[orc] Örök + Christmas Surprise
orc!Örök x human!plus size!Reader Good to know: smut, age gap
Summary: Months after your vacation with the orc, you can't stay away from him anymore.
A/N: I'm a big fat liar, and you shouldn't believe a word I say because what do you mean I was so stubborn about the end of their story and now there is an extra chapter???! But just like Reader, I couldn't stay away from Örök. Enjoy! 💕
Their story: [orc] Örök - Örök meets you on his vacation. Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4
You shouldn’t be here. You told yourself, promised yourself, you wouldn't chase after a man just because you spent a handful of perfect days with him in total bliss months ago, and you still can't get him out of your head.
It's a mistake. You will find out soon enough. You are sure of it.
After your vacation ended and you went home, you were determined to keep Örök tucked away as nothing more than a pleasant memory. Like something warm to pull out on bad days, and definitely not something to fantasize about and build an imaginary life around.
You looked him up online once or twice. There wasn’t much. A barely used profile. A couple of old photos. Nothing that actually satisfied the ache of missing him. And then there was his address, something you had only caught a glimpse of by accident, something you should have forgotten immediately... but didn’t. And you looked it up on the map many more times than you were ready to admit.
Autumn came and went, and time didn’t help. Distance didn’t help. You even tried dating men your own age for a while, forcing yourself to sit through coffees and pleasant conversations that left you feeling absolutely nothing. So eventually, you gave up, buried yourself in work, went out with friends and family, laughed when you were supposed to laugh, but in the back of your mind...
And now, here you are.
In Ironridge.
It is pretty. Like something out of a storybook or a Hallmark movie. The whole town feels wrapped in its own warmth, all soft lights and charm. Festive in every way you aren’t as you sit in your car in front of his house.
The sun disappeared hours ago. You saw the last rays fall behind the mountains surrounding the town when you arrived. Late afternoon quickly turned to night, but the neighborhood is still glowing. The homes are decorated with strings of Christmas lights along the rooftops and porches. They all blink in reds and greens and golds. Wreaths adorn almost every door, plastic reindeer guard the Santas, and snowmen smile from the front lawns with pebble smiles and carrot noses.
It's all bright and cozy. Welcoming, even. And yet, you can't move.
Because what if it really is a mistake? What if he moved on? Found someone else? What if you are the last person he wants to see? What if he doesn’t even remember you? What if his family is already here, and here you are, sitting outside like some awkward, uninvited surprise? A guest nobody missed.
There are so many ways this could go wrong.
Maybe you should leave while you can. Maybe, definitely, you should go home and not hope for something that can easily lead to heartbreak. Maybe-
The porch light snaps on.
And there he is. Örök. In slippers, dark jeans, and a wool jumper. Completely different than what you remember from your vacation. The soft cream color makes the green of his skin look even darker, and the knit clings to him in all the right places. He frowns toward your car, clearly trying to figure out who may park in front of his house at this hour.
What if he is waiting for someone else? His family? Or another woman?
Maybe this is your clue to leave. You should step on the gas and disappear before he realizes- But no. You stay the way you are, peeking at him through the twinkling lights. A second passes. Two. Then three. And instead of listening to your better judgment, you turn the engine off entirely, take a deep, trembling breath, then another, and get out of the car.
When your eyes meet, you can see his surprise; his spine straightens, his eyes widen, and his tusked mouth parts.
For a long, long second, neither of you does or says anything. Just your breath catches. Your heart flutters. The air between you is tight. It hums with something fragile and hot. Fear. Hope. Anticipation.
"What are you waiting for?" His voice comes out as a low, affectionate rumble. A white, quickly fading puff in the cold air. "Come here, you."
And that’s all it takes.
In your hurry to reach him, you don’t feel the snow crunch under your boots or notice the way you almost slip on the first step leading up to the porch because he is already there to catch you, and before you know it, you are pressed against the orc, face buried in the soft wool. Cedarwood and something sweet, like gingerbread, fill your nose, and your lips curl into a helpless, shaky smile.
He holds you like he is afraid you might disappear, but you don't dare to hope such a thing.
"Damn, sweetheart," he grunts before pulling back just enough to look at you. He stares like he can't quite wrap his head around the idea that you’re actually here. "It’s so good to see you."
Your fingers twist into his sweater to keep him close. "It’s good to see you, too." Your voice is thick with the rush of emotion swelling in your chest.
"How did you…?" he starts, then pauses to clear his throat, needing a second to get his scattered thoughts in order. "How did you find me?"
Heat rises to your cheeks despite the cold nipping at your skin. "I… saw your address on one of your documents," you admit quietly.
Saying it out loud feels embarrassingly desperate, maybe even a little creepy, but Örök just laughs. His head tips back, and the sound rolls out warm and full as he pulls you back into his arms. Completely delighted.
"Good," he chuckles in disbelief. "Come in, love." His hands rub up and down your arms. "Come in before you get cold."
You follow him inside, stumbling slightly, still in this dizzy, stunned haze, and he holds your hand in his like he is afraid you might change your mind and vanish if he lets go even for a second.
The warmth of his home is familiar, with just a touch of misplaced tinsel and a few slightly crooked Christmas decorations scattered around.
"Here," he says, dropping a pair of slippers in front of you. They are several sizes too big for you, but match the ones he is wearing. "Sorry for the mess," he adds, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s just…" He waves a hand vaguely around the room, looking every bit as overwhelmed as you feel. "My kids will come over tomorrow, and I want everything to be ready."
His words jolt you out of your daze. His family. Christmas. Tomorrow.
"I’m sorry," you start. "I don’t want to intrude, maybe I should-"
"No." He cuts you off immediately. Then, much softer: "Stay."
And you can’t bring yourself to do anything else.
So you sit at the counter, legs dangling off a stool while you watch him make you hot cocoa among the stacked trays, empty bowls, and a couple of blank gingerbread houses. He offers you food, but you are still too nervous to even think about eating. So instead, you just watch him move through the mess of his kitchen.
Your chest feels tight and heavy at the sight.
Only now, sitting here, do you realize just how much you missed him these past months.
"Tell me if you want anything else in it."
There is something in his gaze that makes your breath slow, your shoulders ease. He looks at you the way someone looks at something precious.
He waits a few seconds. You take a few sips.
"How are you, darling?" he asks quietly, almost afraid to break the bubble forming around you both.
"I… I just really wanted to see you again." You could tell him about work, about your friends and family, but none of that matters right now. The reality is that he has been on your mind far more than you ever meant to let him be.
His tusks tug on his lips when he smiles. "I’m really glad you came," he says softly. Then, more hesitantly: "I wanted to write to you. I found your profile online, but I wasn’t sure if I should."
He looks almost embarrassed admitting it, and something tender unfurls in your chest. You reach out for his hand on the counter. And he leans in a little. His other hand cups your jaw. His thumb traces along the line of your chin before sliding up to swipe the whipped cream from your lip. His touch is warm, warm enough to make you shiver and lean into him more.
And something in the air shifts.
Stretches.
Tightens like a bowstring pulled too far, and it's only a breath away from snapping into something inevitable.
You both move at the same time. The space between you disappears within a heartbeat, and your lips crash into his. The mug in your grip tilts, cocoa splashes on your sweater, but you barely notice it. The porcelain clatters on the counter, and your hands fist into the soft wool of his jumper to yank him close.
The kiss is a wildfire of pent-up longing. Desperation and hunger. All teeth and tusks and tongue, a messy tangle of missed you and don't let me go.
And before you know it, Örök is in front of you. His hands slip to the back of your thighs, and his fingers dig into your jeans. His palms burn your skin even through the fabric. He picks you up with a rumble that sends heat low in your belly, and without missing a step, he turns and carries you out of the kitchen. The Christmas lights blur into colorful streaks as he climbs the stairs, the wood creaking softly under his weight.
His mouth leaves yours only to drag hot and open along your jaw. "Missed you," he rasps. "Every damn night. Thought about this." His tusks scrape down the column of your neck. "About your body, so soft and warm... Fuck! Thought I would lose my mind."
You cling tighter to him, fingers twisting in the thick strands of his hair, thighs squeezing around his hips as he shoulders open the bedroom door.
"Never stopped wanting you," he murmurs, breath fanning hot over the damp trail he has left. "Not for a second."
He lowers you onto the bed. The mattress dips under your weight, but he stays standing in front of you, looming and broad-shouldered.
For a beat, neither of you moves. The air crackles, thick with everything unsaid for months. His eyes, dark and molten, lock on yours, then drop to the rise and fall of your chest. Your heart hammers so hard you are sure he can hear it.
"We can stop now," he says, because of course your sweet orc will give you the chance to back away, to change your mind. "I don't want you to think that I only want your body-"
But you just grin up at him, fingers finding the hem of your sweater to peel it off. His gaze follows and lingers on the swell of your breasts above the lace of your bra.
"You’re even more beautiful than I remembered."
You scoot back on the bed and crook a finger at him. "Then come and get me."
And Örök doesn’t waste another second.
He climbs over you, knees bracketing your hips. One massive hand cups your jaw, and his mouth is on yours again. His tongue slides against yours, warm and coaxing, and his tusks graze your lips with just enough pressure to make you shiver. Then, he trails lower. He presses open-mouthed kisses down your neck, lingering where your pulse flutters. His breath fans hot over your collarbone, and his lips follow. Meanwhile, his hands slide down your body, kneading the plush warmth of your tummy like he can’t get enough.
"So soft," he murmurs between your tits. "Every inch of you."
His fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, and he tugs them down your hips, your thighs, until they fall to the ground next to your sweater, and within seconds, your panties follow. Lace caresses over your skin, and cool air rushes over where his mouth had been.
The first touch of his tongue between your thighs is a shock of wet heat. He buries himself there, nose pressed to your mound, tongue circling your clit. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open as he licks you with long, filthy strokes that make your hips roll helplessly.
Every time you whimper, he hums in approval: "Fuck, sweetheart!" The vibration of his voice sends sparks up your spine. "The sweetest pussy-"
He doesn’t stop. Not when your thighs start to tremble around his head, not when your back arches off the bed. You come with his name on your lips, and he rides you through it until you are boneless beneath him. Only then does he ease back, pressing one last, gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another on your mound.
He crawls up your body, lips brushing every inch of skin he missed on the way down.
"Must have been too long since anyone made you come like that," he murmurs against your lips. It's a quiet question tucked inside a statement. Risky, but Örök can't help himself.
You shake your head. "There was nobody." Dates, sure. Coffee and small talk, but it was all nothing. Bland. Empty. "Couldn’t stop thinking about you."
Something fierce and tender flashes in his eyes, then he is kissing you again, swallowing the confession like it’s his to keep, and you kiss back just as hard.
The rest of the night in Örök’s arms blurs into a haze of heat and breath: kisses crash, teeth nip, tongues tangle wet and desperate. His hands are everywhere: gripping your hips, kneading your thighs, palming your breasts until you arch hard against him.
Your walls flutter around his girth, slick and pulsing. The thick stretch of him drags a gasp from you every time he sinks deep, but his mouth devours yours, swallowing every broken "Örök, please-"
The next morning and one of Örök's grandkids find you completely naked and tucked in the orc's bed. The high-pitched scream pierces through your skull and down your spine, snapping your eyes open and kicking your heart into your throat with a hoarse, breathless gasp.
"Maisy-" Örök speaks first, thankfully, because you have absolutely no idea what to do with the shrieking little girl while you clutch the blanket to your chest like it’s your only lifeline.
"Maisy!" Another voice calls from outside, then another orc appears in the doorway behind the child. "I told you-" But his words die on his tongue as he looks up and meets your gaze.
"Fionn!" Örök's voice rumbles behind you warningly, one hand on your arm, while you still hold onto the covers, frozen.
The young orc gasps, then nudges the little girl, who seems just as shocked as you are. "Go down and help your mother."
"But-"
"Go!"
Tiny footsteps patter down the stairs, followed by another shriek. "Mom!"
Örök exhales through his nose. "Y/N, he is Fionn, my youngest. And that was his daughter, Maisy."
"Y/N!" Fionn blurts, a wide smile spreading across his face as if he didn’t just walk in on you in his father’s bed. "We’ve heard about you!"
"Fionn," his father growls. "Leave."
"Yes, yes," he nods quickly. His heavy steps thunder down the stairs, then his booming voice carries upward a second later: "Guys! You won't believe this!"