An Unlikely Admirer

Hey gang! Sorry for my absence! This is a big story I was working on about a futa barbarian lady who's falling in love with a young and somewhat effeminate guy. I am attempting romance and lighter themes in this story, so it takes a minute for the action to start. The romance may not be as apparent in the first two parts but will be getting a little more lovey-dovey in the future.

As always this story does contain themes of coercion, non-con, and reluctance. TW for those themes. Choking also featured in this story too, cum inflation as well. If those bother anybody lol.

Again, my disclaimer remains the same as it always will. I do NOT condone the actions performed in this story to be practiced in real life. I do NOT endorse nor support nonconsensual action to be taken in reality. This is smutty and over the top fantasy and only that, please always ask consent, communicate with your partners, and no always means no in any context. Do not coerce, manipulate, or force others into things they're not comfortable doing.

Alongside that, my stance (and involvement as someone of queer identity) in the LGBTQIA+ remains firm as always. This story is in no way meant to spread harmful ideology towards trans or intersex communities, nor endorse any potentially harmful stereotypes. I disavow anything close to that behavior. Though this story and many of my others may fall into fetishization, I do not wish to portray either community as sub-human or to show them off merely as some sort of 'sexual taboo' to be used for cis pleasure. Please do not use my stories as license to belittle, maim, harass, fetishize, antagonize, or harm the LGBT community.

Without further ado, please enjoy my word vomited smut...

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Rikka was a man of 25 years. However looking at him you may be convinced he was some otherworldly fae being or some such. He wasn't raised a woman, and was comfortable identifying as a man, his issue was convincing others he indeed was one.

Rikka had feathery auburn hair, more red than brown, that drooped down his face and just to the very base of his neck. His features were angular and cute. Soft brown eyes, light freckles on the ridge of his straight nose, beautiful light pink pillowy lips.

His frame was skinny, lean, with some muscular tone to him. Abs barely visible, and hardly enough muscle to lift a sword. All the fat in his 5'7 frame seemed to distribute itself in a more feminine way. Giving his posterior some shape to it, his hips just slightly wider than your average man.

Not a scrap of hair anywhere else on his soft figure besides his armpits, crotch, and head. He made sure it was all maintained though.

The reason for all of this was a curse.

His father was an adventurer of some renown, if not a real son of a bitch all around though. His mother too, who had died some few years back from injuries sustained in a monstrous encounter, was a stony and hardy woman. By all rights, the genes passed down to Rikka should have made him a monster of a man. Yet he was anything but.

Rikka's father, Calaban, was cursed by a witch. He sought out this pagan woman far into the wooded mountains, in hopes of being granted strength and power, perhaps even to learn the secrets of hags. She refused to offer him shelter and she refused to grant him magic and whatever else she could offer. He was brutish, disgusting, and obsessed with his own darwinistic masculinity. He was no chosen warrior, nor one to be trusted with such destructive magic. She of course was honest with him, refusing him to his face.

Furious and outraged that he'd come that far only to be rejected rather brutally, he flew off the handle.

He lashed out at her, tossing a candle at the wall, catching fire to a nearby drape in her fancy cottage. Within seconds the fire roared, igniting all manner of herb, potion, and substance, spreading to her lab.

As he ran out of the cottage, he looked behind him to see the woman half on fire, rolling on the floor. Her burns bad, with her dying words she took her anger and spent it on him. Seeing what he treasured most in his eyes as he attempted to try and fix his mistake. She foresaw the babe growing in his wife's womb. Perhaps the mother wished for a child, but all he simply wished for was one to pass his legacy to. A man who would surpass him in swordplay, strength, and all else. His greatest achievement before he would pass on. This poor child was nothing more than a tool for him. So she stripped him of that.

The words echoed across the world, traveling to the body of the woman pregnant with Rikka...

"YOUR FIRSTBORN SON! SHALL HE NEVER KNOW THE GRIP OF A SWORD! SHALL HE NEVER KNOW BRAVERY, NOR THE CLASH OF SWORD! HE SHALL BE YOUR FAILURE! YOUR GUILT! YOUR SHAME! HIS BODY WEAK OF WILL AND SPIRIT! MAY HE NEVER KNOW YOUR DISGUSTING PRIDE! WRETCHED BEING OF MAN! AND HE... HE SHALL BE YOUR ONLY CHILD... YOU SHALL NOT HAVE AN HEIR! YOUR BLOODLINE ENDS WITH YOU!"

With that she died soon after, leaving him with the weight of his actions.

So it was... when Rikka was born, the curse was brought to light. Rikka didn't cry, his body was weak and frail, the nurse thought he may have died in the womb. He hardly ate as an infant, no matter how much they tried. As Calaban watched, the existential terror of his cursed son dawned upon him. His legacy would die with him. Unable to bear the grief and the hatred he held for this wee babe, he fled no less than a month later. Leaving Rikka's mother, Alonnay, alone with her only child.

Rikka, growing up, wanted to help his mother as much as he could, but would barely grow muscle. He struggled to even strike with a dagger. He tried to fight bullies, only to be knocked out cold within one hit.

Allonay was tough with him, not believing a word of that witch nonsense, trying to teach him as best she could. It didn't work. Nothing did. She thought he was faking it, or being overdramatic perhaps, but he couldn't do it.

Every ounce of effort he put forth was almost immediately an intense drain on his body, nearly passing out after an hour of helping with the chores.

He hated himself, he hated the pitiful look he got from others, even his own mother. He swore he'd be an adventurer one day, he had to, for his mother. He had to show everybody he was more than this.

When Alonnay died, it cemented in his brain. He needed to be a man. However long it took, he had to become a true man.

No. He was already a man. He just needed to prove it...

===

That would all have to wait of course.

After the death of his mother, he struggled to find a way of keeping afloat in a cruel world. Eventually he wandered to a port city called Lyceroy. A small town with some small establishments. It wasn't a ghost town by any measure, but nor was it bustling with constant activity.

He'd been going town to town for a while now. Finally seeing a HELP WANTED sign outside of the local adventurers guild.

Cut to now, where he sat, nervous, tapping his foot as he refused to make eye contact with the elderly barwoman who was analyzing him intensely.

Her name was Tabitha. She had a grey messy bun, wrinkles across her face, and was a few inches taller than him. She had a thick hempen dress on, one that solidified her as staff.

"Can you lift a keg?"

"...What's... what's a keg?..."

"Good gods... A barrel. A barrel of booze. Can you lift that?"

"...I think so..."

"What about produce? Can you handle bringing that in for the cooks?"

"...Probably..."

"Your tone doesn't inspire much confidence, boy."

"I'm 25..."

"And?"

"I'm a man..."

"Yes, that wasn't really in question here, it doesn't change the fact that you look like you'd be supper for most of the brutes that go in and out of here. I need reliable hands, not some rich man's son who ran away from home."

"I'm not rich. My mother's gone. I need a job." He grumbled.

"My condolences. That doesn't change much. Do you have any experience at all running a tavern?"

"I thought this was the guild."

"It is. Do you suppose these adventurous sorts just come for light reading material? They want an excuse to drink and eat, we give 'em that so that we get business. Understand? So I need hands to make sure we can keep up with these parties that come through. If you can't do that, then I got no need of you."

"...I... I can probably keep up... uhm... My father was an adventurer too..."

"Alright? How does this help me?"

"Maybe his name would carry some weight..."

"Go on..."

"Calaban?"

"Yeah son, if it were a decade ago, sure. That deadbeat's either missing or killed."

"Yeah... Yeah I know... What can I do to convince you? I really need a job, Miss. I need work. I'll do whatever you need me to. I'll clean the toilets if you want! Please!" He became frantic.

She sighed, clutching her brow.

"Nobody else wants ya, huh?"

He paused before shaking his head. Nobody even entertained an interview except her...

"Kid, look. I'm running a business. I feel for you, I do, but I can't have you being a ball and chain."

He bit his lower lip in frustration.

"I'm NOT a ball and chain! Show me what you need me to do! I'll do it better than anybody that comes in here! Show me!... Seriously! Show me! Right now! What needs doing?!"

He didn't even register that he was standing. His heart was pounding.

She paused, raising her grey brow.

Rikka was waiting for her to throw him out. Both of them held eye contact, not backing down.

Tabitha reached under her desk. She smacked a list and a small pouch of gold in front of him.

"Groceries. You got one hour to get everything on that list and get it back here. One second past and you're out. Understand?"

He said nothing, snatching the list and sprinting out the door...

===

ONE HOUR LATER...

Tabitha strolled down the stairs to the main hall. A few adventurers parsing contracts and eating an early lunch. It wasn't night time yet, so it was naturally pretty dead around this time.

She didn't see Rikka anywhere. She tutted, a little ping of disappointment. Part of her wanted to see the poor kid succeed.

She wandered to the kitchen where she saw the back door wide open. One of the chefs, Morg, a portly orcish man, about 6'3, was peeling potatoes.

"Is everything good back here?" She checked.

"Mhm. Thanks for the new kid. Real help."

"Oh gods, what'd he do?"

"...Hm? No, I'm serious. He was a big help. Last shithead you hired didn't even bother to stock the pantries when he got the deliveries."

"He stocked the pantries?"

"Made sure to get us the best produce too."

She was a little impressed, peering over to see fully stocked shelves, clean and organized.

"Well I'll be damned. Where is he?"

"Puking out back. Reg and Taffy are keeping him company."

Tabitha smirked, walking out the back door to see Rikka clutching the wall. He was keeled over, wretching, dry heaving as he gasped for air.

Casually observing, Taffy, a thin reedy Tiefling in her 40s snickered a little. Short black hair, ram horns, red skin, and black eyes with orange irises.

Reg, a tanned bald halfling with a thick bushy moustache, was rubbing Rikka's lower back gently.

"Easy lad. Just breathe a minute."

"Uh... Ugh... Damnit... I'm... I'm sorry..." Rikka rasped.

"S'alright lad. Just ate too much earlier perhaps?"

"Don't think the kid's eaten in days, look at him." Taffy snorted.

"Don't be so rude to... uh... wha's your name again?"

"...Nguh... Rikka..."

"-Rikka, he just got us the freshest apples I ever did see."

Tabitha leaned against the wall, smugly appraising him. The last pair of hands they had was lazy, he'd always take hours to get groceries, and likely pocket any change for himself. It was almost a blessing when he skipped town to go try and start his own tavern.

"Don't think I've ever seen anyone throw up from getting groceries, son." Tabitha smiled.

"I... I had to... to sprint... b-because I was... haggling with... the lady..."

Rikka lightly tossed the coin purse back to her. Tabitha raised her brows, still a hefty amount more gold left than she'd thought.

"Nearly ran... ran out of time... Did I... Did I do good?..."

Tabitha looked at Reg and Taffy. Taffy giving her a shrug 'why not'. Reg gave her an assured nod.

She turned back to Rikka.

"Alright. You've already met the chefs. You and I are on floor duty. Whatever the sorry shits want or need you go and tell these ones in the kitchen. You get their orders ASAP. Don't do any heavy lifting, don't want you dropping any barrels. If you need help with any... strength-focused... task, go get me or Morg. Got it?"

He nodded as enthusiastically as he could.

"Great. You start tonight. Where are you living?"

"N-nowhere..."

"Good. Taffy'll show you a room, it won't be much, but it's a bed and a roof. That good with you?"

"Y-yes... Yes Ma'am..."

"Haven't heard anyone call you Ma'am in about a decade." Taffy chuckled.

"Mhm. You could all learn a thing or two from the kid then."

Tabitha wandered back into the tavern.

Reg gave him a painful slap on the back, chuckling with him. The smack nearly launched him into his own puddle of vomit.

"Congrats there lad! Welcome to our humble family."

"Mhm. Real cozy outfit you picked. Welcome home, bud." Taffy kicked his ankle playfully.

"Th... thanks..."

"You all done?" Taffy cocked her head.

"Yeah... yeah think so..."

"Good. Meet me back inside. I'll get you settled..."

Reg gave him another congratulatory slap on the back before waltzing back in with Taffy.

Rikka took a deep breath in, finally calming down, a small smile went across his face. It wasn't adventuring... but it was a damn good start. Maybe he'd meet some kind mentor to take him under his wing.

===

THREE MONTHS LATER...

"ORDER UP!"

"COMING!" Rikka rushed.

He carried two heavy (for him) plates in either hand. Perfectly balancing them amidst a bustling crowd, weaving through drunken arguments and loud singing.

He brought them over to a table of four druidic elves, each dawned in a green toga and black tattoos.

"Here you go. Four salads."

He set them in front of each of them. All of them seemingly androgynous, giving a polite bow to him in unison.

"Thank you, kind human."

"Of course. You wanted croutons right?"

"I asked for bread. What is a crouton." Another questioned, their voices ethereal and calm.

"It's... It's basically bread, do you see the pieces of bread in the salad? That's a crouton."

"Fascinating." Another spoke.

"These culinary arts are so strange to us. Tell me, do you know of this dish called...shteuw...?"

"Uh... stew?"

"Yes. That is the one. I have heard many things of this... shtew..."

"As have I."

"Us as well."

All of them murmured in agreement.

"It's a pretty basic dish. It's like a heavier soup, but with meat, potatoes, and boiled vegetables."

"Could you make it without the meat?"

"Right now?"

"In the future."

"...I mean... yeah I guess..."

"Wonderful. We shall return tomorrow for this culinary staple of humankind."

"I wouldn't call it a stap-"

"RIKKA! QUIT FUCKING AROUND YOU GOT TABLES!"

"-Yes Tabitha! Sorry!"

"Farewell small human. We shall not forget your kindness."

They all bowed, making Rikka a little uncomfortable as he gave a confused nod back.

He meandered through the lively floor, cleaning tables, grabbing dishes, taking orders, carrying food. It was like this once every week, where a ship full of new adventurers would port into town. It was always insanely busy. It kept him on his feet though, dare he say it made his stamina just a little better each time.

About an hour passed as he felt nausea climb into his throat though.

Setting down some dishes, Morg looked over to see him panting.

Morg nudged him.

"Take a break."

"No... No I'm good... I'm..."

"You ain't good. Tabitha'll kill you if you start spilling orders on the floor. Go get a breather she'll understand."

Taffy and Reg both nodded, using their heads to gesture him out back.

He grumbled, slugging his way out the back door to the alley.

As he sat, he sighed. Taking in the brief moment of quiet in the dark street. The muffled cries of the tavern making a peaceful white noise as he stared at the stars in the night sky.

Lost in thought, he day dreamed of leaving this behind and going on the road. Riding in the back of carriages, slaying monsters, dealing with bandits. Just like his parents once did.

His mother became a homestead farmer because of him. He felt a little guilty about it. She assured him she wouldn't have it any other way... but she might have been lying a bit. There's no way she missed the exciting life of an adventurer. Only to settle down with his rotten father and be landbound to a small plot with a useless son.

He was too hard on himself, he knew that... but it's not like anyone disagreed.

As he spaced out, his concentration was broken by a hulking figure looming over his vision.

Startled, he snapped out of it, looking up at the darkened scowl of a woman who had to be somewhere around 6'8. The shape of her was massive. Bulky pieces of armor with exposed skin, fur linings, and a massive sword on her back. It was hard to make out all the details of her with how dark the alley was. He could only tell it was a woman by the feminine bust that jutted above her thick muscular midriff, and the slightly wider base of her hard hips.

"Oh. S-sorry. I didn't see you there."

She remained stoic.

"Uhm... something I... I can help with?"

"You work here." She said bluntly.

Her voice was deep, husky, brutal. Like a hammer to his chest.

"Y...yes?" He stuttered.

"Where can I sleep."

"Oh... oh we don't have rooms... it's just drinks and... uhm... guild stuff in there... the nearest inn is down the road... about five minutes that way..." He pointed with a shaky finger.

She grunted, making her way down the alley.

He cursed at himself, Tabitha would kill him for turning a customer away.

"UHM! B-BUT IF YOU WANT GOOD FOOD! Y-YOU SHOULD COME HERE!... I'LL... I'LL MAKE IT MYSELF FOR YOU!" He called after her.

Why did he say that last part? What kind of sales pitch is that?! He slapped himself across the face.

She stopped in her tracks, back to him.

She paused for a moment, turning just slightly. She didn't say a word, as if digesting the information, and then continued walking.

He grabbed his brow. He wanted to do well for Tabitha, the least he could do for her is bring in more customers if he was going to be so damn useless around the tavern.

The back door swung open.

Tabitha stuck her head out.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Morg said I should break."

"Were you losing breath?"

"...Yeah..." He deflated.

"Don't be ashamed, you got a weak constitution, you can't help it... you feeling better?"

"Yeah."

"Good, get back in here and help me then." She grunted.

Tabitha left the door open for him as he scrambled to his feet and went back inside.

===

CLING!... CLANG! CLINK!...

"Almost. You got it." Taffy instructed.

Heaving breath, Rikka panted a moment before rushing at Taffy with a shortsword. Far heavier in his two-handed grip than he wanted.

Taffy took her rapier and deflected each blow casually, redirecting his blade with ease.

It was past closing time. Reg and Morg were watching, leaning against the fence, sharing some tobacco. Reg gave small enthusiastic claps for Rikka as he continued to press Taffy.

Rikka grunted and ran at her full sprint with an overhead slash. His sword in the air like a madman.

Taffy side-stepped and kicked his ankle out. He fell face-first into the small patch of dirty grass in the front yard.