#orc slave

A band of rogue Orcs had been terrorizing the outer villages, close to where their own village had been all those years ago. The King had sent a few knights, but the Orcs always managed to avoid them, or destroy them.

As a farmer’s daughter, you had to constantly clean up their mess.

Fields destroyed or scavenged. Farm animals stolen in the dead of night. The silo broken into and weeks worth of grain gone. Broken fences. Shattered pottery.

So, to make up for the money you lost, and the cost of rebuilding, you decided to start hunting. It wasn’t hard, until you realized that the band of Orcs were also hunting the same woods as you, and you learned that the hard way.

Searing pain filled your entire body as the metal jaws clamped around your leg. Hot blood was only trickling down since you weren’t stupid enough to try to pry it off of you yet. Your mind was hazy with pain as you tried to figure out what to do, but you didn’t have much time to think.

“We caught a live one!” a male voice boomed.

Dried grass and broken branches crunched as the heavy weight came closer to you. When the trees parted, you saw an older Orc standing there. Scars littered his face. His chest. His arms. His hooked nose had clearly been broke at one point with how it healed twisted. He was massive. Easily 7’ tall, probably taller. He was more chubby than muscular, but there was no doubt that he was strong.

“A human?” he sneered, but then sighed. “Better than nothing, I suppose.”

“Wh-what?” you whimpered as he unhooked the chain and lifted you up, trap around your leg and all.

“Shut up. Your King thought we would just lay down and die after he took our home?” he scoffed as he carried you, not caring as you whined and whimpered in pain. “Well, he was wrong. We’re not animals. We’ll fight to survive, even if it requires… unpleasant actions to be taken, and unpleasant foods to be eaten.”

Your stomach dropped. “You, you don’t mean you’re going to…” The words couldn’t push past the lump in your throat.

“Eat you? It’s not ideal, but you’re what I caught,” he muttered in obvious annoyance.

The camp was nestled deep in the trees. When the other Orcs see him carrying you, most are annoyed. Others are terrified. None of them agree you should be eaten.

“Heal it up and send it back to the village!”

“Just toss it into the woods. It can find its own way home.”

“Mahkah,” one Orc said to the Orc now settling you on a large, flat rock slab. “We aren’t eating the human.”

“It’s what I caught,” he muttered as he broke a berry between his fingers, and started outlining parts of your body. “Assuming it tastes like pork, we can get cuts of meat like-.”

“Mahkah, stop!” the other Orc snapped, grabbing your arm. “Look at the tiny thing anyway. All the fat will melt away and it’ll be little more than a morsel anyway.”

“Use the bones in bone soup. Plenty of marrow,” Mahkah grunted out as he adjusted you in his arms.

You hissed. The metal trap still too tight around your leg, digging the sharp metal points into your muscles. More blood was dripping down your calf. The argument between the two Orcs resulted in mounted voices and the one holding you, Mahkah, yanking you back against his chest.

“It’s my catch! And I think it’s a waste of our little supplies to heal the damn thing. It’s just a human.”

“My name is Y/N,” your voice trembled, unable to think of anything else.

The Orc who you thought was the leader looked down at you, then back at Mahkah. “Take Y/N to your tent. Clean and stitch it-.”

“Her,” you corrected, your voice still shaking from pain and fear.

“Her, wounds,” the Orc relented. “The sins of a King are not a mere peasant’s to bear.”

“Fine! A waste of supplies and time!” Mahkah snapped before whirling you around.

You stifled a cry.

Over the next week, Mahkah reluctantly took care of you. He stitched you up, cleaned your wounds, and fed you.

“Tiny little thing. So easy to make cry,” he grunted one day as he was changing your bandages.

“Shut up,” you snapped, hiccuping through burning tears.

Surprisingly, he chuckled.

By the end of the week, you felt dependent on Mahkah. He was all you had in the camp, after all, so maybe it wasn’t that weird. You couldn’t tell.

You started talking out loud to yourself when he was around, hoping to endear him to you. You talked about the farm, how you missed it. How it was nearly time to cut the wheat and dry the hay.

By the end of week two, all you could really say was that you had an unhealthy obsession with him.

“Mahkah, p-please don’t,” your voice warbled as he slung his quiver over his shoulders. “I don’t know what the other Orcs will do to me if you’re gone.”

“Our Leader said you were not to be eaten. You’ll be fine,” he huffed as he grabbed his bow.

“But there’s other things they could do,” the whispered words barely pushed out of you throat.

Something flashed in the older Orc’s eyes as he snapped his head up to look at you. “What? Why would you say that?”

“I-I see how some of them look at me,” the words were still whispered.

His tusks raised on his face as he snarled, stalking over to you. “How do they look at you?”

“Like they want to possess every part of me.”

“No,” the word was too hard. Too fast. Before you know it, he’s pushing you back on the furs that make up his makeshift bed. “My trap caught you. You’re mine.”

His hunting blade was suddenly pressed against your stomach, trailing up your soft belly.

“Mahkah, Mahkah no,” the words broke, tears spilling down your face as you gripped his hand, still stained with the berry juice he had used to draw those lines along your body that first day. The same way your skin was still stained.

“Shut up. I can’t, I can’t do it if you’re looking at me,” he snarled, the tip of his blade cutting your shirt. Blood blossomed under the tip of the knife.

“Mahkah, please. Please,” you sobbed, gripping his hand harder in both of your smaller ones.

He was panting, his lips parted as he stared down at you. Then, suddenly, he was on top of you, his lips crashing against yours. And you were responding in kind.

His large, calloused, scarred hands discarded your clothing while your small and admittedly calloused hands discarded his. Soon you were wedged under him, his large fingers bullying into your cunt to stretch you for him- your cunt drooling around his fingers.

“What a sweet little morsel,” he growled as he leaned down, licking the blood from the small wound on your stomach.

Your head was spinning, whimpers and moans dripping from your lips. The Orc couldn’t wait. Ripping his fingers from your cunt, he pushed his massive cock into you. Gripping your legs, he pushed them up near yours face to fold you in half. A scream ripped your throat, but you were clinging to him, hiccuping and sobbing but begging him not to stop.

Those large fingers gripped your delicate flesh, then burst the stitches he had so painstakingly sewn in your skin. Even as he was bullying your cervix with his massive cock, he dipped his head down, licking the fresh blood now trickling down your leg, pushing nearly his full weight against you.

“You taste so sweet. I bet you’d taste even better in a stew, my heart. I’d wear your pretty bones around my neck so we’d never be apart again… but that will have to wait,” he growled against your bleeding skin. “Because you’re mine now, and I won’t simply consume something as precious as you.”

Each word was punctuated by a brutal slam against your cervix, knocking the air out of you, but fuck, how you relished it. You pulsed and throbbed around him, as if trying to pull him impossibly deeper.

When he finally came inside of you, he leaned down, bracing himself on his forearms as he panted against your neck.

“You’re lucky that fat on meat is a luxury that I can’t afford,” he murmured, pressing a shockingly delicate kiss to your throat. “But a necessity on a breeder.”

Want to read ahead? Check out my Ko-fi or Patreon

Agak stared at you for several moments, his jaw set so hard you could hear a tick of the bone. He looked angry, confused, but the desire was also burning in his eyes. Without warning, he pressed his lips roughly against yours, pushing down his pants completely with one hand as he went back to fingering you roughly, spreading his fingers apart inside of you.

“I could destroy you. This could destroy your reputation. Noblewomen don’t sleep with slaves,” he grunted against your lips as his tusks nicked your cheek. He was obviously on the verge of losing his careful control. “Especially not Orcs.”

“I don’t usually,” you mumbled against his lips before parting your lips for his tongue.

He took the change, pushing the muscle into your mouth as he shoved his fingers in deeper, curling them before spreading again, trying to prep you for the massive cock leaking precum that hung between his legs. His large body kept you pinned perfectly under him, not giving you a chance to do anything other than take everything he gave you. Not that you wanted to.

You were so close to your orgasm from his earlier attentions that you were already whining against his mouth. That seemed to spur him on, sliding his fingers out of you to grip his massive cock.

“Put it in,” you whined, your voice faltering as you spread your legs shamelessly under him.

His upper lip curled as he adjusted himself, looking down at where his cock was now pressed against your dripping, pulsing entrance. “What kind of Duchess acts like this for an Orc?”

“Agak,” you tried to sound stern at his teasing, but it came out as a pathetic sounding beg.

He chuckled, looking back up at your face. The head of his cock was pressed against you, not pushing inside just yet. “You really are beautiful,” he said, his voice mildly softer. Your face flushed as you bit your bottom lip. “Tell me if it hurts.”

You nodded hard, hooking one of your ankles around his waist, drawing another chuckle from him. Slowly, so slow you almost shout at him to hurry, he pushed into you. The massive head of his cock stretched you nearly impossibly wide, making you moan softly. His face was tight with concentration as he moved inside of you. Clearly he was struggling with the urge to snap into you.

“So small. Humans are so small everywhere,” he muttered, his voice twisted with lust and annoyance as he pushed himself deeper. A low growl escaped his lips as he bucked into you just a few inches. When you moaned loudly, arching your hips, he smirked. “You like that, Duchess?”

All you could do was nod, now trying to wrap your legs around his waist again to force him deeper. The action made him laugh, pushing your legs down against the bed.

“Patience, Duchess. I don’t want to ruin you completely.”

His words made you shudder excitedly. Long gone were the dark eyes that regarded you with scorn and anger. Instead now his eyes were filled with admittedly reluctant affection, and unbridled lust. A lump formed in your throat as he looked down at you. For a moment, everything seemed to still.

Then he began pushing deeper into you, finally pushing against your womb and bottoming out. Both of you still, panting. His forehead dropped to yours, his eyes closing, his tusks framing your much smaller face.

“Gods,” he growled as he slowly started moving, dragging his thick cock against your velvet walls. “You take it so well.”

​You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face against his shoulder as he moved slowly, obviously still stretching you. After a few thrusts, he let go of your legs, now reaching to wrap his arms around your waist, holding your much smaller body against his as he slid in and out.

Your cunt was still pulsing and throbbing around him, so when he reached between the two of you to slowly rub your clit, it only took seconds for you to gush around his cock.

“Fuck,” he growled, his control finally cracking.

He slammed inside of you, snapping his hips to bury himself repeatedly to the hilt inside of you. You were moaning and writhing under him, digging your nails into the back of his neck as you tried to pull him impossibly closer. He snarled when you did, his pace deepening enough to make you cry out.

There was no way that the other servants and slaves hadn’t heard you that time.

“So fucking sweet. It’s sickening,” he grunted as he yanked you down onto his cock as his fucked up into you, burying his face between your breasts. “So fucking nice to me, for what, huh? For this?”

“Agak just, just, fuck, shut up,” you whined, knotting your fingers in his hair as his tongue flicked out to lick one of your nipples.

Foaming at the mouth writing this omfg I love him. Enemies to lovers my beloved

As a Duchess, it wasn’t unusual that you had slaves, but the fact that you were so kind to them, and went out of your way to get monsters, was unusual. What was even more unusual is that it was well known your fear of Orcs, and yet you had bought one that was rumored to be dangerous to the pint his former owner had forfeited him back to the auction house. Yet, you had freed him from his cage yourself. Showed him around your manor yourself. You even occasionally checked on him in the forge yourself.

Rumors spread quickly, but you did your best to ignore them. You ket telling yourself that you only did any of it because you didn’t want to be cruel. You had never seen any reason to be cruel to your servants or slaves. After all, you had been one into a ‘low value’ family. It was only by the grave of the Gods that you had ended up a Duchess instead of a slave yourself.

Dianthus, ever your loyal Fey servant, was a terrible source of these rumors. His dotted eyes narrowed, and his slightly too wide mouth always pulled into a grin when you interacted with the Orc. His ears would work u like a dog’s listening to his owner’s commands, or like a servant getting a juicy piece of gossip. Dianthus’s reactions alone to how the two of you interacted fueled the rumors.

However, the Orc barely tolerated you. He grunted out answers, his eyes always narrowed and suspicious. When you paid him his meager wage that you aid all slaves, admittedly a way to appease your guilt, he sneered at you, his face contorting with disgust.

“You think this is worth even a fraction of my work? This is more insulting than paying nothing,” he barked at you, tossing the bag of bronze coins on the floor, scattering them across the dirty stones.

Your face flushed red, and you hated how you knew that he was right. It wasn’t as though you were paying him even a fraction of what he was worth, and it’s. not as though the rom and board you gave him was worth anything. it was the bare minimum that a servant would have, but the servants were aid significantly better since they were freed creatures and humans. You looked down at the coins scattered around your heels, considering his words.

After a moment, you took off the gold necklace you were swearing. It was inlaid with a variety of precious stones and jewels, and you knew that it had to be expensive. Not that you really knew. You had bought it right after you had gotten your title, when you had thrown money at anything you thought was pretty.

“Here,” you said, holding it out to him.

You had always been told that Orcs were just dumb brutes who were only good at two things: warfare and servitude. You had never interacted with Orcs too much, afraid of their massive size and remembering a vague attack on your small village before you were appointed Duchess for heroism after you pushed the Crown Prince out of the way when an Orc tried to grab him. Even now, you wince at the memory, wearing long gloves to cover the scars from where the tusks tore at your skin.

However, you had heard about one Orc who was an incredible blacksmith, and you wanted one full time. He was for sale because he was apparently incredibly violent, but when you went to go see him at the auction, he was just glaring at everyone who passed by, snarling and baring his teeth, but he made no move to actually attack anyone. You paused outside his cage. Your eyes locked. For a heartbeat, you felt like the world had stopped moving. When had eye contact with anyone ever taken your breath away like that?

But, the moment was broken when he snarled out, “What are you staring at, bitch?”

Your face flushed as you turned away. Your personal servant, a Fey who flitted this way and that, his feet never touching the ground, whispered something to the Orc through the cage. The Orc chuckled quietly, his massive mouth pulled into an almost gentle smile. He responded in a guttural language you don’t understand, and your Fey, Dianthus, responded in a language that sounded like tinkling bells. Your feet stopped on their own, watching the interaction. When the Orc met your eyes again, he no longer sneered, but he still seemed angry.

“He’s not as dangerous as the sign says,” Dianthus says as he flits back over to you.

It didn’t take long for you to pay for him, being promised deliver him by the next day. When he is finally delivered, he’s still in his cage, chains and binding preventing him from getting too close to any end of the cage, holding him almost perfectly in the middle of it. Your guards are mocking him, laughing at the scars that litter his chest and stomach. You can’t help but cringe slightly, wondering why they would send him here in such a state when the heat from the sun could so easily burn him.

“Well, let him out,” you said to your guards, your face pulled into a regal appearance-one you’ve had to perfect as someone who was not born but thrust into this role.

An argument ensued, where your guards and kings outright refused to let him out because if he attacked, they didn’t want to be the one at fault. You stare at the Orc for several seconds, remembering Dianthus telling you that he wasn’t as dangerous as he seemed to be. Walking up to the edge of the cage, you held your hand out, palm up, to your head guard.

“Give me the keys,” you demanded, your eyes never leaving the Orc’s, whose eyebrows raise slightly in surprise.

The head guard tries to argue, but you hold your other hand up, silencing his protests until he finally does put the keys into your upturned palm. The Orc stared at you while you open the door of his cage. You were trembling, but you held your chin up as you began to unlock his chains. Dianthus was tittering just outside the cage, encouraging your behavior. The Orc didn’t speak, his eyes transfixed on you. Once you had undone everything but his ankles, you handed him that key.

“You’ll have to forgive me for not doing that one myself,” you said, putting the keys into his palm.

He grunted out something in his guttural language that you didn’t understand, but his large hand curled around the key.

Once he was free, you showed him around your manor, then to the forge. You explained why you wanted a blacksmith full time, and he grunted slightly in acknowledgment. You explained his necessary tasks, then explained how he could earn money if he used his leisure time to create more pieces.

“Leisure time? When does slave have time for leisure?” he almost laughed but the words were harsh.

“I don’t intend to have you work beyond servant hours,” you finally said, your face flushed lightly.

He stared at you again, his small black eyes narrowing, as if trying to find a sign of deceit. “Alright then, Duchess. I’ll begin my duties.”

Orc Slave: Part Three

Dianthus woke you up, panic on his ethereal face. “Duchess! There’s a cave in coming!”

You try to blink away the sleepiness, your vision still hazy with sleep. “What?” You mutter, pushing yourself into a sitting position, rubbing your eyes.

The Fey quickly explains that he can feel the foundation under the manor shifting. The Dwarves from the nearby village obviously went too far west, compromising the the foundation, and with all those hollowed out tunnels underneath the manor, when it starts to fail, it will hit like an earthquake.

The blood drains from your face. Your fingers feel like they feel asleep whit the tingles in them. You try to take a breath, but your chest is tight. After a moment, you nod slowly. You can’t panic. If you do, no one will think clearly. Everyone looks to you.

“Okay,” you almost whisper the word, forcing air into your lungs. “We have to evacuate the servants first since they in the under stories, and there’s no way if the manor collapses they’ll survive. I’ll go tell my guests while you go tell the servants, okay?”

Dianthus hesitates. He’s so anxious his wings are flitting faster than you’ve ever seen them. It seems like it’s taking everything in him to not be fluttering to the ceiling. “But Duchess, I can’t just leave you,” he protests quietly.

“We don’t have time for this,” you say sternly. He hesitates for a moment longer before fluttering out of the room.

You smooth down your hair and get out of bed, pulling on your glove to cover the Orc bite and tusk marks on your arms from the attack you suffered as a child. For a moment, your mind flits to the Orc slave you recently acquired and worry pricks your brain, but you force it down. He should be in the servants quarters as well. He’ll be fine.

Then, the floor under you starts to shake. Your blood runs cold when you hear Dianthus scream. “Dia!” You shout, stumbling out of your room. He had been caught in a doorway, his wings pinned under a wooden beam.

“I’m okay, Duchess,” he lies, wincing as he turns to help you lift the beam off of his wings. He stands up on shaky feet.

You know that he’s not used to walking, so you make a quick decision. “Go get the Viscount and his wife. I’ll go get the servants.”

“You can’t! You need to get out now. The manor is already coming down,” Dianthus protests, wincing again as he tries to fold his wings against his back.

“That is a direct order, Dianthus. You get those two out and I’ll be right behind you, okay?” You feel the fear balling into a lump in your throat, but you can’t let everyone else die. The fear and panic makes your limbs feel numb. “Dianthus, did you hear me?”

“Yes ma’am,” he says quietly. He grabs your face, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment before running to the stairs. The gesture reminds you of when you were little. Tears prick your eyes, He’s always been there for you, always tried to take care of you. He’s the closest thing to family you have left.

After a moment you wipe your eyes and start hurrying down the stairs. No shoes, no outer clothes. Just your gloves and a night gown that is arguably scandalous. The servants have already begun trying to get everyone out, and most are horrified to see that you’ve come to check on them instead of getting out.

“Alright everyone, make sure you have your partner you decided on after the fire last year,” you call, trying to do a headcount, but you can’t remember everyone’s name or face.

“Mistress, you need to get outside,” the Housekeeper says worriedly. “This is everyone, and I’ll make sure they all get out.”

Your eyes flit this way and that, your shoulders relaxing slightly. The floor shifts, and there’s a few panicked cries, not no one seems to really get hurt. You nod for a moment, then do another quick scan.

“Where’s the Orc?” You ask, the lump in your throat returning.

The Housekeeper follows your gaze, shaking her head slowly. “I don’t… I don’t know, and there’s no way he could have gotten out without me seeing.”

“Get everyone out. I’m going to find him,” you say, lifting your nightgown to rush down the stairs, ignoring her shouting for you to wait.

Dust and derby are already settling this close to the cracking and crumbling foundation. You cough, pulling the collar of your dress up to cover your nose and mouth to try to be able to breathe. Now you’re kicking yourself, wishing that you had never taken this stupid position. Surely besides a title there is something else you could have gotten for saving the Prince. Now you have people’s lives in your hand, and every move you make affects them.

Outside, the Orc walks over to Dianthus. He had fallen asleep in the forge. “What is going on?” He asks gruffly, watching the other servants file out of the manor. Another quad rocks his feet, making him fall to one knee for a moment as he braces himself.

Dianthus explains the tunnels are collapsing, fussing over the Viscount and his wife, his injured wing tucked protectively against his back. The Orc huffs in acknowledgement. Then, after a moment, he asks, “And where’s the lady?”

“What?” Dianthus says, looking over at the Housekeeper and Butler, who are both doing a headcount. “She, she said that she was going to get the servants out…”

“I do not see her,” he mutters, scanning the crowd again.

The Housekeeper spots him and says something to the Butler before walking over to the Orc. “There you are! The Mistress was worried sick wondering where you went. Where did she find you?”

The Orc’s eyes dart to the entrance of the manor. “She didn’t.”

Before anyone else can process his words, he’s darting towards the manor. Easily he tosses the debris out of the way. Another quake makes the ground under his feet move, but he doesn’t stop. He’s cursing under his breath, covering his head as the upstairs start to cave in, narrowly missing collapsing on his head. He finds his way down to the servant quarters and starts shouting “Duchess!”. There’s no response.

He curses loudly again. “Why am I doing this for a stupid human? She probably realized I was not down here and got out already. Why am I risking himself for her?’

But despite his angry words, he makes his way down the stairs, having to squint his eyes to see through the dust. As he starts looking from room to room, he’s about to leave. He can’t see you anywhere. However, he hears a soft coughing from down the hall.

His loud footsteps sound like shotgun blasts as he runs down the hall, slamming his bare feet against the cobblestone. Under a small pile of stone and wood is your unconscious body.

“Y/N!” He shouts, forgetting formalities. He starts shoving it off of you, clawing at it like a wild animal. When he picks up your body, it’s with more care than he thought he was capable of. “You are alright. Everything is alright,” he murmurs agaisnt your hair, cradling you to his chest in one arm.

Using his free arm to shield your head, he manages to make his way to a servant’s entrance and get out the back of the manor. He can hear Dainthus now worriedly calling for you, and he can hear the flitting of wings, signalling the Fey is injuring himself further to look through the crowd.

“Over here!” the Orc shouts, getting you further from the manor before laying you down.

Your face is covered in soot and dust, and your clothes are torn. His eyes fall to your hands and arms- skin he’s never seen since you always keep them covered in those pristine white gloves that are now torn to shreds.

“Y/N, you fool,” Dianthus wails when he rushes over, a mix of a stumbling fall and a falling fly. He drops to your side, pressing his ear to your chest. His shoulders are rising and falling rapidly before he starts to calm down. He looks up at the Orc, tears now pouring down his angelic face, his ears twitching back. “She’s alive. She’ll be okay.”

Its more of a question but if it happens to allign with what youve been thinking since the cannon change, the better

Oh he is internally FREAKING out

Orc Slave: Part Four

Almost in a fog, the Orc does as Dianthus directs. He picks you up again, carrying you to the fountain just as you start to stir. His eyes are fixed on the scars where tusks had obviously impaled your arm. Despite himself, he wonders how long it took you to be able to have use of that arm again.

You blink up at him, weakly moving your hand to wipe the dust and soot from your face. Streaks from your fingers running down your face remind him almost of tear streaks. He gives a slight shake of his head before laying you down in front of the fountain, then takes a step back.

Everyone else rushes over, fawning over you and trying to ensure that you’re alright. You cough up soot, making Dianthus fuss over you more. He uses his sleeve to wipe more soot from your face, scolding you for being so careless and then immediately talking about how happy he is that you’re okay, before basically calling you an idiot.

However, your eyes are fixed on the Orc’s, who stands outside of the crowd. His brow is furrowed into a crease, making him look older as it wrinkles his face. You swallow the lump in your throat. Vaguely, you recall the way it felt in his strong arms as he carried you out of the crumbling manor. He made you feel small, safe and cared for, despite the anger that always burned in his eyes.

“Are you alright?” You ask, your voice coming out in a croak.

The Viscount scoffs, following your gaze to the Orc. “Why are you worried about the beast? He ought to be ashamed that he didn’t get you out sooner!”

The Orc’s ears flush a slightly darker green. His dark eyes focus on a spot of indented earth between his bare feet. While he does give you a quick nod, he can’t help but also wonder- why would you even ask? He’s a slave, and apparently from a species that had obviously hurt you deeply. Why would you even buy him, much less treat him with care? His mind then wanders to the fact that while he is a slave, you give him opportunities to be paid, giving him quarters fit for a servant, give him servant holidays and days off. Except for the fact he can’t leave the manor, for all intents and purposes, he is treated like a servant. No other owner has ever treated him this well. Like a person.

“He was the only one that came in to get me, wasn’t he?” You snap back at the Viscount. Dianthus looks guilty, his ears flicking back and pressing against the side of his head. You squeeze his hand slightly, as if reassuring him you didn’t blame him. “And, he’s not a beast. He risked his life to save me.”

The Viscount’s voice raises, his face flushing red from having you talk back to him. He’s not used to it, even from a Duchess. “He is no better than a dog coming to find their owner because he wants to make sure he can eat that night!”

The Orc sets his jaw, his large hands curling into fists. While he doesn’t want to admit it, that had never occurred to him. All that happened was when he realized you weren’t there, and that you had been looking for him, he rushed in after you. His chest aches in an unfamiliar way at the idea of what would have happened to you if he hadn’t realized. If he hadn’t gone in for you.

“You may leave, Viscount,” you say finally, letting Dianthus help you sit up. You lean heavily on him, wincing as you do. The Orc’s chest tightens when he sees that, realizing you must have been really hurt from the rubble. “I don’t have time for men who can’t see past their own nose because they’re too busy looking down it at others.”

The Viscount flushes, knowing that he’s being dismissed. It had been an honor for someone of his rank to be invited to your home, with you being ranked so much higher than him, and he had squandered it because he couldn’t quiet his own judgments. He mutters quietly to his wife, and one of the maids helps them get what of their luggage they can find before loading up their carriage. Luckily, it was only the manor that was severely damaged because of the weight of it over the tunnels.

Dianthus leans you against the fountain and rushes off to get your own carriage ready so you can be checked out by the doctor, and then stay at an inn. You tell the Butler to do another headcount and one of the other Fey servants to try to find as much as they can in the rubble. Knowing their love of tricks and following orders to the letter, but not the spirit, you have to be very thorough with how you explain to them what you would like for them to do. Dianthus comes over and also adds things here and there, glaring at them when he can tell that they are trying to figure out how to play a trick. You know that they aren’t thinking in malice, but right now, you can’t deal with anything else going wrong.

The entire time, the Orc is staring at you, drinking in the way that even when you’re injured, you’re trying to take care of everyone. You direct things with a certain kind of authority he would never expect from someone like you. Not knowing your background, he assumed you had been born with a silver spoon in your mouth. When would you ever had to direct a disaster like this? When would you interact with all different kinds of species enough to know how to cater each instruction to them? From how direct and precise you are with the Fey to the way that you sense the Nagas away because they’re getting too cold, and giving them instructions to come back in the light to help with recovery of items.

When you think no one is looking, and Dianthus runs a stumbling run because of his injured wing to get things ready, you slump against the fountain. You wince as you tug up your nightgown slightly, seeing the bruises covering your legs. You finally realize how your gloves are in tatters, your scars clearly visible. You fold your arms against t your chest, as if that would hide them.

However, the Orc has been watching you the whole time, and against his better judgement, against his own beliefs, he walks over to you slowly, sinking to his knees in front of you. “An Orc?” He asks softly, gesturing to your arms. You hesitate, then nod slightly. He gruffs, adjusting so now he’s sitting across from you. “Agak.”

“What?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows together as you look up at him, meeting his eyes.

“My name is Agak,” he says, breaking the eye contact.

Every time you had asked him, he would always respond “You just call me Orc” so him giving you his name willing now makes your heart flutter. Something about him has always made your breath catch, and now you feel like you nearly start breathing.

Full Series List Here

Of course, you spilled your guts to Dianthus, but it did take time. At first you brushed him off, telling him to leave. He unhappily agreed, but as days turned to weeks, and you hardly left your room, he refused to leave when you asked; his ears pressed tightly against his head like a cat’s.

As you explained, his too wide smile slowly shrank as he listened, his ears flicking back in irritation and sadness. When you were done, he sighed, grabbing your arm and pulling you to stand.

“Let’s go get you bathed,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

You nodded.

Dianthus usually didn’t bathe you, despite being your personal servant. The two of you knew each other so well that it just seemed strange, especially given the sibling like relationship that you had. However, that day he sat you on the edge of the tub, filling it with water and adding just enough of a fire from his finger tips (thank you convenient fey magick) to warm it to your liking. You watched as he prepared the bath, then as he walked over to you.

“Let me help with your clothing,” he said softly, his ancient eyes holding nothing but worry.

A knot formed in your throat as you stood up, turning to let him help with your dress, despite it not being laced properly. You hadn’t let anyone help you dress since the encounter with Agak. His long, spindly fingers made easy work of the half laced clothing. Neither of you said anything as he worked, then turned his head as you slipped out of the dress and into the water.

“I’ll at least wash your hair,” he said after he was sure you were settled in the warm water.

Again, you nodded.

His long fingers felt nice against your scalp, at least. The heavy silence hung, though at least with him, it wasn’t uncomfortable. You felt like you were safe at least with him. The smell of lavender and chamomile filled the air as he added some fragrance to the bath, pouring the mixture over your head so that way the smell would help seep into your skin.

When he was done, he stood up, drying off his hands. “I‘ll get a dress ready for you. We’re going to have dinner in town tonight.”

You didn’t bother arguing, knowing he was trying to make you feel better, and maybe being out of the manor, away from Agak, would make you feel better. You finished bathing yourself, thinking of how you had scrubbed the stickiness between your legs away after your encounter with the orc. Your stomach twisting into knots as you thought of it now.

​After you had finished, you got out of the bath, drying yourself off and walking into your bedroom. Dianthus had laid out an expensive purple dress, your eyebrows raised. It was one of the most expensive dresses you owned, because not only was it silk, but dyed that deep purple color that took several dips, and the dye itself, made from shells, was incredibly rare and expensive.

“That seems a bit of overkill for dinner,” you told the Fey, lifting your eyes to look up at him.

He shrugged, his wings flittering. “You need a pick me up. Now, let’s get you ready to go.”

Next week y’all gonna lose your shit with the proper fucking

Like this story? Read ahead on Ko-fi and Patreon

A low groan escaped Agak’s lips again when you say that you wanted him to fuck you. His large hand tightened slightly on your face before he trailed it down your chest, pulling down the top of your dress to expose your soft breasts.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbled, his tusks scraping your face as he slowly broke the kiss. “Gods, I can’t believe you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask quietly, your cunt already aching as his length was grinding against your core through his pants.

“A fucking human. A duchess. You’re what’s going to give me hope?” he snarled, dropping his large mouth to your breast, taking far more than just the nipple into his mouth, the fat of the flesh pinned between his tusks.

Forming a proper response was not possible. Instead, you let out a low groan, arching your chest up to his mouth. His hot tongue curled around your nipple, sucking on it eagerly as his large hand slid between your legs, replacing his cock between your legs, pressing and playing with your clit through your panties.

“You’re going to free me, huh? You’re going to act like you see me as an equal?” he muttered as he switched breasts, his tusk nicking the space between them. Blood beaded there as his thick fingers tugged your panties to the side. “I could kill you right now. I could snap your neck, Duchess.”

You let out a little sound of acknowledgement, but it’s overshadowed by the low moan as he sunk his thick middle finger into your waiting heat, one of his other fingers circling and teasing your clit. That with his lips once again wrapped around one of your nipples was making your orgasm build up quickly. Your cunt was pulsing around his finger, wanting and eager.

After a few minutes, he broke the kiss with your breast. “You want me to fuck you, huh Duchess? Want a monster’s cock in your little noble cunt?” his voice was somewhat mocking. Vaguely you wonder if other human women have flirted with him, only for him to be punished, but your voice still failed you when he added a second finger, stretching your cunt more than it’s ever been stretched. “Say something, human.”

“A-Agak,” you whined, trying to spread your legs further apart to take him deeper.

You don’t know if it’s because of the way you said his name, or the fact your cunt was literally dripping onto his bed, but his face softened. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s Apple bobbing again. His dark eyes searched your face, his fingers buried in your cunt stilling for several moments.

“You mean it, don’t you? You like me. You want to free me,” his voice was suspicious, but laced with tentative hope. There was a warmth to it that you had never heard before.