Haley Thistle
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Clain the Orc
🕑 Added 2023-01-26 20:00:01 +0000 UTCFemale Reader x Male Monster
Originally Posted: November 27th, 2017
Every since you were a small child, you’ve been teased for the way you walk. You’ve never been elegant and graceful. In fact, your mother used to tell you that when you were born, even then you fell. You’ve always admired your friends and how they were able to dance so elegantly. It had always been your dream to be a dancer. You weren’t lost on who cruel the irony was. The girl with two left feet made of lead wanted to be a dancer.
Instead, you worked repairing armor and weaponry. You were good at it too and even enjoyed the work. In fact, you were a favorite among the orc settlement near your village. They came, bringing you their equipment and you always sent it back good as new.
While your friends were off dancing, you were working with heat and metal. While your friends were lithe and elegant, your arms had grown strong and you felt that your work was only making you look thicker.
You were glad work had been busier than ever. It kept your mind off of things. You needed that now, especially since the festival was coming. It had always been a bittersweet time for you. Everyone ate and celebrated, and in the evening there were dances. You used to sit and watch everyone as they twirled and leaped about. You wondered how they could do all that and not fall flat on their faces. Nowadays, it was only a reminder of your own shortcomings.
One day, as you’re working an orc, comes into your shop. He’s not one you’ve seen before. Most of the orcs who come in are regulars. This one was new. He was tall and broad, like most orcs. But his skin had a greyish hue to it and his hair was tied in a long, thick braid that draped down past his waist. One of his tusks was missing, only one jutted out from the right side. There was a deep scar on his left cheek. It made you wonder what sort of fight he had been in to receive not only a scar but lose a tooth.
“I’m a bit full up,” you tell him as you set your equipment aside. “What do you have with you? It could be a while before I get to it.”
He looks you over, his eyes are blue, that’s different too. “You aren’t at all what I expected.” He said, setting something heavy on the counter.
“I’ve been told that a lot,” you go to the counter and see he’s laid out a huge helmet. It lays in pieces. The left side has been completely shattered apart. You glance up at him, even more, curious about his battle scars.
“Can you fix this?” He asks and lifts up one of the shattered pieces. “I’ve been told to throw this old thing away. Then I’ve been told that you can fix anything.”
You sigh, looking at the old helmet. It looks older than him. The fabrication of it looks to be an archaic method. You sigh, thinking long and hard about this project.
“I have no clue,” you answer honestly. “I’m not used to such craftsmanship like this. I could take me a long time to repair this.”
“I don’t mind the time,” he replies. “Just as long as you think it can be done.”
You sigh. “I could try-”
“Yes, or no,” he growls.
You glance up at him, eyes darting over his face. You press your lips into a firm line and nod. “A yes then.” You’re not sure why you say that. You doubt you could ever repair such a thing. It’s heavy and thick. The metals in it aren’t the type you work with for armor. Hell, it’s not even a metal you would consider using for armor. It’s too heavy for a helmet to say the least!
He smiles and nods his head towards you. “That’s what I like.”
You furrow your brow and turn back to the helmet. “Is there a reason you want this fixed so bad?”
“Nothing that needs to be said right now,” he growls at you. He sets the broken piece aside. “And probably nothing that ever needs to be of note.”
“I see,” you take the broken shards and wrap them up. You then take the helmet, which is no small feat, and set it in your locked cabinet. “Is there a way I can reach you, sir if anything were to arise?”
“No,” he replies. “But you will be seeing me.”
“Seeing you?” You tilt your head the side.
He shrugs then laughs. “I have an attachment to the damn thing. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?”
You nod, “we shall.”
He leaves not long after that. For a few days, you work on other projects, ones that needed to be rushed. Once work slows down you pull out the helmet. You make a drawing of it, using the pieces to try and recreate it. You’re not sure how on earth to start. The thing is so heavy, you’re not sure how even an orc can keep that weight on his neck. The metal was also a curious medium. Not just for the weight, but it was also brittle. One strike to the head and it would do more damage to the skull than the weapon could.
You research for a few days, trying to learn about the forging of this thing. The method for it you recognize. It’s old, your father used to use it when making horseshoes. The metal took some research as well. You weren’t sure how to repair it without breaking it more.
As you set to work on it the orc reappears. “I came on a good day I see.” He replies, pulling up a stool and sitting beside you.
“I wouldn’t sit close if I were you,” you say to him.
“I’ve been on fire before. Some molten metal doesn’t scare me,” he smirks.
You sigh, “suit yourself.” You set to work. It’s delicate, even if you are pounding at it with a hammer.
You take a break after managing to repair one side. You look out of the shop, seeing the festival tent being erected. You frown and glance down at your feet.
“I’ve heard this festival is really something,” the orc replies. “Do you go.”
“No,” you answer sharply.
“No,” he laughs. “That sounds more certain than the yes you gave me for my helmet.”
You frown and turn to look at him. “What’s your name?” You ask. “You know me, obviously. But you gave me now name when you left your helmet.”
“Clain,” he replies. “General Clain.”
Your eyes widen. “You’re joking,” you laugh. You had heard that name enough to believe he was a myth. He was a hero in the Green Mountain War. He saved more lives than were lost and he even negotiated peace talks. He was a living legend among orcs, even humans!
He smirks, “oh, so you’ve heard of me.”
You scoff. “There’s no way.”
“Of course there is,” he replies.
“Then what is someone like you doing here?” You gasp.
He scoffs and looks back off to the festival tent as it rose up and fluffed out. “Looking for something a bit simpler,” he replies. “Being a war hero isn’t as glamorous as it seems. I prefer my small armies.”
“Small or non-existent?” You ask.
He laughs and smiles at you. “Sometimes, you want the things you came from.” He turns back to the tent. “I can remember going to festivals as a kid. I used to love watching the dancers.”
Your eyes widen. “You did?”
“I always enjoyed dancing myself,” he turns back to you. “What about you?”
“I fix things,” you grumble, looking away. “I’m no dancer.” You start cleaning off your tools, getting ready for the next round of work.
“Everyone can dance,” he replies.
“Not me,” you scowl down into the sink. You turn and look at him. “I should be finished with your helmet by the end of the week. You can come back then.”
He stares at you, not really moving from his spot.
Over the next few days, he returns to watch you work on his helmet. He talks to you, nothing of note. But at the same time, you find you enjoy his company. Although, he keeps bringing up the festival and it makes you clam up.
“Why does a war hero like you have a helmet like this?” You ask him one day, nearly finished with the repairs.
He sighs and touches the scars on his face. “I know it’s not the best thing in the world,” he replies. “But it was a gift. Something my hero gave to me when I left home. I’ve always considered it my lucky charm. Even after this.”
“What happened?” You ask, turning to look at him. “I mean if you don’t mind.”
He shakes his head and a solemn look comes over his face. “I was hit,” he murmurs, his fingers trailing down the deep scar. “My helmet cracked and well…the shards did this to me.”
“Even your tooth?” You gasp.
He nods. “Even my tooth,” he grunts. “I was so angry at the time. I had never had a loss like that before. I was beaten and bleeding, but I was so angry that all I wanted to do was fight. I have spent so much of my time on the battlefield trying to save more than kill. But my anger took hold of me and I allowed something like that too overtake my principles.”
You frown. “And you still consider this a lucky charm?”
“Oh yes,” he smiles. “It’s a reminder to me. I have to hold on to myself because if I let go no one walks away happy.”
He tilts his head, resting it in his large palm as he looks at you. “That’s my tragic tale. Now, what about yours?”
You laugh and shake your head. “Wow, yeah, no,” you chuckle. “I don’t have a tragic tale.” You wave your hand around. “This shop is my tale.”
He motions outside to the festival. “You obviously do.”
You frown, looking away from him. “You’ll just think it’s silly of me,” you mutter.
“I highly doubt that.”
You sigh and gather your courage. “I’ve always wanted to be a dancer,” you admit. “But I am not graceful in any shape or form. I just…fall or trip or something.”
“Your work is graceful,” he replies. “Every motion you make is elegant and precise. I find it impossible that you are not a dancer.”
You smile and laugh. “That’s not-” you look up at him. “You must have gotten hit on the head harder than you thought.”
“That’s why I come back,” he murmurs. “To watch you dance as you repair my treasure.”
“I uhm-” outside you can hear the music from the tent and the cheers that erupt. Clain takes your hand and holds it. His other hand wraps around your waist and he begins to move. He sways at first then he turns you and spins you. You squeak, frightened you’re going to trip and fall on a sword.
“Just follow me,” he whispers. He spins you again and you cling to him. “Look at me.”
You look up at him and melt a little as you look into his eyes. You move your feet, stepping on his more than once or twice. “Sorry,” you mutter.
He picks you up, lifting you above his head and spinning you around the room. You’re terrified at first, but then you begin to grin. The grim becomes a laugh. He swings you around and you hold onto his arms, letting him lead you around the shop like it’s your own private dance floor.
“See, you can be a dancer,” he says as he sets you back on your feet.
You rub your hand up his arm as you look up at him, staring at him a little in awe. You then blush and pull away from him. “Oh well, if my feet don’t touch the floor.” You clear your throat and return to your work area, setting your tools away.
He comes up behind you, slipping his hand around your waist again. “Go to the festival with me tomorrow,” he murmurs into your hair.
You’ve grown up around fire, you’ve worked with fire. But now your face burns. You swallow down your heart as it thrums in your throat. “I really have a lot of work to do.”
“Just one night,” he whispers. “I’ll dance with you again.”
You turn around, looking up into those strange eyes of his. He dips down, kissing you and you find yourself kissing him back. You loop around arms around his neck and tangle your fingers in his hair. He pulls back, touching your cheek as you catch your breath.
“Sure,” you gulp back. “Yeah uhm…the festival sounds fine.”
He smiles, kissing you again before he leaves your side. He promised to pick you up tomorrow. That’s when the panic sets in. You have no clothes for the festival. At least none you would dance in. You have heavy work clothes and dresses meant for everyday things. Festival dresses are billowy and long. Things that equal death and disaster for someone like you.
The next morning your mother and sisters help get you a dress. They go all over the neighborhood, trying to find something for you. They manage to pieces together a top and skirt from different outfits to make you a festival dress.
That evening when Clain comes you haven’t moved a step since putting on the dress. Your fear of stepping on a wafting hem and toppling headfirst through a wall has kept you stone still. Clain doesn’t seem to notice. He touches your waist and admires you in the dress. He doesn’t notice you have no curve from waist to hip or that your arms are muscular. His eyes admire you like most men do normal women. You smile up at him and take hold of his hand.
“You look lovely,” he says, kissing you. You have to break away from it quickly, fearing you’ll do nothing but kiss him all night.
“Thank you,” you touch your burning cheek wondering how red you’ve turned. “I had to put this together last moment.”
“Really?” He runs his hand along the dress. “You look like you born to wear this.”
You press your lips into a tight line. You’re enjoying his compliments, but you wonder if he’s having to force it.
He takes hold of your hand and he doesn’t release it all night. Most amazing of all, you barely trip at all. A few times you stumble or skip a step, but you don’t fall flat on your face. He then leads you to the dance and you feel your body and soul seize up.
“There’s no need to worry,” he whispers to you. “You did it last night.”
You squeeze tight onto his hand. “Easy for you to say.”
“It is easy for me to say.” He puts his arms around you and moves you out on the floor with all the other dancers. He spins you around and lifts you above his head. You watch, seeing the others turn to look as you soar above their heads. You gasp as he drops you down and dips you. You certainly don’t match any of the dancers. But the more Clain swirls and dips you, the less you care. You feel like you’re flying as he tosses you into the air and holds you above the rest. You’ve never felt so light and delicate before. You feel like all the other dancers around you.
As the night wears on, Clain leads you from the tent and you sit beneath the stars for a long while. He wraps you up in his arms as you lean against his chest, nearly falling asleep you’re so comfortable.
“Come home with me,” he whispers.
You snap wide awake and turn to look at him. “I beg your pardon?” You gasp.
“Come home with me,” he says again, nuzzling into your hair. “I want to wake up beside you.”
You blush and look away. “Well, when you say it like that,” you murmur. He kisses your neck and suddenly you’re putty. “Hey,” you whimper. “No fair.”
He trails kisses down your neck and exposed shoulders. “I can do much more than this.”
You grunt, shoving against him and getting to your feet. “My place is closer,” you whisper.
“True,” he says as he stands up. “But my home is in the woods and sequestered.”
You furrow your brow. “Oh?”
“I can get very loud,” he whispers into your ear. “And I will probably make you very loud as well.”
You smack his chest then grab his hand and yank him along. He then scoops you up and throws you over his shoulder. He carries you to his home and tosses you onto his bed. You’re surprised by how comfortable it is.
He kisses you, pressing you deep into the pillows. You moan into his mouth, sighing as his kisses trail down your neck again. He makes quick work of your clothes and tosses them aside. He runs his hands down your naked body, admiring you. His hand runs down your chest and center. He touches your sides and rubs your legs. His fingers knead into your thighs and you whimper softly. His knuckles brush against your folds.
“Did you feel like a dancer tonight?” He kisses you between words.
“Yes,” you whisper, kissing him back. “I’ve never felt like that before. Delicate and small.”
He kisses your chest and nuzzles to your breasts. “I enjoyed seeing you smile,” he murmurs.
You blush, turning your head as he kisses delved south. He opened your thighs and ran his fingers along your slit. “I want to see another smile tonight.”
You squeeze your thighs around his wrist, trapping his hand in place. He laughs, smirking up at you. “What?”
“Don’t be crude,” you pout.
“Forgive me,” he kisses you. His fingers still move, stroking your folds and pressing between them. He grunts as he touches your lips, feeling how slick and warm they have become as his attention.
You whimper softly as he touches you more. Your thighs open up, allowing him to move more. He moves his hand away and dips down. Your thighs press against his ears as he kisses your mound. You close your eyes shut tight, savoring every sensation he delivers. His warm tongue is broad and soft as he licks. He sucks your lips and presses his tongue against your clit. He’s careful to pay attention to every nook and cranny.
You whimper, stretching your legs out as you feel a warm rush flood your body. You gasp, trembling a bit. He chuckles below you, rising up between your legs. “I’d say you’re good and relaxed now.”
“Uhm,” you whimper, taking a breath to gather your thoughts. “That was…wow it was uhm-”
He kisses you and you can taste yourself on his tongue. “Just enjoy me,” he murmurs into your ear. “That’s all I want.” He kneads your hips, lifting them so he can move between them. He rubs himself against your folds and you bite your lips at the sensation.
(For some reason when I tried to post Patreon flagged it so I took out the last bit. But you can read it here on Tumblr)
