Haley Thistle
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Monster March: Palmyre the Orc
🕑 Added 2023-03-28 18:00:02 +0000 UTCFemale Monster x Male Reader
I have been performing since I was a child and I’ve always loved it. Standing on that stage and seeing the crowd all staring at me never gave me the fear it did others. I’ve taken much more from it, I’ve fed on it. My whole life has been devoted to performing. Now, I feel as if I am being mocked. The latest opera I am performing in has taken a slight change in direction. My once beautiful costar has stepped down and the role has been offered to someone else. Someone far less desirable.
Her name is Armandine Palmyre and is a rising star in the opera scene. They call her the Staggering Soprano because seeing her and then hearing her voice will make you fall in shock. She is an orc, need I say more on that? I have not heard her sing or see her perform but I don’t need to. I know what my stage needs and it does not need her lumbering about. The producers will not budge on this matter though. They tell me the same thing, “we want Palmyre” or “you’ll perform well with Palmyre.”
Palmyre. Palmyre. Palmyre. It is all anyone can talk about! Even when I go to my old costar to try and coerce her back to performing the stage with me she looks at me with derision.
“She is a sweet soul!” She snaps at me. “Palmyre is a good friend and I stepped down for her. I am tired, can’t you tell? I need air. Palmyer needs the stage. If you just listen to her voice, maybe you’ll understand.” She then throws her fan at me. “Do you not remember being a satyr on stage and being mocked?” She storms away from me leaving me alone in her empty flat.
When I was young, creatures like me were only starting to take the stage. Oh sure, satyrs were a staple in my home country, but here in France, I was seen as an oddity and laughing stock. Oh, but I proved them wrong. I showed them that…oh, that is what she meant. Orcs are not seen as artists or performers. They are grunts and soldiers, not creature capable of delicate things. Palmyer has probably heard all this before, hence why she is referred to as the Staggering Soprano. I know nothing of her and I am ready to write her off.
Still, as the leads of this opera, I know we will look ridiculous. I am barely five feet tall and orcs, well, needless to say, Palmyer will stand head and shoulders above me. My old costar was perfect, she made me look tall. Palmyer will dwarf me. This size difference is nothing I am looking forward to.
Palmyer finally arrives at the theater, from my window I see she has a very little entourage with her. Her carriage is nothing to look at and she barely has any luggage with her. She’s taken to her chambers and I am called to the stage to meet her. I am dreading this moment.
As I make my way to the stage I see outside that orcs have gathered around the backstage entrance. They are all clamoring and chanting her name. I huff and shake my head, only capable of rolling my eyes at the display. I then her an uproar of cheers and applause. Palmyer has gone outside to greet her adoring fans. She is new and an idiot, she has no decorum. I am about to exit the hallway when I hear it, the lilting ringing of a voice so beautiful it takes my breath away.
She is singing the aria from Pelléas et Mélisande. I rush to the window to be sure and I see as Palmyer sings to her adoring crowd. The orcs there have already begun to weep just from the sound of her voice like she is an angel blessing sinners.
I pull away from the glass, clutching my chest as I listen to her sing. The Stagger Soprano they call her and I must admit in my defeat it is an aptly given title. I manage to rip myself away and go to the stage where I cannot hear her. I know I have to collect myself. I cannot let her get to me or see me weak. If I am to hold any leverage over her and keep so decorum in our performance I must keep my cool.
We wait for her to finish greeting her fans before she comes in. She walks on stage, a bright-eyed and massive grin on her face. The producers greet her and she hugs them. Hugs them! Great big hugs like she’s known them all her life. She then turns to me, still smiling.
“I am so honored to finally meet you Signore Ettoro,” she holds her hands out, clutching both of mine. She squeezes them and I stare up at her. Her long, dark hair is tied up in a long, cascading braid decorated with gold and trinkets. Her tusks are banded in gold. She is tall and broad-shouldered yet maintains a delicate waist.
I frown and nod. “Thank you,” is all I say.
She pulls away, still smiling but looking down. The producers then start their rabbling. They pass out music and squeak at the orchestra. They move everyone into places as the music starts.
I always hate this part, where my costar and I have our first practice together. It is always painful, always awkward. That is why I always insisted on working with the same soprano. I was comfortable with her and didn’t have to worry about this initial pain. I take a few breaths as the music swells from the orchestra and then I hear her.
Her voice is melodious and beautiful, she trills when needed and flourishes when it is unexpected. I cannot react though, I refuse to let myself fall like everyone else. I join her singing and she looks at me. Her eyes are wide as if she is shocked. What is so shocking?
As the song ends she clutches her hand to her chest and smiles. She compliments the orchestra and then looks to me.
“As beautiful as ever Signore,” she sighs. “I cannot believe I get to perform with you finally.”
I look away and down at the music. “Thank you.” Once again that is all I say to her.
I make my way back to my apartment. It is close to the theatre and I always stay there during performances. I travel between France and Italy, my home being in Italy. I do so miss it, I miss the countryside and the wine. I miss seeing my vineyard from my windows and hearing my mother sing to the grapes in the morning. The apartment is nice too, the scenery at night is breathtaking. But nothing compares to Italy in my mind.
That evening as I am preparing myself for a bed with a glass of wine from home, I hear something from outside. I step outside onto the veranda, listening to the breathtaking singing. I then see Palmyer, standing on the veranda of the apartment next to mine. She is singing, going over the music she had been given today.
She glances over and sees me, she jumps to her feet and clutches her robe around her. “Signore Ettore,” she gasps.
“You,” I tilt my head.
“I am sorry,” she shakes her head. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
She didn’t really, it was much for a surprise. “I didn’t realize you would be staying here,” I reply, leaning over the railing.
She sighs, her cheeks dark and she keeps her eyes averted away from me. “The producers set it up for me. This is not my taste,” she laughs nervously.
“A beautiful apartment towering above the city with the most luxurious view? Not to mention close accommodations for easy travel?” I scoff. “Oh yes, it’s quite horrible.”
“That is not what I mean!” She scoffs. “I am not used to such…luxury,” she looks out over the city. Her braid is undone and hangs in thick curls around her face and shoulders. How the hell did they get such curls into such a perfect braid?
“I am much more used to simpler things,” she murmurs. “The opera allows such luxuries and beauties in this world but I prefer something much more…homey.” She turns and glances at me. Her eyes are much more golden than I gave them credit for. Back on stage, I threw them off as brown, but now, in the dim lights and the glow of the street lamps before, her eyes are gold.
“You grew up in Italy. Surely you much prefer it there than here,” she suggests.
I sigh and nod. “I miss my home,” I reply. “This apartment can feel cramped.”
She looks away again, not getting the response she wanted. “I grew up in a poor farming town,” she replies. “There were six of us in one house. It was cramped and simple but it was home. I still long for that. The closeness of family and the comfort of that little kitchen.”
I look out over the city, staring off far beyond the horizon. I was an only child I could not imagine sharing my home or my mother with five other greedy, screaming brats.
“I have to admit,” Palmyer murmurs. I almost do not hear her over the wind. “I was so extremely nervous when I got this job. I still am.”
I glance back at her. “Why are you so nervous?” I ask.
She sighs and her cheeks grow much darker. “Because I have so admired you! You are my favorite singer and you have served as such an inspiration to me.”
My heart is dancing and my stomach is doing flip-flops.
“In Italy you were renowned, but you wouldn’t settle for that. You went to where you were pointed and laughed at and you proved everyone so wrong! You turned the tables and made the world fall in love with your voice and your presence. It is because of you I even had hope that I could sing on stage.”
“Oh,” I gasp, unsure of what to say.
“The fact I get to perform beside you is the greatest honor for me. I hope I do not let you down. It would kill me.”
I nod shakily and take a long drink of my wine. “This puts a lot of pressure on me,” I say to her. “I hope you know that.”
Her smile fades and she stammers to find her words.
“I do not want to let you down either,” I reply. “I have met my hero before and was horribly disappointed. I won’t allow myself to fail you.”
Her smile returns. “Thank you.”
“Goodnight, Palmyer,” I say and I walk back inside.
As rehearsals begin I notice a fondness for Palmyer growing. She always comes to rehearsals as polished and refined as if she was going out on the town. She is kind and courteous to those around her, especially the staff and the orchestra. I have caught her several times with the musicians, talking to them and going over things that happened during rehearsal. She was eager to take notes and listen to everyone around her.
Her charm was inescapable and it was becoming very apparent to me why people were falling for her left and right. Even still, it was also apparent there were those who had no taste for her and didn’t want her there. Posters placed around the city were being vandalized. She was often sent letters that were cruel and hateful towards her. I can remember those days people didn’t want me on stage but I do not remember then being this venomous and belligerent.
One evening as rehearsals were ending and I was leaving a fitting for costumes, I was returning backstage to gather my things where I heard sobbing. I find her, hidden in the dressing room behind a rack of clothing. She is sobbing into her hands and barely able to breathe.
“My god, what’s wrong?” I ask.
“Oh no,” she whimpers and tries to hide her face. Her makeup is running and she has wiped away all her lipstick which is smudged to the back of her hand. I notice on the ground there is a letter the words on it are dark and harshly scrawled. I pick it up and she tries to compose herself and I am aghast at the words on the page. They try to sound polite and as if they care, but everything spews as vile and contempt.
“Please, don’t,” Palmyer cries.
I rip the letter to shreds and toss it aside. I bend over, wrapping my arms around her. “I am so sorry,” I whisper.
She timidly puts her arms around me. “It isn’t your fault.”
I take my handkerchief from my pocket and dry her face, wiping away the running makeup and her fear. She is lovely without the makeup, her skin is beautiful and smooth. And even after the long arduous day she still smells nice.
“I will make an announcement,” I tell her. “If anyone has any more cruel words to you, they will send them to me. You will not be bullied and you will not be belittled.”
More tears run down her cheeks. “Why would you do that for me?” She sniffles.
“Because you don’t deserve it. It doesn’t matter.” I take her hand and squeeze it, kissing her knuckles. “I must apologize as well.”
“For what?”
I shake my head. “I was not willing to perform with you at first,” I tell her. “I judged you harshly before I even met you. I heard you sing once and knew I was an idiot. I treated you coldly because I knew I was wrong and couldn’t admit it.”
She chuckles and bows her head, squeezing my hand. “I know.”
“I’m so sorry, Palmyer,” I whisper. “You are my friend now, my colleague.”
She puts her arms around me again, holding me close. “Can we stay here like this for just a moment?” She whispers.
I nod and pet her back. “Yes, it’s fine.” After sitting there for a while, she gathers herself and we leave together to go back to the apartments. I walk her to her door and she takes my hand.
“Would you like to come in?” She asks. “I would appreciate the company.”
“Of course,” I say, following her inside.
She makes tea and offers me cookies from an old tin. The cookies look rough but when I taste one I am reminded of home and my childhood. I am filled with memories of my grandfather’s baking and how he used to test all his cookies on me.
“I got a package from home the other day,” she says as she pours tea. “It made me soft so that letter cut deep.”
“How often do you get such things?” I ask.
“Oh, often enough,” she sighs. She tugs her braid around and undoes it, letting her dark curls free.
It is silent for a moment as she runs her fingers through her locks and I sip my tea. I set my cup down and look at her. “Do you mind if I ask you something personal?”
“You can ask,” she smiles, “but I may not answer.”
I nod. “Fair enough.” I give her a reassuring smile. “You always come to rehearsals dressed in your absolute best. Makeup and hair and beautiful dresses. Why do you do that?”
She sighs and looks down at her hands. “If I don’t, I won’t be taken seriously,” she admits with a solemn voice. “If I come to rehearsals in a comfortable dress and my hair down I will be considered a laughing stock. They’ll call me lazy and unprofessional. I know because I’ve seen it all before.” Her smile is a sad one. “So I always wear my corset as tight as possible and work hours braiding my hair. I have learned makeup skills from the best and I never leave without it.”
“That cannot be true!” I gasp.
“It is,” she sighs. “But I am used to it now.”
I shake my head, feeling queasy with this knowledge. All she has endured I will never know. “Palmyer, I am so sorry.”
“I don’t ask for sympathy,” she responds. “Understanding is all I want. That is all I have ever wanted since I started singing for a crowd. I respect the stagehands and the orchestra because they are not always looked at. It is also them that can make or break you. They also know what it feels like to be placed farther down.”
I close my eyes, even when I struggled to be respected I never went through what she did. I feel like an idiot for even complaining.
“Struggles are different for everyone,” she replies. “But this does not belittle one or raise up another. Pain is pain in all its forms.”
I look up at her, seeing the most beautiful smile on her face. I reach out, touching her cheek and she leans into it. I run my fingers through her hair and I pull her close. I kiss her and refuse to let her go.
She places her hand on my chest and gently pushes back. “Wait,” she gasps.
“Is something wrong?” I murmur.
She touches her waist. “My corset, it hurts.”
“Oh,” I gasp. “Do you need help?”
She shakes her head. “I think we should end out evening here,” she smiles shyly. “I very much want you to stay, Ettore,” she whispers my name so sweetly. “But that is also why I must ask you to leave.”
“I understand,” I stand up. “I would hate to ruin the friendship we’ve found as well.”
She follows me to the door, dipping down to kiss me one last time before I leave. “Thank you for your company tonight and your comfort.”
“I’m going to write my announcement tonight. I’ll take it to the papers and I’ll go on the radio,” I say with stalwart intentions. “The letters will end, I promise.”
“They won’t,” she smiles. “But I appreciate your guard.”
I return to my apartment and sit down at the desk. I take out pen and paper, intent on setting something right. I write all through the evening and when the morning comes I take my words out. I give them to the newspaper and take my message to the radio. Afterward, I go back to the apartment and sleep. The evening, I am woken by the banging on my door.
I answer and find Palmyer at my doorstep with the newspaper clutched in her hand. “It was beautiful,” she tells me as she walks inside. “Everyone at the theatre thought so.”
“I’m sorry I missed rehearsals,” I grunt.
“No,” she smiles. “I understand that.” She sits down with the paper in her lap. “I had never told the producers the troubles I was receiving. They knew about the vandalized posters but no further than that. They were extremely apologetic and promised to help with the harassment.”
“That’s good, I’m glad.”
She smiles up at me. “The performance is also sold out.”
I turn and stare at her.
She grins. “Just today. All the tickets have been sold.”
I clutch my chest and gasp. “I’ve never had a sold out performance before.” I sit down on the sofa beside her. “This is such a strange sensation.”
She chuckles and leans over, kissing my cheek. “I’m glad I got to meet you,” she murmurs. “I’m even more happy that you became my friends.”
I turn and look at her. I take her braid and tug it lose, letting her wild curls fall free. “I want more than friendship I’m afraid.” I place my fingers under her chin and pull her close.
“I know,” she whispers as our lips touch. She kisses me and I press close to her. I crave her affection and touch, I want it all.
She pulls back for a breath and gazes into my eyes. “It hurts.”
“Your corset again?” I touch her waist, feeling it pulled tight. I stand with her, leading her to my bedroom. I help her remove her dress and I am knocked breathless by the sight of her. She has full breasts that the corset squeezes together. Her nipples are dark brown and thick, looking like a chocolate candy. Her waist is squeezed tight, but even still her thighs and rear are thick and large.
“Don’t stare,” she whimpers.
“How can I not?” I moan, feeling my heat and desire rising. I tug on the ribbon of the corset, opening it up and listening to her grunts as it releases from her body. It has left deep marks on her skin and I kiss them.
“Don’t-” she whimpers and bites her lip.
I kiss her ribs and stomach. I kiss under her warm breasts and whatever I can reach. I run my hands over her silky skin wondering how anyone could think she is ugly. I was worried before because of how much taller she was than me but now all I can think is that there is so much more of her to kiss and touch.
“That feels nice,” she murmurs, running her fingers through my hair.
“I can do better,” I smirk up at her. “Lay down for me, gorgeous.” I lead her to the bed and lay her down. She bites her lip, her cheeks are dark and she looks up at me with a hint of fear.
I kiss her and whisper into her ear. “I am going to do all I can to please you.” I kiss her neck. “I am going to show love to every inch of your amazing body.”
She giggles nervously. “Ettore,” she says.
“I mean it,” I nip her ear. “Just lay back, gorgeous. I’m going to make you sing for me.” I kiss down her chest, paying attention to each cute nipple. They’ve gotten hard and they feel good on my tongue. I’m afraid I played with her breasts much longer than intended.
I move down, kissing her stomach and ribs again. I nibble on her hips and thighs until she opens them for me. I nuzzle my cheek to her mound, feeling the dark curls there. I dip down, nestled between her strong thighs to peer at her raw and uncovered. Her mound is plump and her lips peek out.
“Don’ stare,” Palmyer whimpers.
“How can I not?” I gasp. “It’s my new best friend.” I reach out with both hands, opening her up and seeing she’s already dripping wet inside. Her clit is hard and swollen so I lick it, swirling my tongue around it and tasting her.
“Oh!” She gasps. “Ettore,” she moans. She arches her back slightly, pushing her shoulders into the bed.
I moan against her, slurping her up and suctioning lips around her eager bud. She cries out again, bucking her hips as I suck upon her. She grunts and moans, gasping for breath. “Oh god, oh god,” her voice trills.
I slip my fingers inside her, feeling her delicious inner walls clamp around me. I look up at her, seeing her face buried in the pillows as her chest rises and falls rapidly. She moans loudly, arching her back and thrusting herself into my face. A gush of her cream dribbles down my chin and fingers. She cries out, shooting up off the bed as her thighs clamp around my head. She grinds against my face, more of her cream gushing down my chin.
She sighs and whimpers, falling back onto the bed whispering “thank you” over and over again. I sit up, licking my chops and grinning down at her. I kiss her belly and suckle on her teats again until she pulls me up to kiss.
“That was amazing,” she purrs for me.
“I told you,” I kiss her cheek and neck.
“What about you?” She reaches down, taking my rigid cock in her hand. “Don’t you want a turn?”
I chuckle. “Of course I do, but I wasn’t expecting anything in return.”
She smirks at me and sighs as she strokes me. “You did such a good job and I haven’t begun to sing yet.” She opens her thighs up and I move into place between them. I watch in awe as I rub myself against her and then as I disappear inside her. She grunts, biting her lips as I fill her. I start to move and our size difference becomes more apparent now but also matters the least. I can feel her squeeze around me and urge me deeper. The harder I thrust the more she groans and gasps. I press myself close, nuzzling between her breasts as I thrust into her. She traps me there, holding me tight and close. She moans suddenly, loudly, her back arching off the bed and she clings to me. Inside she contracts and I can no longer hold on. We both cry out, singing a final song before we collapse.
I wake from a daze with her head on my chest and her hair covering me. I sigh and gaze up at the ceiling. She then kisses me. “Good morning.”
“Is it?” I chuckle.
She kisses me again and sits up, looking even more beautiful now. “We’ll be late for rehearsals,” she says.
I touch her. “Stay in bed,” I coax. “We can miss a day.”
She giggles. “You already missed yesterday.” She crawls back into bed with me, tangling her legs with mine. “Your fur is soft.” She pet my fur covered thighs. “And your little tail wags in your sleep. It’s so cute.”
“Not as cute as you,” I kiss her cheek.
“Can I ask a favor?” She murmurs to me.
“Anything, gorgeous.”
“Can you call me Dina,” she kisses my chest.
“Dina?”
“It’s my nickname, only my family calls me it. I want you to call me Dina too.” She looks up at me with a sweet expression.
I smile at her. “Stay with me, Dina.” Her cheeks go dark. “Let me make love to you again before we go out into that cruel world.” I pull her on top of me. “Let me hear you sing our love song.”
