Male Biker Orc x gn reader - Chapter One (sfw) (Patreon)

I shared an unedited preview on Tumblr, and a bit more on the Discord, but here's the whole first part for you. This is going up for paid members a week in advance, and then it'll be free to read after that.

Featuring: the tiniest, ugliest, most hate-fuelled dog in the universe, a gender/body neutral reader who uses a mobility aid, and a giant, tough-looking biker orc who melts into a gooey puddle at the sight of said dog. He's got two orc mates as well, who feature in the background.

(reader's disability is not the focus of the story, but accommodations will be made for it later in the story. It's also not described in much detail, but they fatigue easily and experience pain. In this chapter, their mobility aid is pink and sparkly, but they have a couple of different ones to match various outfits/occasions...)

Wordcount: 2581

 You were used to your dog getting stares from people in the park. Tiny as a teacup, and as ugly as they came, Tinkerbell had been a rescue three years ago, and the two of you had pack bonded better than most werewolves who grew up together.

The little chihuahua cross (crossed with what, no one knew and it would take an entire mage’s laboratory to unravel the DNA of your mystical little creature anyway) was sort of sandy coloured, with white socks and a hint of Jack Russel about the tail, but her bug-eyes and little teeth were all chihuahua. There was a tuft of longer hair on her head that made her look like a gremlin after midnight, and she had the attitude to go with it.

She also hated everyone.

It didn’t matter if they were the cutest, sweetest little fawn, or the gentlest fairy, she hated them.

So when you were taking a break on a chilly bench at the edge of the park after walking her as far as your body would let you that day, and three orcs on obscenely loud motorbikes drew up to the curb only a few metres away and cut the engines on their bikes, you fully expected her to go absolutely ape shit on them.

One of the orcs removed his helmet and propped it on his bike’s mirror, and pointed at The Creature. A very un-orcish giggle escaped him and he began to make little cooing noises over her, so much that you found your mouth curling into a smirk at his antics.

The others kept their helmets on, but you could tell they were orcs too just by their build. They were laughing at their mate, who was rapidly losing his mind over your dog. Quite why, you had no idea, but there it was.

“She’ll eat you for breakfast, buddy,” you called over to them, and the orc without his helmet froze.

His expression turned from gooey-eyed to comically devastated and you couldn’t help the laugh that erupted out of your chest.

Tinkerbell looked up at you and then over at the bikers.

“I’m warning you,” you said with mock-seriousness. “She’s a killer.”

The orc without the helmet swung his leg over his monster of a sports bike and came round the front to stand staring at her from a distance. You, in turn, stared at him.

Where his mates had perhaps more stereotypical clothing for the kind of bikes they rode — both choppers — he had on a baggy black hoodie which you hope was armoured underneath. By contrast though, his faded black jeans were tight around his tree trunk legs, and there was a slight rip in the thigh that showed his dark, olive green skin. The jeans clearly had knee armour though, and he had sporty-looking biker boots instead of the scuffed, black work-boot style shoes his friends had on.

His black hair was plaited back off his gorgeous face in a complicated braid that was studded and adorned all the way down with charms made of bone and metal and wood, and it ended below his waistband. His tusks were rounded at the tip, unlike the more traditional orcs, but he did have a cuff of engraved silver around each one, showing he was over the age of twenty five.

His hands were covered by black, armoured gloves that did unreasonable things to your sex drive for some reason, and he crouched down and held one hand out towards Tinkerbell, though at that distance he couldn’t possibly hope to pet her. He was a good six or seven metres from the bench, but Tinkerbell took notice. They were all hard to miss, after all.

The orc’s mates were snickering openly, and one of them had got out their phone to record their friend. You hoped they wouldn’t get you in the frame. You had no inclination to become some prop on a stranger’s social media, though you didn’t mind if Tinkerbell had her five minutes in the limelight.

Propped up beside you on the bench, your walking cane started to slide slightly along the wooden seat, toppling slowly towards the ground, and you grabbed for it and tucked it up against your thigh. The movement freed up your hand for a moment, and it was all the excuse Tinkerbell needed to yank herself free of your clutches and launch herself at the orc.

“Oh shit,” you gasped, but the dog was off like a guided missile, trailing her pink leash behind her as she tore across the grass towards him, yapping wildly.

Instead of sinking her tiny little dagger teeth into his armoured arm though, she bounced up like a wayward baked bean and hurled herself at his chest — honestly, you couldn’t blame the girl — and he caught her, giggling like a small child. You stared, astonished, as the creature who had once fought a five year old at a birthday party for a single square of cheese proceeded to charm the hell out of a seven and a half foot orc with a litre sports bike that looked like it could eat a dragon for breakfast.

“What the actual fuck?” you hissed as the orc continued to fuss your minuscule dog and make little baby noises at her as he held her up like he was presenting a well-known lion cub to an audience while she squirmed in his frankly illegally huge hands. Then he lowered her again and, nuzzling his flatter nose briefly against her pointy one, he set her down on the ground with surprising care for someone so bulky.

Baffled by her betrayal and change in personality, you stood awkwardly — painfully — leaning on your cane for stability, and the orc’s green eyes tracked the movement, his attention sliding from the dog to her owner as you eased yourself to your feet.

His gaze took in the pink, glittery shaft of your cane and the way you eyed him with a new wariness in your features. Instead of making some kind of out of place comment though, his eyes seemed to darken just a little as he regarded your face, and then he said, “I dunno, I think you need to work on honing your guard dog’s killer instincts a bit more.”

“I’m serious,” you said, making your way carefully over the grass towards him. “She’s… She’s never done that before. She hates everyone.” You didn’t want to add on that she usually hated orcs most. No need to add racism to your already unhinged dog’s list of sins.

In a rare show of solidarity, and as if to prove your point, Tinkerbell twitched around and pulled back her lips to reveal her teeth as a dog five times her size trotted over with polite curiosity written in his body language. Tinkerbell took one look at the fluffy gentleman and ran through her usual pre-flight checks before preparing to launch herself at him.

“Grab her!” you exclaimed, and just in time, the orc put his gloved hands around her and picked her up around the middle like she was a rugby ball.

He then stood there in mute surprise, holding two and a half pounds of rabid fury like she was a grenade with no pin.

You joined him and looked up — and up — into his face, offering him another smirk. “Told you.”

“Holy shit,” he said, regarding the vibrating potato in his grip. “Girl, you’ve got some issues to work through, eh?” he said to the dog before flashing you the mother of all smiles.

Your insides went weak and you knew you looked visibly flustered, but as he handed the dog back to you and you tucked Tinkerbell under your arm, she settled and started to lick your jawline. Or at least, she attempted to, but you leaned away and lowered her out of harm’s way. There was only creature you wanted to lick your body just then, and it was decidedly not your insane dog. That thought took you a little off guard too, but you looked away and the orc made a little whimpering noise of commiseration as the dog who had trotted over so boldly and politely now walked away with his magnificently fluffy tail and head down.

“Damn, she’s a heartbreaker too,” he murmured.

You regarded your dog sidelong. “Breaking hearts and biting ankles. All in a day’s work for this one.”

He laughed, the sound deep and resonant in his chest.

The soft fabric of his black, armoured, hoodie didn’t mask the figure underneath: muscular but with a layer of fat on top that was your absolute weakness. You glanced at his buddies, who had stopped filming and were now watching something together on the phone, their heads bent so close their helmets clacked together. You laughed softly and he looked around.

“Oi, did you two film that?” the orc called to them, and the one on the left looked up. They had on a leather jacket with tassels, practically lounging back on their bike, but the helmet was more sporty, like your orc’s. Your orc. Ha. More like Tinkerbell’s orc, if he was anyone’s.

The one on the left shrugged, and the other one shoved up their blueish visor, revealing startlingly pale, ice blue eyes, and called, “We did, but just the dog, don’t worry.”

Tinkerbell’s orc looked down at you. “They might put it on socials… is that ok?”

“Yeah, so long as I’m not in it,” you said, kissing Tinkerbell’s head. She took the opportunity to try and kiss you back, but you were savvy to her charms and dodged it easily.

Starting to feel a little shaky from standing again, you sighed and said, “I’m gonna have to make a move, but it was nice meeting you. And… it was nice to see a new side to Tinkerbell too. She didn’t have it easy before I rescued her, and there aren’t many people she actually enjoys meeting. Actually, I think you’re the first.”

He put his hand over his heart and said, “I’m honoured.” He didn’t sound cheesy or mocking when he said it, and he said, “Ok if I reach out to say goodbye to her?”

You shrugged. “I would have said no, but after she practically climbed into your hoodie, who can say?”

“Well, my gloves are Kevlar lined, and I’ve been play-chomped by my cousin’s warg in them and kept all my fingers, so… I’ll risk it if it’s ok with you.”

You proffered the dog at him one last time and she wagged her ratty little tail at him and squirmed.

“You little flirt,” you told her and he chuckled again, meeting your gaze. As he lowered his hand, his gloved fingertips brushed over yours where you held Tinkerbell, and your heart lurched.

“Thank you,” he said. 

He looked like he was about to say something else, but your brief rush of courage evaporated and you nodded and walked away, heading for the curving, tarmac path that wound its way along the periphery of the park, and then back to your apartment.

In the background, you heard their bikes start up again, and as their roar filled the air, you resisted the urge to turn around and watch them leave. Something about it made your chest ache in a way you weren’t used to, and that was saying something, given the aches you dealt with on the daily.

Their obnoxious exhausts drew the gaze of the two centaur police officers and their riders, but they just rolled their eyes and let them be, and as you made your steady way along the path, the three bikes slid into your peripheral vision on the road to your left. To your surprise, the sports bike ducked to the right again and pulled up near the exit for which you were currently headed.

Frowning, you didn’t alter your pace and continued towards the park exit with Tinkerbell trotting proudly along beside you, like she’d won a gold star for good behaviour instead of requiring solitary confinement for the next four hundred years for antisocial behaviour and yelling canine obscenities at strangers.

The orc parked his bike up but didn’t cut the engine, and he watched you approaching, tilting up his visor to show his gorgeous, moss green skin and bright green eyes again.

As you drew near, you raised one eyebrow but didn’t stop. Your joints were smarting something wicked and all you wanted now was to sink onto the sofa and spend the next couple of hours or so recovering. Owning Tinkerbell had been one of the best things you’d ever undertaken, but the necessity of walking her did take it out of you on the less good days.

He’d parked up so that you had to walk right by him to get onto the main road that bordered the park, and as you came up beside you, he took a huge inhale and then said, “Hey, uh… I know this is probably way out of line, but… could I… could I get your number?”

Your footsteps did falter at that.

“What?”

“I know it’s a long shot, and you can tell me to fuck off, but… I just thought I’d kick myself six ways to Sunday if I didn’t ask.”

“You want my number?” you asked, heart hammering.

“Yeah?”

“You sure about that?” you laughed reflexively.

“Hell yeah,” he laughed back.

“You don’t just want my digits so you can kidnap my dog on your bike?”

Before you could cringe at having unironically said ‘digits’, the orc tilted his head back, his long plait swaying behind him and trailing over the sharp tail of his huge, black bike. “Oh man, your dog is fucking adorable, but out of the two of you, it’s you I’d like to get to know better. But only if you’re interested. Shoot me down now if I’ve got no hope.”

You cast him an obvious look up and down and watched his breath catch visibly in his chest. “I didn’t say that.”

“Let me give you my number then,” he suggested. “And then you can decide what to do with it.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you drew out your phone from your back pocket and waited while he dictated his number to you. He didn’t seem in the least bit off-balanced by your cane, or by your horrendous gremlin-dog, so you figured he might be worth taking a chance on.

Just as you handed back his phone, you hit ‘call’ on yours, and he raised his eyebrows as it vibrated in his palm.

With that, you shot him a final smirk, and headed home. You needed to get off your feet, and tempting as it was to stay and flirt with a sexy biker orc, you'd feel decidedly less sexy later if you didn’t listen to your body now.

He revved his bike at you, and his friends joined in, creating a riotous symphony until the two centaur police officers turned to face them, arms folded across their chests, and the three of them took off, laughing. Your orc boy pulled a sick wheelie as they left though, lasting the length of the block, and you shook your head again and looked down at Tinkerbell trotting along at your heels.

“You, madam,” you told her, “Are one meddling little peanut. And I think I love you for it this time.”

_

Hope you enjoyed it! Looking forward to hearing your thoughts on them all in the comments, as ever. Take care, xxx

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