption. The woman gasped surprised. Not in shock, not taken back, surprised.
“Thank you for admitting it”, Ivara smirked coldly.
“I admitted horse shit.”
“You weren’t appalled or shocked. That was a confession. Soldiers, bring them to their friends in prison. I am sure there are some more rats hiding under the bountiful table of castle Heln.”
She went to turn but a servant tried to attack her. Almost amused, she grabbed his empty hand by his wrist, stepped aside and used the momentum he created to throw him into a soldier.
“You bitch, he will show you when he arrives and takes what is his”, the guy hissed.
“Oh, I am so afraid.”
She stepped closer and bent forward to look up to the former servant that tried to attack her and was now held back by the soldier. Almost sweetly she smiled at him.
“Isn’t it funny, he didn’t kill me that day despite us standing only a hand width apart? I think you know shit about what your king wants or doesn’t want. You are just a tool to him. You could have lived a comfortable life here if you gave up your mission, but you made your decision, now live with the consequences.”
With this she straightened her back again and turned to the remaining staff she deemed partially trustworthy for now.
“Let this be a warning for the rest of you. I will figure out if you betray me, unlike my uncle. Do it and you will die. Be loyal and you have nothing to worry about. Stay away from those”, she pointed at the planted spies, “And you have nothing to worry. You know Tyrohlena protects their people. We always did and always will. You are free to go.”
The group of the remaining staff bowed deeply and murmured thanks before they took their leave. Not in a hurry as one would assume, but slowly, taking their sweet time glaring daggers at the traitors. Ivara watched it with small satisfaction.
The soldiers lead the group of traitors, or more spies, she still had no idea how to call them, out once the others left.
“Who would know you had this in you.”
Iona. That was Iona’s voice. Ivara turned around on her heels and saw her aunt’s Wayfinder with a weak smile, the first time in a week. Since Mara’s death and the meeting two days later Iona hid.
“Iona! I missed you.”
“I apologize; I needed some time to breath. But as I can see, you have everything under control. Ally is guiding you well.”
The praise was balm to her soul. Just like the tunic that had the same color tone her uncle’s tunics used to. It gave her something to ground herself into when she felt the grief taking the same away from her again.
“I need something to do before…”
“Before it swallows you.”
Iona understood. She nodded and pushed herself from the wall she had leaned against to hug Ivara. A part of Ivara’s mind stated she should stop everyone from hugging her all the time to keep her reputation, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. There was no shame in finding solace in sharing her grief with those who also lost loved ones, or finding support in them. She was also just human.
“Radek is waiting for you in your new chambers.”
Bracing herself against what would come next, Ivara tousled her lips in a smile. The new chambers, the chambers that once belonged to her grandfather, were the biggest ones in the castle with one huge bedroom, a study that served as small meeting room as well, a small living room and three attached rooms for Wayfinders and the spouse of the king or queen. Just that Ivara planned to use all this a bit differently.
“Nynette, Wyborn, we leave.”
“Right behind you.”
The slightly adoring tone in Wyborn’s voice made her shake her head. Sometimes she wondered if he was so in love with her or too obsessed with her but one day, Ivara would find out, she was sure about that.
With Iona they walked through the halls to her chambers. Even if the castle started its daily rhythm again it felt foreign to Ivara now after they buried the dead the day before. A part of her couldn’t shake off the impression of something was different within the rhythm, not only because she lost three family members.
“You feel it too.”
Iona looked at her, eyes covering a hidden sadness.
“Yes, but what is it?”
“Their grief.”
Then she understood. The footsteps of the laundress sounded heavier. The laughter of the maids was missing, the chatter of everyone felt dimmed, the servants walked slower with the little trollies. They fulfilled their duty just like her, all while grieving, just like her.
“Your father and uncle didn’t notice when your grandfather died.”
Iona’s gaze followed a young castle hand who repaired a door as they walked by.
“They weren’t taught what you have been taught.”
“To listen to the sounds around me. The sounds that are missing.”
A thin-lipped smile, a nod.
“You are queen and Wayfinder alike. Maybe last one more since the elders let you do the test.”
A huffed laugh escaped Iona as she looked at Ivara.
“You know?”
“Radek told me. He is still angry about that. Sounds like he thinks he can protect you from everything.”
“Yes”, Ivara sighed from the bottom of her heart, “He does.”
“Aleera and I will talk to him.”
That was the last word before they entered her chambers and went straight for the study. Radek waited there, the small box with the pearl on the huge desk in front of him. The sealed letter neatly next to it. Serilsa, Cadoc and Perun waited with him.
“How did it go?”, Serilsa asked right away.
“We caught nine. One attacked Iva but she played with him like he was a toddler. At least that idiot gave away he worked for Odard.”
The low rumble in Wyborn’s voice was something new as he fell into the chair closest to the desk.
“We have something else to do now. Iona?”
“Yeah?”
“You might also be able to gain powers from it. Do you want to give it a try?”
Confusion was written all over Iona’s face until she stepped closer.
“Yeah, won’t hurt.”
“Good, Radek?”
“Yeah.”
Ivara smiled relieved, afraid he would say no after he saw how she had reacted to it back then.
“Sit down, if you react like me, this won’t be fun.”
While they got comfortable, she picked up the box and opened it. It looked so innocent like this, when no light reflected from it to lure the unknowing victim. First, she held it in front of Radek and let him touch it, watched how his whole body went rigid and slumped back for a moment, but he was still awake.
“That was strange… It felt like I could hear water, the river…”
“I thought you would have a connection to water”, she chuckled.
While she gave him time to collect his thoughts Ivara went to Iona, who carefully touched the pearl, almost afraid to break it. Her eyes focused on something distant and then she groaned.
“Oh, loud, when did the world became so loud.”
“Your hearing?”, Ivara asked in a whisper.
“Don’t know. I guess.”
“You know I just whispered?”
“What?”
“Yeah, that means her hearing got better”, Cadoc stated matter of fact.
“Don’t yell.”
That was the last piece to confirm it. Behind Ivara the tea pot suddenly burst. Everyone jumped from the sound except Radek.
“Was that you?”
Perun’s eyes went from the tea pot to Radek who had sweat pearls on his face.
“I think so, I felt a pull…draw?... to it.”
“That is going to be fun.”
The broad smirk on Cadoc’s face was not what Ivara expected from all this, on the other side, today was the day of shattered expectations, good and bad. At least she was right about Radek and his powers. Now he needed to find a way to master them, before the castle ran out of tea pots.
After the day had been already eventful someone would think that was enough to call it quits already but Ivara got taught differently when in the evening Cadoc entered her chamber with two pots and a bag. The way he looked told her he had found what she send him to find.
Nynette also got it and just narrowed her eyes at the items in his hands and asked one thing.
“Who?”
“One of the dessert cooks and an old kitchen maid. They had come to the castle together twenty years ago. They are with the other traitors now. It was hidden deep in the pantry behind the confectionery sugar.”
With her hand on her eyebrow Ivara leaned back in the chair, her lips pressed together as she thought about what to do.
“Words about this morning might have spread partially already”, she mused aloud.
“It will take another day or two to go through the whole staff.”
Nynette followed her train of thoughts.
“The kitchen staff saw them being taken away for treachery”, Wyborn added.
“I should address all this. There will be more.”
“The same round up as today with the whole staff?”
The suggestion wasn’t that bad and for some reason Wyborn started to show a kind of thinking about how to use interpersonal relationships in their favor.
“I am with Wyborn here”, Cadoc agreed, “The sooner the better.
“I have the feeling we are still missing something.”
In one swift motion Ivara got up and went to the window to stare out into the dark, moonless night. If this went on for decades there must be a way of communication. Odard was how old? Maybe end thirties or early forties which means he could be behind all this from the start if he began planning this at Ivara’s age but how should a young prince get the resources to do such an operation?
“We are overseeing something. This had been going on for too long to be just Odard’s doing.”
“We can worry about this once we have cleaned the castle of every planted spy or assassin, Iva”, Cadoc reminded her.
“Yes, you are right. Tell the captain of the guard to bring every staff member to the great hall tomorrow afternoon. Bring the things you found with you as well.”
“I will. Now rest, it was a long day.”
He hugged her carefully before he grabbed the pots and bag again and vanished.
“You know he is right. You need your sleep. We all can see how much strength it takes from you just to get through the day.”
A gentle touch on her shoulder by Nynette made Ivara falter and be agreeable to their suggestion.
“You are right. Tomorrow will be another fight.”
So they repeated the spiel. The staff gathered in the great hall, they watched for any signs, this time with everyone strategical placed along the walls, and found five more conspirators, followed by the almost the same speech Ivara gave the day before.
That made eighteen people. Eighteen men and women planted by King Odard and maybe his father to destroy her family from the inside.
The reason? The only things her uncle could come up were some old grudges because Tyrohlena didn’t help the kingdom of Fenvil hundred years ago when hunger and sickness had the whole continent in its grip and every kingdom had to fight for their own people, but Tyrohlena was one who managed the best. It was a petty reason but not unlikely. Wars have been fought over petty things before.
Yet Ivara came to the belief after her last vision, they were wrong about it. Somehow Fenvil learned about them having the pearl, heavens knew how and were after it to gain more power. If this even worked like that.
When she fell into bed that night, she could only hope Iona and Radek would learn to handle their powers fast. She noticed how he secretively switched to wooden or tin mugs to not break any more porcelain. A part of her was curious if Wyborn would also be lucky, or any other from the list but they also couldn’t risk to have too many Wayfinders being basically knocked out of duty because their fresh powers made them unreliable fighters.
A soft kiss to her temple and big arms wrapped around her from behind at the same time made her smile and stop overthinking things when Wyborn and Nynette came to bed as well.
“You were doing this lip thing again, even when in bed. I think I need to give your lips something else to do.”
A teasing tone followed a gentle but demanding kiss by Nynette.
“How can you think of this now?”
It was more yawned than really spoken by Wyborn and made Ivara chuckle. She looked over her shoulder, feeling lighter just from this normal evening ritual of teasing each other like this.
“You know she is insatiable when stressed.”
“Yeah, we better solve some problems soon or none of you get any sleep in the future”, Nynette threatened playfully.
“Maybe we just need to tie you down and wear you out.”
The moment Ivara suggested it, she regretted it because she could feel the excitement in Nynette as pressed as she was to her.
“Threatening me with good times now?”
“Behave, both of you, or no one gets any good time.”
Another hearty yawn of Wyborn followed. An amused huff from Nynette followed before she stretched over Ivara to kiss him goodnight.
“Sleep well, oh mighty warrior.”
“Yeah, love ya too, Nyn”, he chuckled and pulled both closer with his long arm.
I cannot believe I forgot to post this. For @ockissweek, my Fallout OC Bronson and my best friend @piperafterdark's Beatrice Luck. For 'Hands.' I love them your honor.
“You sure about this, Bea?” Bronson asked. “This is going to hurt like hell.”
They were sitting in their room at the Wrangler, Beatrice with her hand laying on the bedside table that they moved so it sat between them. She snorted, sitting on the edge of the bed, the springs groaning under her weight as she shifted.
“Bron, you’re asking me of all people?” She said.
Bronson shrugged. “I’m just making sure. Never done this before. I won’t exactly be an expert on making it as painless as possible.”
Beatrice smiled. She watched as Bronson took the needle, the two solutions—one a carbon black suspension, one a sterile cleaning solution, courtesy of Abigail and the Followers. He had been adamant that to do this, they were going to do it right. Beatrice tilted her head with a smirk.
“Are you getting cold feet, guapo?” She asked. “Sure sounds like you’re trying to find reasons not to go through with it.”
“What? No! Fuck, Bea, never. I just—” He took in her expression, and he stopped. “…you’re joking.”
Beatrice sighed. “Yes, Bron, I’m joking. If I actually thought you were backing out I would not sound this casual, believe me.”
Bronson nodded. He reached out and took Beatrice’s hand.
“I really am sure about this, Bea,” Bronson said. “I promise. Just want to make sure you are.”
With her other hand, Beatrice reached out and pinched Bronson’s cheek. He smiled.
“Never been more sure of anything in my life,” Beatrice answered. She leaned in and pecked Bronson on the lips. “Now let’s do this.”
Bronson leaned back, and he took the needle. Beatrice spread out her fingers. He leaned in and got to work.
Fingers swelled, and ink spread, especially in a place like that. Bronson never had a tattoo himself, but he knew former tribals in the Legion who had gotten stick and poke tattoos like this. From what he’d heard, the hands were one of the worst places.
But they couldn’t afford rings, and even if they could, Bronson didn’t trust either of them with one. They’d either lose them in the chaos of their daily lives or they’d get mugged for them. If Beatrice was going to have something on her finger…
He saw her wince, subtly, and Bronson paused. “You good, baby?”
“I am,” she answered, “keep going.”
There was something intimate about the whole thing. Bronson leaned in, alternating between his work and looking at Beatrice’s face to gauge her discomfort. The work was slow and methodical. They stayed leaned into each other as Bronson’s brow furrowed, making sure that he didn’t mess up and leave Beatrice with a random black line somewhere it wasn’t meant to be.
“You look real focused, Bron,” Beatrice remarked.
He didn’t answer. Beatrice grinned.
“Pretty sexy if you ask me.”
Bronson gave a short hmmph. He leaned back. “…I think we’re done.”
“Really?” She raised her hand, wiggling her fingers. The tattoo around her ring finger was a thin black band—you could have almost missed it if you didn’t know it was there. Bronson took her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers.
“Really,” he said. “Hold on, you gotta wrap it in some gauze to keep it clean.”
He wrapped it as promised. Beatrice put an elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand.
“So you next?”
“I can do myself—”
“Naw. Feels wrong.”
Bronson stopped, looking at her. He cut the gauze from the roll and finished wrapping. “…once this heals, you can do mine,” he decided. “How about that?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“So…” He rubbed the back of his neck. Cleared his throat. “What do you think? Now that it’s done?”
It had been his idea, a spur of the moment thing. For some reason he just couldn’t imagine either of them standing in front of a priest, or even The King. This was a promise between them, and that felt correct. Beatrice looked at her wrapped hand, tilting her head as she regarded it critically.
“…I love it,” she decided. “Suits me, I think. Nice to have a permanent mark that isn’t because I almost kicked it and there’s still a helluva story behind it to boot.”
She stood, stretching up toward the ceiling. He shirt rode up just a little, and Bronson averted his eyes respectfully as he got up to join her. Beatrice noticed, and she grinned wolfishly.
“You did good, mi esposo,” she said. “But you forgot one thing.”
“What?”
Beatrice lowered her arm, took a few steps, and wrapped them around Bronson’s waist.
“You didn’t kiss the bride,” Beatrice answered, and Bronson chuckled.
“My mistake,” he said. He started humming the wedding march. Beatrice laughed, head falling to his shoulder, and Bronson had to grab her chin so he could give his wife a proper kiss on the lips.
word count: ~2,100
tags/warnings: forced proximity, trapped by the rain, discussions of past trauma, bonding over facial scars, lots of avoiding eye contact, overuse of magnets analogy, aurora has been curious about orpheus (she swears it's not a crush), slytherin x hufflepuff supremacy, TENSION, kissing (obv)
prompt: impulsive kiss for #ockissweek26
[orpheus kerr belongs to the lovely @amus2110]
[link to her amazing aurora/orpheus post here]
summary: a rainy afternoon sparks a chance encounter between a seemingly apathetic loner and the mysterious american boy she feels strangely drawn to
---
Aurora bounded up the stairs to the Owlery, taking the stone steps two at a time in her rush to get the errand over with. The sky was looking quite grey, and any more raindrops were sure to ruin her plans to scour the coast for caves before sunset. It was while she was mentally ticking off the places she’d searched already when Aurora noticed him, fate seemingly interfering with her afternoon.
Orpheus Kerr, the elusive Hufflepuff who seemed to have left behind a troubled past in America. She hated to admit it, but Aurora found him fascinating; his voice, smooth and husky with an accent she couldn’t quite place, his eyes, striking blue that stood out against his tanned skin.
One look at the scar that pierced his left eye and Aurora found herself pulled to Orpheus with the weight of the universe behind her.
It wasn’t just attraction--as annoying as it was that she found him handsome--but his entire aura that drew her to the American boy. She’d found herself trying to sit near him in Charms, willing Professor Ronen to pair them together for a practice duel. Even in the Great Hall Aurora sought him out, green eyes searching for a flash of azure at the Hufflepuff table.
But they hadn’t talked, of course. Aurora had never been one to do anything when she felt the beginnings of infatuation break through her thick skin, always pushing the feelings down so they wouldn’t have to be acknowledged. Felt. It was simply curiosity, she decided, not a crush.
His back was to her, elbows resting on the windowsill as he looked out to the lazy rainfall that had begun to quicken. For the first time since she’d met him, Orpheus looked at peace; no guard put up, the stiffness of his shoulders gone. He seemed in his element here, with only the soft trickle of rain outside, in the quiet calm of the Owlery.
Aurora hesitated, unwilling to ruin what appeared to be a rare moment of tranquility for the boy that exuded trouble. Her letter to Sirona could wait- she could always relay the message in person if necessary. As if he’d waited for her to make up her mind, to start to turn away and head back down the stairs, Orpheus finally acknowledged Aurora.
“You can stay, you know,” he said, turning slightly to meet her eyes for a quick glance. She watched the recognition hit his features; the quiet Slytherin girl who liked to duel, white hair and a scar through one eye that rivaled his.
“I’ll just be a minute,” Aurora mumbled. She fiddled with the letter in her hands, watching as Orpheus nodded his head towards the open window.
“Might be a bit longer than that, rain’s picking up quick.”
He wasn’t wrong; the intermittent drizzle had turned to an incessant deluge, water droplets splattering against the windowsill and onto Orpheus’s arms.
Aurora sighed, tossing her letter onto the floor. “I guess you’re stuck with me until it calms down,” she finally responded. Sliding down until she sat on the stone floor, her back resting against the rough wall, the Slytherin tried to focus on the quiet pattering of rain.
Orpheus finally turned away from the window, his large frame angled towards hers. “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he started, arms crossed across his chest in a casually defensive way- before the conversation had even started. As if already challenging each other, Aurora matched his eyebrow raise with a quirk of her own.
“You don’t seem to be the type to mingle with strangers,” she shrugged.
“Neither do you,” he responded, “And yet here we are.”
Orpheus perked up at her smile, despite every attempt she was making to conceal the fact that he’d almost made her laugh. She played with the hem of her skirt absentmindedly, keeping her eyes anywhere but on his, their sharp blue piercing through the wall she was trying to put between them.
“Mail a lot of letters?” Aurora asked, eyes fixed on a stray thread.
She dared a glance at the Hufflepuff, watching his body language with a quiet intensity Orpheus was sure to have noticed. He shuffled, his posture awkward and reserved. The flirtatious smirk that had been stretching across his features pulled back suddenly.
“Just like the quiet,” he mumbled. Their eyes met, Aurora’s darting away from the silent force of his baby blues. It was as if Orpheus could tell she wasn’t an open book; his gaze seemed fixed on hers, searching Aurora’s face for a crack in the spine, a missing page.
Aurora finally looked back up at him. “I can’t seem to find it, at least not for long enough.”
“I’d imagine it’s hard to when you’re always following Sallow around,” he responded.
She scoffed. “I don’t follow him around…”
Orpheus cracked another smile, his arms loosening their hold in front of his torso. “He’s got you joined at the hip, I don’t blame you for trying to escape now and then.”
“Is that what you’re doing now, escaping?” Aurora asked, redirecting his attention away from Sebastian.
“Something like that,” Orpheus said, his jaw tightening at the admission.
Aurora looked over his features, catalogued the way he receded back into himself at her words. The pull towards him was growing; she felt then that she knew Orpheus, that they had something in common neither was ready to share with the other.
She shocked herself by saying, “You’ve come here to get away from something,” the observation slipping out before she could let the words dissolve on her tongue.
Orpheus started, his jaw clenching again as he absorbed her declaration. Aurora was speaking to him like she’d figured him out, as if this wasn’t their first conversation longer than two sentences.
“You’re one to talk,” he finally responded, blue eyes locked in on her face for any hint of a reaction, any giveaway that he had figured her out himself. Aurora’s reaction, the quick upturn of an eyebrow, was enough to make him smirk.
“What am I escaping?” she asked, challenging Orpheus to beat her at her own game. Neither was ready to divulge any personal information without a fight.
Orpheus looked down Aurora’s body, then back at her reddening face, seemingly ignoring the way her cheeks tinged after his eyes roamed her figure.
“No parents, I’m assuming?” he started, eyes scrutinizing her pointed glare for clues. “Most likely dead, or at least you think they are.”
Aurora sucked in her cheek, arms crossing against her Slytherin sweater. “You’ve got none either, I’m sure. Raised by a family member, maybe a close friend of your mother’s?”
Orpheus quickly turned from Aurora, his scarred eye giving the hint of a flinch at her words. The clattering of the rain outside filled the silence, dark clouds blocking the light that had been streaming through the Owlery windows.
“I’ve struck a nerve?” she asked, genuine consternation peeking through the indifferent tone she’d intended.
Mentally kicking herself, Aurora mourned the end of their bantering before it had truly picked up. She hadn’t expected to enjoy being psychoanalyzed by the boy, but talking to Orpheus felt strangely natural.
“I- I don’t have parents,” she mumbled, “Or a family member.”
He picked his head up, glancing down at Aurora once more. Slowly, Orpheus made his way over to her, hesitation keeping his footsteps at a careful pace. The Slytherin turned towards him as he sat down next to her, giving her some inches of space between their bodies.
“You haven’t had a home before this one,” he said softly, any hint of flirtation no longer left in his strange accent. She nodded.
“Yours was taken away,” Aurora guessed, sneaking a glance at the tall boy at her side. He looked forward, wistful. “You miss it.”
Orpheus sighed, an unexpected indication of his feelings. “At least I’ve got something to miss,” he said, turning towards her. Aurora blushed under the weight of his gaze, her resolve seemingly melting each time the toughened Hufflepuff glanced her way. She hated the feeling, the loss of control over her own convictions; if the rain wouldn’t let up, Aurora worried her body would betray her further by revealing just how curious she was about Orpheus.
“But you had to lose something. A part of yourself, too,” she whispered, her voice decibels under the pattering of the rain outside.
Orpheus bit at the inside of his cheek. “That’s why you’re so quiet, so guarded. Picking up the pieces of yourself before someone can notice they’re gone.”
Aurora laughed, humorless. “You’re speaking like you know me,” she mumbled, green eyes fixed on his scar. Her hand rested on the floor, inches away from Orpheus’s. With just a pinky she could reach…
“And you’re not?”
“Maybe I do know you,” Aurora admitted. “Maybe I see the things you’re trying to hide from everyone else… from- from yourself.”
Orpheus nodded solemnly, looking away from her to stare at the collection of owls on the wall across from them. Curled up in their alcoves, the birds seemed to be enjoying the respite from travel, the rain a good excuse as any to rest their wings.
“When did you get yours?” Orpheus asked suddenly, callused hand gesturing to the jagged scar that reached from Aurora’s forehead to just above her jaw.
“Story for story?” she asked, making them both smile. “Some other time, maybe.”
Aurora hesitated; there was the implication she’d given that this wouldn’t be their only conversation, that they’d pick it up again at a later time. Was she willing it into existence, the idea of Orpheus being interested in talking to her again? Without the rain making it possible, would they have talked to each other like this in the first place?
They locked eyes again, the supernatural magnetic pull of Orpheus inching Aurora closer to him. She caught her shoulder as it leaned towards his and stopped, embarrassed to be closing the space between them. The tension was killing her, the intruding conversation into their pasts doing nothing but making her feel even more connected to the American boy somehow. If he noticed Aurora’s movement, Orpheus didn’t acknowledge it; he met her in the middle until they were leaning side by side against the wall, the sleeve of her green sweater pressed against the crisp white of his button-up.
A hot flush creeped up Aurora’s neck, the proximity of his body heating hers up miserably. They listened to the rain in silence, Aurora desperately looking anywhere but at the handsome boy whose piercing eyes kept darting over to her face.
Even sitting, their height difference was apparent; the larger Hufflepuff dwarfed the smaller Slytherin’s frame with his broad shoulder brushing up against hers, Aurora’s head barely able to rest against the muscle there- if she dared to, that is. She was acutely aware of the close proximity of his knee next to her own, his long legs stretched out before them.
Merlin’s beard, she had to stop ogling him before it got awkward. Orpheus had to have noticed the way her hand twitched when his fingers skimmed hers, the hardened skin of his hands barely making contact with the goosebumps on hers.
Aurora was choked by the unspoken chemistry she’d felt when talking to him, the anticipation towards some unknown when she wasn’t even sure he’d had an interest in her. One conversation about dead parents didn’t seem to be enough to ignite a spark of romance… even if Aurora wasn’t ready to admit that she could see Orpheus in that light.
As if reading her thoughts, Orpheus slowly reached towards Aurora’s face, gently grabbing her chin to turn her face towards his. Green eyes blinked up in surprise; Orpheus gave her a second to protest, but nothing more. His mouth quickly moved towards Aurora’s, an arm snaking around her middle to bring the two closer together.
Orpheus’s large hand ghosted across Aurora’s jaw, his fingertips rough against the smooth skin of her cheek. His full lips were pressed against hers, his kiss soft but intentional. She matched him instantly, sleeved arm reaching to rest around his neck. The pull that she’d felt since first laying eyes on Orpheus felt complete, as if Aurora had finally accepted the curiosity that drew him to her.
As their mouths moved against each other--kisses that took their time to explore, to mark and remember every touch of a tongue--neither seemed to have noticed that the heavy rain had slowed down to a drizzle, sunlight breaking through the clouds and into the Owlery.
My late last pic for OC Kiss Week! I had to draw T and Bastian again. I redid this so many times which is why it is late. It's not what I originally planned (I wanted to draw another picture of Bastian kissing T's gloves hand like I did last year) but I was struggling with hands so badly that I decide I needed a forehead kiss instead and not draw arms.
I still think this is still really cute! One day Bastian will be able to kiss their cheek (scandalous!).
Here are the little write ups I made for OC Kiss Week 2026!!! It was fun to do it and I wish I got the two I missed finished but I'm happy with what I got done!
A slightly belated addition for @ockissweek. @inquisimer has kindly lent me her Arlow for this piece, and I have really loved getting to know her better! Thank you for sharing her with me, I hope you enjoy this AU of Arlow as a Lord of Fortune <3
(Lenore Ingellvar/Arlow Laidir (more often de Riva) | 2,144 Words | CW: References to parent death, drowning)
"Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange."
—William Shakespeare, The Tempest
The sea stretched past the beach into infinity, reflecting the early evening sky until the two of them seemed to loop at the horizon.
It was a horrible thing, that beauty. Sometimes, Lenore imagined the lacy swathes of seafoam climbing the sand, climbing, curling into skeletal hands, wrapping itself around her ankles and pulling and then—
"It doesn't bite," a low voice came from behind her. Lenore flinched, taking a step further away from the waves.
"Arlow."
"Yes?"
"I didn't hear you there."
Feet scuffing through the sand. She was being loud on purpose, Lenore supposed. Arlow could be quiet as a breeze when she had cause, but likely didn't want to startle her further. A kind impulse.
"I thought as much," Arlow said mildly, pausing at Lenore's side. She regarded the surf before them, then turned to Lenore. "You've been standing in the same place for half an hour."
"No," Lenore said, and frowned at the look Arlow gave her. "Well. Perhaps.I suppose I was lost in thought."
"A bad thought?" Arlow said, crouching and reaching out a hand. The waves washed forward, collecting between her fingers before spilling back into the sea.
Well. It was easy for her, wasn't it? She was used to this sort of thing. She'd probably stepped in a hundred times, swam in it on warm afternoons. She probably knew precisely when the water was dangerous and when it was safe. She had probably seen—
"The dead," Lenore began, the words spilling from her lips before she could catch them and drag them back. "Shipwrecks, I mean. Did you see a lot of—of bones there?"
"Course," Arlow replied, casting an eye over her shoulder before turning back to the water. "Plenty of wrecks go down with all hands. There are bound to be a few. You aren't going to ask me to fetch you some, are you?"
"No!" Lenore lifted her hands palm-up. "No. I only wondered…"
She struggled with the words, then reached up to unclasp her cloak and spread it over the sand. When she sat, she brought her knees to her chest and clasped her arms around them. After an interval of several more waves, Arlow joined her. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The waves crashed like cymbals, a cacophony of noise. Lenore could not imagine how anyone slept so close to all of that sound.
"The southern lands burn their dead," she began, then shook her head. "Well. Most of the nations under the Chant do. I accept that this is the case. I understand it intellectually, I mean to say. Different people have different traditions. Even so, I cannot help a visceral sense of—of horror whenever I hear it spoken of. It is forbidden to burn the dead in the Necropolis, though we may—we often—burn away excess flesh during our ceremonies."
Lenore took a deep breath, scrambling for words. She didn't dare take her eyes from the sea, not even for a moment. She could not see the expression on Arlow's face.
"I mean to say, the idea of the destruction of a body is a dreadful thing to me. To lose all of that knowledge, all of that potential to no end—so senseless."
"You're afraid of being lost at sea," Arlow said when Lenore paused.
The breath went out of her all at once. A wave skated close to them, drawing a line of foam on the sand. She watched it until it passed away again.
"Yes," she whispered. "Ever since I was a girl, I knew that the Necropolis wanted me to stay. I wanted to stay. I never thought that I would leave. But I know—Emmrich has promised me—that if there is even a piece of my body left, he will see it home. But if I am lost…"
Arlow hummed. For a time, there was silence between them, if not silence in general.
"My parents died at sea," Arlow said at last. "There was a storm. I survived—my mother pushed me to the surface even though it cost her life. The Lords of Fortune found me drifting on a broken spar, took me in. I was terrified of it for a long time, too."
"You were?" Lenore asked, surprised, tearing her eyes from the water for the first time.
"Of course I was. I lost my family. I almost lost my life. Who wouldn't be afraid?"
"Well," Lenore said, folding her legs so she could lean closer. "What changed, then? Can you tell me? Because I think it's beautiful, truly, but every time I think of it I'm so afraid—I think of my bones rolling beneath the waves, lost and ungathered, and it makes me want to be sick. I keep dreaming of the water reaching out for me and—what changed for you?"
Arlow shrugged, tracing something in the sand. She smoothed it flat again before Lenore could see what it was.
"Time. Practice. When I was older, they took turns with me in the surf on clear days. Held my hands or my shoulders while I stood in the water foot deep, then ankle deep, and so on. The fear didn't go away all at once, but washed away a little more every time."
Lenore considered this for a moment, then leaned her shoulder against Arlow's.
"Thank you for telling me."
Arlow hummed, and for a time they simply sat and listened to the waves. A flock of unfamiliar birds flew past, jewel-toned and singing. A breeze caught the trees high on the cliff and tossed them, adding an intermittent rustle to the roar of the water. Lenore's hand slipped over her lap and tangled with Arlow's. There was a sort of peace in this, she supposed. If she looked at it sideways, she could see it.
"Come on," Arlow said abruptly, standing in one swift motion. "Here. We won't go in far, but I want to show you."
Lenore stood, but didn't move. Arlow's arm hung from hers, extended in full over empty air, and already her ankles were sinking into the wet sand. Lenore stared at her friend's feet, vanishing already.
"Only this far," Arlow went on. "Until you're ready to go deeper."
Lenore tore her gaze from the water with great reluctance, but was rewarded by the look on Arlow's face. Humor sparked in her eyes and her cheeks rounded slightly.
Beautiful.
"What, you don't trust me?" she asked, and Lenore couldn't help but smile a little back.
"Well," she said. "Alright. Only that far."
Their hands were still joined. She took a step forward, then another, and felt her balance shift as her heels sunk into the loose, wet sand. A wave followed soon after, washing over her bare feet. It was warmer than she'd expected, only a little cooler than her own body. She sank a little deeper as it swept away again, and though she clutched at Arlow's hand she did not sink deeper.
"See?" Arlow said, taking her other hand. "Not so bad. Right?"
Lenore pressed her lips together rather than answer. Another wave slid in, not quite so far as the last. She did not sink any further. Perhaps something in the structure of wet sand, she thought absently, and some corner of her mind immediately began to turn itself to calculations and suppositions.
"No," she answered reluctantly. "Not as bad as I thought."
If any of her mind had been devoted to anything but stark fear or calculating how much weight she could put on crumbling sand, Lenore might have thought more of Arlow slipping closer to her.
"Come on," her friend said, edging toward the left. Lenore followed with less reluctance, though she flinched again when her feet began to sink.
"I've got you," Arlow assured her. Her hands curled around Lenore's elbows, steadying her. She took a loud, deep breath and Lenore echoed her, shivering whenever the water lapped at her ankles.
The sun had sunk in the distance, a glory of red and orange. Soon, the light would be gone and they would be standing in the dark. She had never been especially bothered by the dark, but the back of her neck prickled at the thought of it now. As if the ocean was gathering itself, waiting for her blindness to seize her.
"I used to spend all my afternoons here as a child," Arlow murmured, her voice low enough that Lenore had to focus to hear it. "So afraid. Everything had changed in a second. Could have been a lot worse, too, if they hadn't found me and brought me here. How could I believe that the world wasn't just like that? Nothing was solid. Everything slipped away from me. Everything left, even when I tried to hold on."
She took another two steps into the ocean and Lenore followed her, listening. The water curled around her calves, less insistent than it had been where it met the shore. It was almost…pleasant.
Almost.
"I can't say I'm the most trusting person. It wasn't really that I believed anything would stay with time. It was that I came to see what I could hold onto even after it changed or left. I lost my parents. They're somewhere in this sea, long since bones."
She took a breath, and it shook slightly. Lenore shifted closer, pressing her hand to the other woman's shoulder in silent comfort.
"Sometimes, I like to think they live among the swimming things. That maybe they built a home around the bones. We couldn't have a funeral or send them onward, but maybe some part of them lives that way. I like that thought better. Not lost, just different. Changed. I know I have, since I was their daughter."
The last gasp of sunlight rose from the sky, radiance catching distant clouds and limning them in gold. It lined Arlow's face too, catching faint lines at the corners of her mouth, picking out strands of hair and painting them in colors rich and strange. Lenore could not help but reach up and touch them, tuck them away behind her ear where they could not block her eyes. Arlow lifted a hand and caught hers, pressing Lenore's palm to Arlow's cheek. They stood still for a long moment, water rising and falling over their legs, the light slowly dimming and dying in the sky.
"Look," Arlow said after a long time. "Look up."
They had been still for longer than Lenore had imagined. The stars peered out at them in the sky, vibrant as a jeweled cloak, painting the sky in fine lights. Lenore had seen the stars, of course, in the long months traveling with Varric and in her travels since. She had not seen them redoubled in the water, as if they stood in the sky above them.
"It's beautiful," she told her friend, looking up and around her. When she took a deep breath, her chest brushed Arlow's. A hand slipped from her shoulder to her hip, holding her steady.
"It isn't as bad as it looks," Arlow murmured. Her face was very close, the stars and the water echoing in her eyes.
Lenore could not say which of them leaned forward first. It seemed simply that they drifted into each other, like waves folding over themselves at the shore. It was a kiss seasoned with the tang of the sea, though she could not say which of their lips the salt had clung to. Perhaps both of them; she had stood at the beach waiting long enough, hadn't she?
Her hand slipped back, curling around the curve of Arlow's skull, lacing loosely through her hair. Arlow pulled her closer by the hip, wrapping an arm around her back until they were pressed body to body, the warm sea wrapping itself around their legs. Her free hand found Arlow's, fingers damp with the ocean slipping between each other and catching, holding.
The fear of being lost was not gone. It had held on for so much of her life that it could not be banished in one evening, even one so lovely as this. Still, with Arlow pressed against her and around her, Lenore found that its grip on her was neither so tight nor so controlling as it had been.
Everything could change, Lenore knew. The sun slipping over the horizon, tides rising and falling; yes, she knew that things would change. In that moment, a breath caught between one thing and the next, she could believe that not every change would be a cruel one.
OC Kiss Week 26 by @/ockissweek (won't tag them any longer because I'm super late lol)
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[ m!orc x fem!reader ]
✦ content: nsfw, monsterfucking, masturbation, voyeurism, oral (female recieving), continued from this
✦ tw: stepcest, drunk sex
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Your youngest step-sister, Osra, was celebrating her eighteenth birthday.
Even though significantly older, as a 'cool older sibling', you were allowed to join the house party. When you asked her why Kušan was invited too in that case, Osra burst into laughter. Kušan responded to your jab with a grunt and kept removing all the fragile items from the living room quietly. You felt bad for a second - after all, Kušan behaved rather well since you reprimanded him.
In any case, you werent't about to miss free drinks and a cake. You decided to stay a few days longer before going back to your apartment. You're gonna miss this new big orc family of yours. Maybe even all of them, you chuckle.
Parents are away, enjoying their hotel retreat until tomorrow morning. The party is okay, full of teenagers and music that barely interests you. The alcohol, on the other hand, is abundant, and you get a chance to taste some drinks you wanted for years. It also helps you enjoy the music a lot more. You find your corner and dance with Drena, your other step-sister, holding a glass of... something. And you are getting quite tipsy.
So tipsy you are starting to find Kušan attractive. You look at him, as he leans against the wall, watching over the rowdy teenagers. There is such a huge stick up this orc's ass, you think to yourself. He warned the kids (even though he was only 4-5 years older than them) once or twice not to jump onto furniture with a stern voice, his eyes squinted, and his teeth bared. Those teeth and tusks... They are kinda...
No, no, no, what the fuck. You turn your back to him, take another sip, and continue dancing. The buzz is buzzing through your blood, and you are starting to have fun. You love dancing, and this music is suddenly getting better and better. It envelops you and you let your body do what it likes.
A slow song gives you a chance to take a breather. You look for a familiar grumpy figure. He is in the same spot, standing against the wall, looking at you. You flinch. Why is he looking at you like that? He doesn't like your dancing? Well, screw him! You flip him off, and continue swaying and diving into the notes, completely lost in your own world.
Until nature pulls you back from the fuzzy bliss. You have to use the bathroom. The downstairs toilet is crowded with teenagers waiting for their turn so you go upstairs (that one is off limits for non-family members). Kušan isn't in his lookout place anymore. Not that you care.
The upstairs hallway is quiet and empty. You rush toward the bathroom, but you have to slow down and breathe deeply as the tipsiness is getting a more nauseating edge. You burp once, feeling slightly better, and then you hear it. The heavy, raspy breathing.
You realize that those familiar grunts are coming through the slihgtly ajar bathroom door. Drunk curiousity takes over you and you peek.
It is indeed Kušan and he is standing next to the toilet, leaning over it while propping himself against the tiled wall. His jeans are around his ankles, and his underwear barely covers his ass. He isn't pissing. The jerking movements of his arm and his shaking, panting, suggest something rather inappropriate. And you can't stop watching.
He is hot. There is no denying it. Not anymore. You are drunk, but lucid and very horny. And your inhibitions never were high.
Kušan is so lost in his world, jerking himself off, that he doesn't notice anything. You keep standing, peeking through the door, pushing it slightly with your shoulder so that you could see his figure better. Your fingers slide down your stomach, and your palm nests firmly against your cunt. Fuck.
Kušan abruptly stops and takes a big sniff. Oh, fuck!
But before you manage to hide, he turns around and sees you. You are too tipsy to move fast enough, and the huge orc opens the door wide, and is now towering you. He is not even trying to push his boner inside his pants. You nervously chuckle, looking at his shocked expression. "Need a hand with that, kiddo? I mean, other than yours."
He doesn't laugh. Instead, he pulls you inside the bathroom and pushes you against the door, slamming it. Without a word, he kisses you. You're both hot, reeking of alcohol and sweat. Your head spins violently, but his lips stay in one place, right there on yours, a focus of your entire being. Well fuck.
He is so big, so strong, so overwhelming. But he responds once you push him away. "This is fucked up," you inform him.
He nods, staring at your lips as a starving beast. He kisses you again, sucking your tongue into his mouth, trapping your face between his tusks. Your hand finds his raging green boner, and he moans. "S-shit..." He whispers once you start jerking him off. The size of his dick makes your mouth water.
His breath hitches. "Stop. I don't want to..."
You forgot he's a virgin. Yes, of course. You should stop. You shouldn't ruin this for him. "I'm sorry, Kušan."
But he doesn't let you move away. He kisses you again, his lips trailing down your jaw. He growls, "Say my name again."
You are dizzy, your limbs as soft as jello. "Kušan..."
He growls louder this time. "Again, please..."
"K-Kušan..." It's hard to talk as he removes your bottom clothes and pulls your panties down. But you repeat his name since that's the only word that exists in your mind. "Kušan... Kušan..."
His thick finger massages your wet mound. Your arousal is smeared all over your pubic hair, and they glisten. The orc looks mesmerized, his mouth slightly open, breath heavy. "Can I... can I..."
Unable to form any coherent sound, you simply pull his head toward your hungry cunt and let him do whatever he wants. Drunk, your mind is fuzzy and overtaken by lust. You rub against his face, moaning his name as he sloppily eats you out, never diving out to breathe. The heat swells where his tongue toys with your clit, and you can only mindlessly chase your pleasure. And you reach it, breaking, almost falling down; but, luckily, Kušan is there to hold you. Finally, you see him emerge between your legs, his face flushed and soaked, but smiling blissfully. He doesn't look smug at all. He's happy like a puppy.
A knock. "Are you okay? You disappeared a while ago. Have you seen Kušan? Someone wants to open more wine and they seem pretty drunk. Nobody can calm them down. We need help."
