warnings: 644 words // nsfw - multiple masc!orcs x fem!human!reader // blindfolded, guess game of who is fucking you, bondage, public sex, unprotected sex, clit stim, spanking, edging, anal sex, oral sex (reader receiving)/tonguefucking, orgasm denial (reader), reader doesn't cum, reader is used like a sex toy/personal toy for six orcs
Laughter bellows out around the campfire.
Rough hands hold you at your hips while a thick cock stretches you wide. Your hands are done up in a nearest tree like normal. Your dress sits forgotten on the ground. You jolt with every slow, hard thrust into you as the others encircle you. But you’re stuck only feeling and listening, trying to pinpoint who drives their cock into you from behind with a thick, scratchy blindfold acting as a deterrent.
But it’s their favorite game. Well, this and passing you quite literally around the fire to use like a toy to get them off. But this takes the cake. They dangle you out for the rest of camp to leer on as they want, taking claim to you–their special toy and only theirs–and one they have fun toying with.
A fat, rough finger goes from your hips to your clit. It’s swollen and sensitive already from every prior touch, but that doesn’t stop him. He laughs and grunts, rutting into you to stretch you on his cock until tears wet the blindfold and you’re almost drooling.
Who is it?
You have to guess. You’re supposed to guess. But they’re never shy about how much they enjoy seeing you writhe and thrash when they fuck you over and over and over, making you get right to that edge and then stopping.
Just as he stops.
And he pulls out of you, leaving you gaping wide and pulsing around nothing.
Your legs fall and a large hand smacks your ass. The sharp stinging goes up over your lower back and down your thighs. Down on the ground, your toes barely touch. They barely catch you, lending the cuffs to dig into your wrists and do it for you.
“Guess, human,” one shouts in front of you. “Who’s cock was it that time?”
There are six of them. Six gargantuan orcs that you serve as a deal over prison time for your family’s debt that’d been shoved onto you. So you took this method. You’d thought it’d be…easier.
Your eyes flutter behind the blindfold. Your pussy drips.
“I…I….” is all you manage to get out.
Laughter erupts again. It’s cruel and deep, vibrating the air around you.
“Well, guess we ought to cycle through again to give her a fair shot,” another says. “We’ll give you a breather, too, human. We’ll fuck your ass this time so your pussy gets a break.”
The familiar pop of their body oil echoes next to you. Leaves crunch behind you. Rough fingers grab your ass and spread you.
“Hey,” someone says in a whisper you can barely hear. All of their voices blend together in a soft hmmm? “Should we lick her pussy to really incentivize her?”
The tip of the orc’s cock brushes against your asshole when you hear more leaves crunch. No, no…. Your mouth falls open involuntarily when he pushes it, stretching you with a sharp burn and a sudden thick, filling, slow thrust. Warm fingers part your pussy; hot breath hits your clit. The flicker of the fire fades into the background as a large, hot tongue laps at your overstimulated, under-orgasmed cunt.
“Who fucks your tight asshole?” one asks.
A tongue drives into your cunt while the aforementioned one rams into your ass, rocking you in the cuffs.
Your eyes roll back and you have no answer for them except a desperate, needy scream.
But that’s not a name, so they carry on as they are.
They take turns fucking you until your asshole drips of their cum and their chins are coated from every near orgasm they almost give you.
They leave you hanging in the tree as they drink their ale.
“We’ll give it another go after this round,” one says, heartily. “Give the poor human another chance.”
Involuntarily, your pussy clenches in desperate anticipation. You're left a trembling, needy mess while you wait for them to finish, and they stay true to their word.
Abs covered in a beautiful layer of fat, perfect for grinding on
Thighs and ass straining any of pants he wears
Hairy chest, sweaty skin as he works on your expansive land, moving wood, hauling hay bales
Sitting on your back porch, cold glass of water in hand as you fucking salivate in your chair watching him, already planning how you'll jump his bones when he comes in
Thinking about a monster with an insanely large cock. It's so big that when he lays it across your stomach, it reaches all the way to your diaphragm and when he fucks you, you can see it bulging in your lower belly. At first, he was afraid he would rip you open, but it never ceases to amaze him how much you can take in such tiny holes. He loves seeing them gape open when he pulls out, dripping with his come. He loves it when you ride him, seeing you slowly lower yourself down onto him all the way to the base, marveling at how you're able to fit all of him in such a tiny body (well, tiny compared to his, at least).
Summary: As you acclimate to your new place in your chieftain’s group of orcs, he decides to reward you for your services. A rather startling surprise only adds to the experience.
Word count: 2.2k
[Part 1] [Part 2]
The other orcs in Gorkazh’s band quickly adjusted to your presence in their little stronghold. As a matter of fact, aside from your sudden arrival with your mysterious request to speak with their chief, they hardly ever batted an eye in your direction.
Not that you didn’t feel welcome. You assisted with various tasks when you could, salting meats, collecting dirty dishes after shared meals, collecting and drying medicinal herbs. They even drew you into their conversations around their cooking fires, gladly recounting tales of past hunts and skirmishes. Some spoke the common tongue better than others and would patiently translate for you when needed.
For all their kind efforts you were exceedingly grateful. And with each opportunity to experience and integrate yourself more into the orcish band’s traditions, you found yourself growing more fond of their company. There was just… one small thing you had yet to get used to.
After several weeks spent in their company, you had come to understand that orcs had little shame in displaying their passion. It was not uncommon that after the night’s feasting had ended, a second more intimate sort of feasting would begin.
Some orcs would drift away from the group by the fire. Some went in pairs, some in small groups, and some only ever left with the same partner each time. The darkness around the edges of camp swallowed their figures, but not the sounds of their joining. The wet slap of flesh upon flesh and the guttural cries of pleasure echoed from the spaces between huts and tents.
At first you were utterly taken aback by the sound. Then a heat began to simmer low in your center, the sounds reminding you of how later that same night, Gorkazh would take you in your own bed of furs.
As much as you were secretly intrigued by the idea of coupling in one of the camp’s quiet, dark corners, Gorkazh simply never brought it up and so you never asked. Things proceeded as they always had, your nightly cravings for your chieftain’s thick cock thoroughly sated in the privacy of his longhouse.
Until the day the hunter arrived.
You were carrying a basket of dried herbs over to one of the little storehouse when you spotted him. He was a tall, muscular, bearded man, but of course his physique still paled in comparison to the rest of your company. Atop his pack he had strapped down a pile of bloodied pelts- fresh harvests from his kills. He was bartering with some of the other orc hunters, presumably before he returned to a nearby human settlement.
It had been so long since you’d seen one of your own kind. At first you merely glanced over him until the shock of his presence forced you to do a double take. Then the panic set in.
What if he saw you? Your ruined human clothes had long since been burned. Now you were draped in furs and thick, rough spun fabrics. One of the older orcish women had helped you pull some of your wilder strands of hair back into braids. As soon as he laid eyes on you it wouldn’t take long for him to piece together what you were doing here and the… services you were providing.
As if your thoughts rang loud and clear across the camp, he turned suddenly and caught you with his stare. You scurried along, refusing to stop and give him any more time than necessary to notice you, to judge you. Still, you couldn’t help but glance his way and your stomach did a small flip and the mix of surprise and wariness in his gray eyes.
You made your way over to the storehouse and hid in there for a time, peering out through a crevice in the door and only rushing back across camp to Gorkazh’s longhouse once you were completely certain the coast was clear. You remained timid the rest of the day, taking your portion of the midday meal in your quarters and only coming out for dinner around the fire at Gorkazh’s rumbling urges.
All throughout the meal, you scanned the small crowd mingling about you for any signs of the hunter. The longer you went without seeing him, the more you relaxed. By the time the stewpot and dirty dishes were carried away, you finally allowed yourself to nuzzle up against one of Gorkhaz’s warm arms.
Without even looking your way, he hooked that arm around you and easily hefted you into his lap. Savoring the solid warmth of his chest and plush swell of his belly at your back, you sagged against him, rising and falling gently with his breath.
At some point the drone of conversation and crackling fire must have lulled you to sleep because you suddenly jerked upright with a grunt only to find the center of camp deserted. The logs in the fire had been reduced to ash and red glowing embers while thin strands of smoke lazily drifted up to the glittering night sky.
Gorkazh himself remained solid and steady behind you, his heavy hand wrapping around your middle and coaxing you back against him. A cold, wintery wind hissed through the trees and you were more grateful than usual for his immense body heat.
“Where is everyone?” you croaked, voice hoarse from sleep.
“Gone to their beds,” he rumbled.
You craned your neck as you turned to look up at him, mouth going dry when you found him already watching you. “And why are you and I still out here?”
With your rear settled so snugly against his lap, it wasn’t very difficult to figure out why. A quickly growing bulge was rising beneath you, hard and twitching. A desperate sound grated in your throat as one of Gorkhaz’s hands glided up beneath the furs covering your chest. He massaged your breast with one hand while the other delved beneath the waist of your skirt.
He toyed with your folds, quickly spreading your slick between your thighs with lewd, wet sounds. The fingers molding around your breast suddenly twisted and pinched your nipple just as he thumbed your clit. You rolled your hips with a gasp, both sensations connecting each point of your body with an electric jolt of pleasure.
The hard curves of his tusks prodded at the nape of your neck before he curled around you further and left wet, hot kisses trailing down your throat. Teeth grazing your skin, he left a trail of goose flesh in his wake and sent more juices dribbling from your core.
You twisted and bucked against his hold, hunting for the friction of his now swollen cock against your ass. He crooked a finger inside you up to the second knuckle, the calloused tip curling and dragging at your walls.
“More,” you begged breathlessly as you changed strategies and ground down on his hand.
Gorkazh gave an amused hum. He teased you by pulling it out then slowly sinking it back in, but only up to the same knuckle.
“Please, Gorkazh!” His name felt clumsy on your tongue. You tried begging for his help in broken orcish.
“Needy thing,” he murmured against the shell of your ear before adding a second finger and thrusting both all the way in.
Your cry at the sudden fullness slowly trailed off into a low moan as he split his fingers between your slippery walls. You arched your back at the stretch and willed yourself to relax and loosen up for him. The sooner he deemed you ready, the sooner you could have his cock.
“I have seen the way you stare after the others,” he growled. The wide flat of his tongue lapped up the sweat beginning to trickle down your throat. “You wish I would fuck you as they do. Out in the open for all to hear.”
Foolishly, you shook your head, then flushed in shame when he chuckled.
“Do not hide it from me. Tonight I give you what you desire.”
He pulled his fingers free and cradled you to his chest before rising up to his full height. You stayed pliant and calm in his arms, now used to the way he would carefully manhandle you into position. He sprawled out on his back before the dying fire and set you astride his belly. Your disheveled furs fell away with several sharp tugs and he discarded his own belt and covering.
The curved of his cock nestled between your ass cheeks while the slick dripping from your cunt seeped into the thick, coarse hair near the base of him. He returned to pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers, humming at your every moan and gasp as the juices from your own cunt began to drip down your breasts.
“Now you will do as you wish,” he said simply. “Let them hear how you fuck me.”
You gaped at him as he withdrew his hands from you and folded them behind his head. It took several dizzying heartbeats for his command to sink in before you were scrambling to raise your ass and prepare yourself.
Fingers clumsily groping behind you, you latched on to the base of his fat cock, practically salivating with the need of having it fill you. You sprawled out over his belly, legs quivering with anticipation as you teased yourself with the head.
And then you had the bright idea of teasing him too. Gaze fixed on his face, you watched every twitch of his lips around his tusks, the way his tongue darted out to wet his plush lips, as you slipped the head of his cock into your hole just to drag it back out again. Over and over.
Until you apparently did it one too many times. His hips shifted beneath you and he raised himself up on his elbows, your own weight sliding you back and forcing him deeper in. Drunk off the sudden, unexpected stretch, you wailed and heaved yourself up into a seated position, finally taking him fully inside you. The pulse of his heartbeat pounded against your walls, leaving you breathless.
Full. So full. You felt rooted to him as you gave an experimental roll of your hips, struggling to find leverage. Desperate for more motion, you leaned back and clutched his thighs. You lifted your hips upward and let your weight fall, spearing yourself on him with a broken moan.
Over and over you repeated the motion until you were drenched in sweat and every lift had your muscles spasming from exhaustion. Eyelids heavy, thoughts muddled in the blissful fog of cumming atop him several times, body faltering, you wondered what he might do if you simply collapsed atop him.
Thankfully you didn’t have to find out.
A sharp growl forced its way between his clenched teeth. His hips gave several stuttering thrusts and suddenly he was filling you with the heat of his cum. He pressed a palm to your belly, forcing the walls of your womb to brush up against his throbbing dick. You continued fucking him through it as best you could, chasing the sweet, deep ache from that extra bit of friction until he grew soft.
With a rumble of satisfaction, he tugged you off of him and dragged you up the length of his body, leaving behind smears of cum and your own spend before he sat you atop his face.
You sighed at the way his tusks did the work of spreading your legs for you. He plunged his tongue into your thoroughly used cunt, grunting happily to himself as he lapped up his own seed and your juices. The warmth of him soothed your abused folds and you tilted your head back in sheer bliss…
...and noticed the figure lurking in the shadows just on the other side of the fire. A whimper formed in your throat as you recognized the form of the human hunter. He was hunched over, face flushed, eyes wild. That was when you realized he was tugging sharply at his own cock.
Shame and confusion battled inside you. Your eyes widened, your hips still wriggling atop your chieftain’s face because, apparently even while getting caught in the act, you couldn’t deny yourself the pleasure. You had no idea how long the hunter had been watching your coupling, but based on the flushed purple head weeping in the grip of his fist, you figured it must have been at least several minutes.
Gorkazh had yet to notice with most of his face still buried in your cunt. You held the hunter’s lust addled gaze, uncertain of what to do about him or yourself. But the fact that he had seen your shameful fate and let it fuel his own lust began to stoke the dimming embers in your core.
Hesitantly, you raised your hands and trailed them down the curves of your body. The hunter watched your every move, then brought his free hand up to his face and bit down on his fingers as you plucked and pinched at your own nipples. You shifted your hips slightly, creating extra space between your folds and Gorkazh’s diligently working mouth so that the obscene smacks of him devouring your cunt could be better heard.
The hunter didn’t last long after that. A few more strokes and he spilled himself on the ground, barely muffling his cries before he stumbled backwards and vanished into the shadows.
Between your legs, Gorkazh’s half-lidded eyes snapped open and you felt the threatening ripple of his muscles beneath you. You, on the other hand, just offered him a dazed smile and playfully wove your fingers through the strands of his hair.
“It’s nothing,” you assured him with a sigh. “Someone overheard us, that’s all.”
Placated by your touches, his mismatched eyes fluttered shut and he gave a satisfied hum as he lapped up the rest of his meal.
Kidnapped elf princess has been bound and gagged for days now. She was beginning to think the orcs had forgotten her back here, tucked into some random tent near the backline of their forces. They had been pretty drunk when they'd snatched her up, after all, pulling her shirt up and pinching at her soft, plush hips.
But no. They return tonight, three nights later, even more raucous and intoxicated than they night they'd stolen her.
She spots why almost immediately: a giant, dark cask being carried by the tallest one, dripping deep purple liquid from its wooden tap.
Orcwine.
Elf princess doesn't really have time to process the implications of this before the smallest and most brutal of the orcs is grabbing her by the harness they've tied around her bare chest. He pulls her clumsily onto her feet. Even the shortest of orcs towers over her by a foot and a half.
"There we go," the smallest says, grinning wickedly, his tusks flashing in the low light. "On your feet, pretty thing."
"Pretty?" one of the others asks, skeptically. "She's too small to be pretty. Those hips..."
"--are plenty wide for an elf," the smallest one snaps. He grabs them greedily, pulling her against him, his cock already half hard under linen trousers. Her fat, soft skin gives way easily under his bruising touch. "You've never been able to 'preciate the finer things, grub. S'why you can't hold your Orcwine."
Elf princess twists a little, struggling against his rough grip. This only makes the orcs laugh.
"And you think your 'pretty thing' can?" the skeptical orc asks. "Come, now. We found her stumbling after just a few fruity little elf drinks."
"I think she'll do just fine," the short one smirks, grinding his cock against her thigh. "We're s'pposed to be takin' care of her, right?"
They start out giving her sips from their tankards. The Orcwine is foul and strong, tasting of berries and moss and something astringent. She's never had anything this potent before. They all laugh as she coughs, letting her struggle, getting it all out before pressing another pewter mug to her lips.
But soon, she's drunk. Very drunk. She's never had anything like the thick liquid the orcs drink, and it goes right to her head. And between her legs. She slumps in a lap as one presses more into her mouth, bucking her hips against nothing.
"D'you like that, yer majesty?" one of them slurs, groping at her breasts. Her nipples harden instantly under the calloused fingers. "Y'ever feel like this before?"
She tries to shake her head, but the room swims. Gods.
"I thhhink I'm drunk," she murmurs. She hears she slur but can't stop it. "I think mmm... That I..."
"Good, good," the little one coos. "That's right. No fear. No worries. Juss some night warmth, right in that belly."
He reaches out and squeezes it, so soft and warm. He licks his lips, tongue sliding over tusks, staring at it unsteadily. The princess shudders.
Because it does feel good. Because the Orcwine is making her so fuzzy... So warm. The colors start to bleed together like watercolors in the rain. At one point, she hiccups and jerks to sudden awareness; someone is groping her breasts. Is it her? Sharp teeth bite down on a deep red nipple.
The orcs are drinking quite a lot, too. Especially that big one: the tall, broad one who carried the cask into the tent. He starts picking it up and drinking straight from the tap, stumbling only a little as he does so.
"You want some of that?" the small one asks, tilting toward her dangerously. "Y'wanna... try?"
No, she doesn't really want to try... The idea of drinking from that filthy tap is disgusting. But one of the orcs grabs her delicate jaw and makes her nod.
They out her on all fours in front of the cask. The largest orc steadies her, settling above and behind her. She can feel him throbbing against her as he settles his hands on her waist, pressing against her ample behind.
"You ready, little princess?" he murmurs quietly. It's the first time she's heard him speak. It's almost gentle.
She's not ready. But the feeling of the creature above her, and the sensation of the wine pounding through her veins like it wants to escape, it's all so heady... Just the very idea of drinking more of the strange liquor goes to her cunt. Something drips down her leg, and she can feel large, thick fingers spreading her thighs apart, playing around the slick folds.
"Sss'too musch," she tries to explain. The orc that is holding her just nods, petting her hair gently.
"I know. Open wide," the big one says, and she doesn't know if he means her legs or her mouth; it becomes clear, as something warm and wide spears her from behind without warning, that he means both.
Someone squeezes her cheeks and her jaw drops, lips wrapping around the wooden tap in front of her.
The elf princess's vision goes gray. She sees stars as her mouth fills with thick, sweet, sharp liquid; her hole filled with throbbing, molten flesh. She gags and chokes, but she soon forgets the pain as the Orcwine washes over her. Her eyes roll back. There's nothing left but the sensation of being filled.
In the castle of the elf king, a month later, the newest report arrives from the front. All attempts at negotiation for the hostage has failed; it seems, they say, that she doesn't want to come home.
How to Train your Orc (in Pumpkin Picking) (orc x fem reader)
Summary: you and your orc boyfriend go pumpkin picking. He insists on picking the biggest pumpkin in the field.
TW: SFW, autumn vibes, fluffy and cozy, funny, some kisses.
Enjoy this commissioned work for anon!
Bright morning light poured over the sprawling farmland. The air was crisp, heavy with the scent of dry earth and decaying leaves. Rows upon rows of orange globes dotted the ground, and somewhere between the laughter of children and the rustle of leaves, you stood hand-in-hand with your seven-foot orc.
This yearly ritual, visiting Harland Farm to choose pumpkins, was a cornerstone of the season for you. It was just one of the many human customs you were slowly introducing to Grok.
“Choosing round fruits from the dirt for a celebration… your humans have odd traditions,” Grok rumbled, peering down at the nearest patch. “But I am learning.”
You smiled, stroking the rough, green skin of his knuckles with your thumb. “It’s fun! We can slice faces into them, bake them into desserts, toast their seeds—”
“Good!” he said, eyes lighting up. “I’m so happy we can eat them. I feared this was another human ‘just for looking’ game. Like the bowl of fake fruit.”
You snorted. “That was a decoration, you goof! You tried to eat a candle shaped like an apple!”
“It smelled like apple!” Grok protested, voice echoing down the field. A few nearby families turned to stare, but he didn’t care. “But today, I harvest food.”
You grinned, tugging him toward the rows of pumpkins. “Yes! But remember the rule: we need one that will fit inside the car.”
He froze mid-step. “The car? Only one?” His tusks twitched. “No. We take many. We fill the vehicle and if there is no room, I carry them myself.”
“It’s a long way to walk home.”
He smirked. “You forget who you are speaking to. Grok of the Red Plains once bore three full-grown boars and a barrel of ale upon his shoulders for five miles.”
“Yeah,” you said sweetly, “but you passed out after drinking most of that ale on the journey.”
He squinted down at you. “Details.”
Ten minutes later, the two of you were standing before a pumpkin roughly the size of a small boulder.
“This one,” he declared. “It is worthy.”
“Worthy of what?” you asked, already laughing.
“Of honor. Of stew. Of victory.” He slapped a broad palm against its thick shell. A dull thump echoed from it. “Hm, yes. We take this one.”
You stared at the behemoth. Then at him. “That thing won’t even fit through the gate, Grok.”
“Then I remove the gate.”
“No!” You swatted his heavily muscled bicep. “You are not tearing down Farmer Harland’s fence!”
Grok looked offended and comically hugged the gigantic pumpkin. “You wish Grok to leave this magnificent beast behind?”
“Yes!” you said patiently. “Listen to me, sweetheart. A medium to large pumpkin is what we need.”
He looked at you as though you’d spoken blasphemy. “This is a medium one.”
You blinked. “Grok… that pumpkin could have its own postal code.”
“I say it again, my love: Big means strong. Big means more to carve, more to eat.”
“And that’s where you’re wrong, big guy.” You crossed your arms. “Giant pumpkins don’t make the best eating pumpkins. They’re full of water, all stringy and bland.”
He squinted down at the orange boulder. “You lie.”
“I don’t! Ask anyone.” You pointed toward a family nearby, lifting a small pumpkin. “See? They’re picking reasonable ones.”
“Humans are small…” he straightened up, kicking at a pebble like a sulking child. “Small humans pick small pumpkins.”
“Medium, Grok,” you corrected with a grin. “Something you can actually carry through the door without demolishing our cottage.”
He gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “You take joy from denying me my destiny.”
“Your destiny is not to bake a tasteless pumpkin the size of a wagon wheel.”
“But imagine!” he argued, so adorably obsessed. “One great pumpkin, carved with fangs and flames, then baked in the oven! Feast for days!”
“It would be tasteless, sweetheart. Come on...” You gave his hand another tug. “Let’s go find a good one. You can carve it any way you like.”
“Fine." He sighed dramatically, as though you’d just told him to abandon a lifelong dream. Then, in an exaggerated show of effort, he trudged over to a smaller pumpkin still about the size of a beach ball and lifted it one-handed.
“This one?” he asked, voice flat.
“That’s better.”
He studied it for a long moment, frowned, then muttered under his breath, “It is… tiny.”
“It’s perfect for carving and eating. Trust me.”
To soothe him, you rose onto your toes, straining to press a kiss to the corner of his jaw, the highest point you could comfortably reach. Thankfully, he understood. He bent down and captured your lips with his own. His full, soft lips moved against yours, brushing wetly, making your knees weak.
A strong arm encircled your waist, pressing your body flush against the hard wall of his chest. You framed his face with your hands as his tongue pushed past your lips, taking. Stealing the air from your lungs. You moaned, a sound he swallowed greedily.
But since you were standing in the middle of a public farm, and your orc was fiercely territorial, he was the one to break the kiss. He drew back, his breath a warm, ragged gust against your kiss-swollen lips, and reluctantly, lowered you back to your feet. He gave you a promising look that said later, before turning his attention back to the pumpkins.
After a longer walk through the rest of the farm, a break to drink cider and eat sweet corn, you finally had your pumpkins. Grok had managed to stack four respectable ones in his arms, a collection of various shapes, all perfectly sized.
And yet, his gaze kept drifting back to The Behemoth, that absurd, colossal pumpkin he had first chosen. You had tried, truly tried, to hold firm, but he looked so genuinely heartbroken to leave it behind that your resolve melted.
You exhaled. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
You sighed again, pointing a finger at the monstrous gourd. “Fine. We’ll take the big one, too.”
He let out a happy roar. “HA! I knew it! You aren’t heartless after all!”
“Go get it, big guy,” you muttered with a smile.
He needn’t be told. Grok bounded over and hoisted it onto his shoulder as if it weighed no more than a feather.
“Look at her, my love!” he bellowed. “Magnificent! Heavy! Perfect!”
A group of children nearby started clapping, and one shouted, “You’re super strong, mister!”
You could only shake your head as he strutted back toward you, proud as a king returning from war.
“Oh my god,” you laughed. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossible?” he said, lowering the pumpkin carefully beside your smaller ones. “No. Victorious! She will sit in front of our home. I will carve her and then make pie!”
“Oh, so it’s a ‘she’ now? Then she’s going to collapse under her own weight in two days."
He just beamed. “Then she will die a warrior’s death.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “I’m glad you’re happy, my love.”
He leaned close enough that his tusks brushed your cheek. “I am very happy.”
And as you returned home together, you knew, without a doubt, that it had been worth it.
***************
Back at your cottage, the real work began. It took nearly an hour of chopping, hacking, and an alarming level of orcish fervor before the small ones plus the giant pumpkin, were finally broken down into pieces. You kept reminding him that pumpkin knives were not meant to be wielded like battle axes. He kept pretending not to hear you.
Somehow, against all odds, Grok’s carving of The Behemoth was a success. It stood on your porch, a lopsided, terrifyingly tusked thing glowing with a candle inside. And with the fleshy innards, you made a pie. When you pulled it from the oven, its crust was a perfect, golden brown.
Grok didn’t wait. He snatched a slice bare-handed, blew on it twice, and took a massive bite.
You braced yourself for the inevitable grimace.
Instead, he froze. Eyes wide. Cheeks full.
He swallowed and turned to you with awe. “It is…” he paused dramatically, “…glorious!!”
You blinked. “Wait—what?”
He shoved another piece into his mouth and nodded enthusiastically. “Sweet. Rich. Powerful. You said it would be bland and watery! You lied!”
“I didn’t lie!” you protested. “They usually are!”
“Not this one,” he declared, holding up another golden slice like an offering. “This one was chosen by destiny.”
You took a cautious bite, expecting mush, and paused. The texture was smooth and velvety, the flavor a deep, caramelized sweetness that melted on your tongue. It was, without exaggeration, the best pumpkin pie you had ever tasted.
“Oh… wow,” you murmured. “That’s… actually incredible.”
He puffed his chest. “Of course it is. Grok has good taste.”
You looked from him, to the the pie, and back again. “Wow… You are never, ever going to let me forget this, are you?”
“Never,” he smirked, wrapping his arm around your waist. His lips claimed yours, tasting of pumpkin sweetness and masculine Grok as he made good of the rest of the day by making love to you.
Note: I'm not even sure where this is going yet, since it's half-inspired by an actual friendship I had, tarot readings invading my feeds, and some really wild thoughts I've been having recently.
Like, ya'll might judge me for this one. lol Not going to lie.
(unserious) Summary: Ophelia Wayward, human woman and witch, was living life with her partner and family in Raven Row when a familiar face moves in down the street. A painfully familiar face that sends her emotions into an uproar.
Hrazeth 'Seth' More is an orc man going through a divorce when he decides to move to Raven Row. He's totally sure what he's doing with his life while he's dealing with his (second) divorce and moving to a city that he swears was just a good move for him and his kids. Seriously. There's nothing more to it.
x x x
The day was bright and warm, with a faint breeze kicking up. Ophelia found herself trailing after her son, Void, and the new friends he had made as they walked half a block. They spoke low enough she couldn’t hear, but Void hadn’t wanted her to follow and welcome the newcomers’ parents to the neighborhood either.
In moments like this, she marveled at how easily her son made friends, even when he denied his affability. Out of everything, it made Ophelia feel like she was doing something right as a parent. Even if he had taken a staunch stance on his own solitary capabilities.
She vaguely wondered what was so familiar about the newcomers, Miri and Alex, that tickled at her brain. The two had moved in just before the new school year, with the sister in the same ninth grade class as Void. Both Miri and Alex shared the same light brown skin and long elven ears, though Miri sported a head of golden curls and Alex had a shaggy dark brown mop-top.
Realization escaped Ophelia as they quickly came to their destination. There was still a moving truck outside the house and, as they approached, she caught the sounds of someone moving inside the truck’s back.
“Dad?” Picking up her pace, Miri jogged toward the truck with Alex tailing at her heels.
“There you two are, you had me worried!”
Something inside Ophelia stilled as dreadful familiarity threaded through her mind, even as her feet followed Void, rounding the end of the truck. Suddenly, the sunlight felt too hot, the breeze not strong enough.
Unaware of the turmoil happening inside her friend’s mother, Miri answered her father, “I texted you and told you me and a friend were getting Alex from the middle school before heading home.”
“I still worried,” said the orc man as he leaned toward Miri, one arm braced against the opening of the doorway.
The fact he stood in a moving truck made him seem far taller than he was, which made something in Ophelia cringe deeper into her stomach. She knew he was seven foot tall, from past conversations.
He hadn’t seen much sun, with his sage green skin skewing pale and close to a sort of light olive brown. The blunted points of his tusks had long been filed down, nearly to his lower lip. His dark hair seemed lighter, threaded with greys that weren’t there seven years previously. He had also grown more ‘fatherly’ in figure, particularly in the stomach area, which she wondered if he’d grown frustrated by.
The sinking sensation in Ophelia’s stomach struck her knees as his grey-blue eyes – heavy with bags, she couldn’t help noticing – flicked to where she and Void stood. Something in his stance indescribably stilled. Or maybe Ophelia was seeing something that wasn’t there.
“This is my friend and his mom,” Miri chirruped, her hand swinging from Void to Ophelia. She completely missed the brief second of surprise that brushed over her father’s face.
It had been seven years. Did he even recognize her or did he only feel a vague sense of recognition? Ophelia knew her weight had fluctuated over the years, but now she dressed more confidently and in ways that accentuated her body. The years had surely aged her face as it had his and threaded her hair with greys.
Desperate to not have a confrontation in front of the kids, Ophelia jumped forward with a smile and a wave, trying to transmit through her gaze he should not say anything in front of the kids. “Hi, I’m Ophelia Wayward, she/they, and this is my son, Void, he/they.”
“Seth More,” he replied carefully, after a beat of staring into her nearly manic smile. He coughed, adding awkwardly as he raised his hand to initiate a handshake. “Uh, he/him. I guess.”
Seth. Hah. Ophelia supposed she could see how one could get Seth from Hrazeth. Still, it made something inside her chest twinge. While this was a name change born of identity desires, it felt more socially driven than individual. She kept a smile forcefully trained on her lips as she took the orc man’s outstretched hand and shook it.
She tried to ignore the zap of sensation that shot up her arm, focusing on timing a normal handshake before releasing his hand. There was no way he felt the same delusional sensation, too. He couldn’t have kept such a stoic, if cautiously curious, expression if he had. She could barely keep eye contact, after all.
“Well, I just wanted to introduce myself. Welcome you to the neighborhood, yadda yadda. But you seem busy so we’ll get out of your hair now.” Ophelia waved her hands, partially a nervous habit but also an attempt to shake off the prickling sensation in her palms.
“I thought you wanted to help them unpack,” piped up Void, earning him a look from his mother. He grinned, delighting in being a challenge. “Community and all that, right?”
“I’m not sure if there’s a lot for me to do,” Ophelia tried to lie in front of all the boxes, but her son’s unwavering critical expression made her crumble as soon as the words were out. Stifling her resigned sigh, she aimed another forced smile in Seth’s direction. She tried not to let her shoulders droop too noticeably. “But if you need help, I’m here.”
Something flickered in Seth’s expression and she almost bit her own tongue. She probably had said something similar in the past and he now had definite confirmation about who she was. Dammit.
Whatever realization or suspicions simmered behind his eyes, Seth hid it with a clearing of his throat. “I could use some help getting these into the kitchen. A lot of dishes.”
Satisfied with his mother’s defeat, Void turned to Miri and Alex, offering to help them unpack as well. The two accepted eagerly and Ophelia watched dismally as the trio disappeared into the house.
It was only when Seth spoke up that her sullen silence fractured. “So, uh, Void?”
The roll of her eyes came on suddenly, her politely sunny expression dampening.
“Yes, Void. Though you knew him by his dead name last saw him, but he’s cycled through a couple other names while doing some identity exploration for the last five years.” Ophelia shrugged, not looking at him as she ascended the ramp into the truck. She surveyed the tidy mess of boxes, hefting one labeled ‘kitchen’ into her arms. It weighed heavily in her grip, likely some aforementioned dishes.
Unable to keep a lock on her trap, she continued to speak as Seth hoisted a pile of five boxes in his arms. “He might change his name again. I heard him tossing around the name Acrylic with a friend during a video call.”
“Isn’t it confusing,” asked the orc man as he trailed after her.
Ophelia paused at the bottom of the ramp, leveling a sharp look at his face. She wondered if he had forgotten some key parts of her history. “No, not really. Just like it wasn’t difficult when Laurel did it.”
Despite being taller than her, and given added advantage, Seth’s shoulders hunched at her sharp words. “Oh, yeah, right.”
She eyed him for a second longer, as if weighing how likely it was he had forgotten Laurel – his friend before Ophelia – and her transition. Though, she quickly decided it didn’t matter and turned to exit the truck.
The relief bloomed in Seth’s voice as he called out after her, “Uh, the kitchen is–“
“I know where it is,” she interrupted, not wanting his direction. She nearly bit her tongue when she realized how strange that might sound. Like stalker-y kind of strange.
And just as she thought that, a steely stillness returned to Seth’s body language at the front door of his new home. “You know?”
“We were friends with the neighbors who lived here before.” Ophelia shrugged, unable to look back at him as she maneuvered the stairs into the home. She had managed to get the door open and held it open with her elbow. “Void was friends with their kids, too.”
“You got a friendly kid,” he mused, coming up behind her to brace the front door with his foot.
She wished he hadn’t. It put him in such a close proximity, her heart tripped up as his body heat nearly caressed her. Faint memories of tickled her forethoughts, mostly of the opposite situation. Nights where they hung out, watching something, at opposite ends of a couch. Those memories were skewered by the few brief moments of them sitting side by side or the single hug incident.
“Yep, sure do. Couldn’t be prouder of him,” she mumbled as she quickly entered the house, trying to flee both Seth and the memories.
Even if she hadn’t known the floorplan, the kitchen was easily spotted from the front door, though it lay beyond the foyer and a dining room. Charging into the kitchen, she surveyed drop off options for her box and set the box down near a pile of brethren on the floor.
As she straightened, Seth entered the kitchen and she headed toward the exit without looking at the orc man. “I’m going to go get another box.”
Despite the amount of boxes he had hauled in and the fact he could set about unpacking, Seth soon rejoined Ophelia out in the moving truck. Once more he hefted more boxes than Ophelia could manage. She bitterly commented on it in her head, but held her tongue as she trekked back inside with another heavy box.
As they made a second transit into the kitchen, he cleared his throat. “So, uh, are you and Laurel…”
Ophelia set the box down as Seth trailed off, seemingly unable to finish his question with her eyes on him. Intuition had her filling in the blanks. “Yeah, we’re still together if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Ah,” he said, though it sounded more like a clearing of his throat as he slowly lowered the boxes to the tiled floor. Seth’s eyes found the courage to wobble back to her face as he straightened. “And are you still…?”
Failing to fight down her frown, Ophelia crossed her arms and tried not to bristle. “Still what?”
His voice dipped lower, uncertain and almost mouthing his next words as if they were a curse. “ENM?”
She fought down a roll of her eyes. Ethically non-monogamous or ENM had been a term that took root on dating apps more quickly than polyamorous for some reason. It was a vapid distinction, but she supposed in a world rife with cheating and fear of said cheating, focusing on the ‘ethical’ part soothed potential hurt feelings. Still, a little annoyance bloomed inside her. She had spoken to Seth about polyamory – and how she and Laurel had become so – in the past to him.
The revelation had come about after she mentioned the outlandish conversation she had with some guy on a dating app. Which led to Seth casting her a critical look and asking if Laurel knew she was on dating sites. Ophelia had to spill the beans about their polyamory, just to smooth that line in his forehead. The way he had responded, insisting he was purely monogamous, still made a mingling sensation of frustration and guilt prickle in her chest.
“Yes, we’re still ethically non-monogamous or polyamorous or open. Whatever is most understandable.” Pivoting the conversation away from herself, Ophelia turned it on Seth. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t keep her smile from feeling slightly edged. “And how about you? Got a partner yourself?”
Miri and Alex were from his prior marriage, but in the seven years since she last interacted with Seth, she knew he had become committed to someone else again. During his first divorce, he had been throwing himself headlong into dating at a pace Ophelia considered maniacal. Like he feared being alone for too long.
If he hadn’t been dating, he’d either been vaping or drinking in his free time, as far as she knew.
Or hanging out with you, a small traitorous voice hissed at the back of Ophelia’s brain, but she ignored it.
Seth slowly nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had a partner. We’re in the process of a divorce.”
“Oof, sorry to hear that.” And she genuinely was. Finding someone – particularly a someone to call his and only his – to weather the years with was important to him.
Seth laughed weakly, though his face had crimped into a wince as he continued, “We have two kids together, too. A three-year-old and a two-year-old.”
Ophelia bit her tongue – it would be a swollen painful lump by the end of this visit – to keep from saying ‘history repeats itself.’ Miri and Alex had been a little older during Seth’s first divorce, so it wasn’t an exact repetition.
His eyes flickered to her face and that wince of a smile dribbled away. “Go ahead and say it.”
“Say what?” Confusion wrinkled her brow as her eyebrows drew together.
“You were going to comment on how history repeats itself or something, right?” His lips thinned, but Ophelia couldn’t read the expression. He had always been too guarded to get a decent read on him. “I’ve been thinking about that, too. Everything’s been pretty similar, except I didn’t have you to talk to this time around.”
Heat licked through Ophelia, hearing her very thoughts echoed in his words before he brought up the past. Suddenly, standing four feet away in the kitchen wasn’t nearly enough distance. It made her skin itch. But, once again, she tried to pivot the conversation. “What made you move to Raven Row?”
She and Laurel had moved from the big city of Whitburn, where they had last known Seth, to the smaller city of Raven Row four years ago. Which made the fact he was even here, as their new neighbor, even more mindboggling, she realized.
“I saw Laurel post about Raven Row after moving here. She seemed really pleased and I just thought about it once Deidre and I started talking about divorce.” Seth angled his gaze up to a cobwebbed corner as uncertainty wheedled through Ophelia’s mind. “Houses are cheaper and Miri is going to be looking at colleges soon, so it just seemed like a good option.”
Once more, Ophelia had to bite her tongue. Laurel had unfriended Seth a while ago, a few weeks after he stopped talking to Ophelia, in fact. Which meant Seth had been creeping on Laurel’s social media years after the unfriending. He couldn’t creep on Ophelia’s, however, since he had blocked her.
“What’s with that face?”
Her eyes snapped to Seth just as she felt the tension in her pursed lips. Forcing her expression to ease, she tried to conjure up another faux smile, but it didn’t quite come to her lips. Under Seth’s steady gaze, Ophelia averted her gaze. “Just thinking about the timeline. Laurel cut contact with you years before we moved out of Whitburn.”
“Yeah.” Seth crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to say you didn’t keep tabs on me online? Or through your scrying mirror?”
Ophelia couldn’t respond to that honestly. She had a burner account on most of the popular social medias, and, on occasion, she’d look up old school classmates, friends she had fallen away from, or even, yes, Seth. However, the fact he called out her awakened magic nearly made her choke. Had Laurel talked about that on her account? She probably did. She was always more open than Ophelia herself.
Clearing her throat, she tried to mask her surprise by remaining casual, if a little barbed. “Touche. I won’t lie and say I haven’t cyber-snooped on you, but you have most stuff private, so I only really saw occasional political posts. Kind of fell off on checking.”
Seth cocked his head, eyes narrowing as he leaned back against a counter. “How about recently?”
She inhaled sharply, her lips pressing tightly together as her eyes bounced away from him. Gods, was she that transparent? Over the summer, the urge to check on him had come upon her suddenly. It had surprised even herself. It didn’t help that tarot readings concerning ‘twin flames’ and ‘divine counterparts’ had cropped up on her TikTiks or TubeYou feeds. It had been leaking into her feeds for months before she finally caved and clicked on one. Then she couldn’t stop watching them.
It had taken so much self-discipline to tell herself they weren’t actually for her. The Universe wasn’t actually trying to tell her something. Just a string of coincidences. It didn’t stop her from watching or listening to the videos while she did other things, rolling her eyes every time an alleged, specific synchronicity genuinely matched.
Yet, here he was, living down the street from her. Hells, one of his kids went to the same high school as Void.
Digging into her a little further, Seth almost accusatorily added, “You didn’t seem all that surprised I was going through another divorce.”
When he spoke, she shot him another sharp look, her focus on his blunted tusks. “I don’t think you ever figured yourself out, so no, I’m not surprised.”
The words came out harsher than she intended. She only realized it as the energy in the room snapped, as Seth straightened despite still leaning against the counter. There was a flicker of anger in his eyes, restrained but there. “I’m a grown-ass orc. What do I have to figure out?”
Shit and now they were in a stand-off, because of her words. With a sharp inhale, Ophelia held up a hand. “Give me a second.”
Her vision flickered at the edges and she tilted her head down, using her free hand to pinch the bridge of her nose as she fended off the heat growing in her eyes. Old memories and new information were difficult to process with Hrazeth – no, Seth – standing right there.
Wasn’t it obvious he hadn’t figured himself out? With his blunted tusks and pallid features, a second failed marriage with a new set of children to juggle? History repeats, cycles continue, until one broke them.
Something churned through Ophelia. Her sense of ‘self’ she sometimes considered it, but it wanted to reach toward something inside Seth. Maybe his own ‘self’ that she thought he kept buried. Deeper memories roused. Old, old memories of her own struggles, her own Tragic Backstory™, her own pains. Projecting those feelings onto Seth wasn’t fair to him and she couldn’t be sure he truly felt the same.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Ophelia stiltedly said as her eyes opened, though she kept them trained on the floor. “You are an adult and I can’t tell you who you are or what to be and I’m not trying to tell you how to be.”
From the corner of her sight, she could see something in Seth’s stance ease. As relieved as that made her, she really needed that distance.
“I can’t deal with this conversation right now. All of this,” Ophelia made an encompassing gesture, including the house and Seth, “is a lot to process.”
She started to edge toward the exit, feeling claustrophobic. “You can send Void home whenever. We’re just down the street.”
“Alright, take care.” He made a motion with his hand, something of a half-assed wave to display his still simmering anger, but she had already turned. She barely made it out of the kitchen before he hit her with a grudgingly, but relatively mild, parting sentiment. “Thank you for your help.”
Ophelia paused in the dining room, her lungs twinging with lack of air. Those words. Those damn words. Were they woven with hidden meaning? With a deeper message? Or was her mind playing tricks? Was he really only thanking her for help with moving two boxes? Or was there more?
Seth always had this ability to confound her. He’d say something and something in her caught onto a hidden meaning that may not even be there. Daring to look back at him, Ophelia tried to gauge reality. He stood in the kitchen, still leaning back against a counter, watching her. Everything about him seemed nonchalant, at ease. Not tense like he was waiting for her to realize the secret code in his words.
Yet something vibrated through her. A knowingness that her instincts, her intuitions, were correct. Or maybe just those senses of selves – his and hers – resonating.
But Seth made no indication there was some ethereal understanding. He just stared at her.
A second too long had passed. The silence and his waiting expression bore down on her. Ophelia opened her mouth to say something but couldn’t find any words. Humming in acknowledgement, she tipped her head in a shallow nod and forced herself to leave.
x x x
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