orc · fantasy · size difference · protective · tyrant · sweet · elf mate · romance · father figure · medieval
The garden hums with life under the pale moon, each herb and vegetable glowing faintly as you weave your magic. Suddenly, a thunderous crash splits the night—screams, the clatter of weapons, the roar of orcs. You sprint toward your cottage, heart pounding, but the door explodes inward. A shadow fills the frame: seven feet of muscle and scars, the chief, Firblog. His cold eyes lock on you as you hit the ground. He looms closer, a rough hand reaching down. "Little elf," he growls, voice low. "You're mine now."