I have a very cute idea about an elf lover that absolute despises humans, but has grown too attached to you over the years.
He’s not around much during the spring and summer, since he’s busy traveling and collecting new spells for the books he’s writing.
But during the fall and winter though?
You try your best to blink the sleep away from your eyes as he walks into your bedroom in the middle of the night, tossing his cloak onto your floor before crawling into bed with you,
“You could have knocked…” you whine, knowing he probably picked your lock or used some magic spell to get in.
Like a mischievous cat, he cuddles into you, unwilling to listen to your complaints as he focuses on sinking into your chubby flesh and warming himself. You hiss as his cold hands make contact with your skin.
“C-cold!”
He huffs against your neck, pawing at your hips to pull you in closer. “Stop complaining, I want to sleep.”
Elves are less human-like than most assume. They are more akin to fae or magical creatures, and are only confused for being related to humans because of their appearance.
Most elves migrated to warmer places during the colder months, but why would he need to do that when he had his own personal heater ready to keep him warm when the temperature began to dip?
He’s intent on keeping you fed and happy, going out to hunt big game and returning to feed you enough to ensure you’re fat. Most elves are thin and not made to withstand cold temperatures, so your body fat is crucial for his survival.
And though that’s all true, groping your tits and tummy while fucking into your fat cunt every night isn’t exactly necessary…
“You’re warm…” he mutters as he holds your leg up and lines his cock up with your pussy. As his tip presses into your wet folds, he kisses your neck. “Don’t complain, you can go back to sleep.”
He always huffs the next morning, pushing over a plate full of food as he looks approvingly at the marks he’s left on your neck.
You’ll be good and pregnant by spring, and he’s determined to keep you comfy, fed, and warm through the winter.
Rich Monster husband that loves to spoil his little human wife.
He handles everything money-wise, so you never have to think about it. He spoils you with a mansion and unlimited shopping trips. He hires a private chef and housekeeping team, so you never have to lift a finger.
He schedules you for a nail salon appointment and a spa day every two weeks. He loves how happy you look when you return from being properly pampered. He just finds you so precious and cute that he wants to give you everything your heart desires.
One day, you come home from your nail appointment and find him working in his study. Your monster doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his lap, smiling at the joy radiating from you. You are always excited to show him what color you picked for your nails, and today is no different.
You proudly show off your glossy manicure, saying, “Look, Daddy. I picked a color so we would match!”.
He keeps his smile on his face despite the confusion. He merely raises a brow and asks, “How are we matching little one? Last I checked, my nails aren’t painted.”
You let out a small giggle at his response, reaching between your legs to undo his pants and pull his already half-hard cock out. You stroke him firmly, causing him to groan, his large hands digging into the flesh of your hips.
“See, Daddy. We do match!” you say, pausing your hand at the top of his shaft. His eyes drop to his needy cock at your words.
He releases a deep growl as he realizes that his perfect little wife matched her nails to the exact color of his cock, specifically his flushed tip. You let out a small yelp as he stands, carrying you down the hall to the main bedroom.
Within seconds, he has you naked with your thighs thrown over his shoulders. He eats you out until you have tears streaming down your face from the overstimulation. One orgasm ends as the next begins. He doesn’t let up until he decides that he has had his fill of your dripping cunt.
Your legs are still shaking as he finally pulls away, lifting you and placing you farther up on the bed, the plush pillows cradling your head, and he hovers above you.
“Such a perfect little wife. Always so good for me, wanting to match her nails to my cock. Just the sweetest fucking wife to ever exist”, he says while leaving wet kisses all over your face.
You sigh happily at the praise, loving his affection. His words and large body making you feel safe and loved.
You cling to him as he lines his leaking tip up with your entrance. Your freshly done nails are digging into his muscles. You let out a low whine as he says, “You aren’t leaving this bed today, baby. I’m going to keep you on my cock all fucking day. I need my baby to know just how loved and appreciated she is. Keep your perfect cunt stretched and filled, just the way you like it”.
You smile at his words, knowing there is no place you would rather be than on his cock for the rest of the day.
Omg it could be like that meme with the monster deals.
You had gotten into some seriously issues and you had no idea what to do. Not only was human law enforcement up your ass, but the magical law enforcement was fucking you over on their glitter-covered cocks and leaving you to clean up the mess. No aftercare in damn sight.
But the real issue was that no lawyer, human or otherwise, wanted to take your case! They were all too scared. Not of you but what the hell you got yourself into. It wasn’t your fault. You were always weak for a charismatic douchebag who promised he loved you but then framed you for a series of crimes he committed. What can you say, you have bad taste.
It wasn’t until you were guided out of your temporary cell and into a questioning room to see a lawyer with his back to you that you finally had hope threatening to sprout within you. Until the idiot turned around and you instantly pick up on his Fae ears. The moment you sit down he starts to spout out some wonderful words of grandeur, promising he can get you off and set you free. Your brows rise at his word choice.
“And what will it cost me?” You finally ask once he’s done giving his whole sales pitch (mini-canons and sparklers included). A wicked gleam passes over his features and it sends a shiver racing down your spine. What kind of shiver? You know yourself well enough to figure it out.
“Oh, nothing much. I merely want to have your firstborn child. In exchange, I will help get you off.”
His words send another shiver throughout your entire body. Meeting his intense stare you narrow your eyes, trying to figure out how you can manipulate this to your advantage. You’re in a battle of wits with a Fae and you did not consider that possibility when you wondered the other day how long you could stay awake before insanity started to set in awaiting your trial.
“Deal,” you finally say. The Faerie’s eyes sparkle with mischief. Though it falters as you mirror the expression. “So when do we get to it?”
“HMMM? Pardon me?”
“You said you wanted to have my firstborn. Well, I’m ready to begin when you are.”
The Faerie Lawyer’s cheeks flood with color. His face turning warm under your suggestive and mischievous smirk. He squirms in his suit, the blasted outfit suddenly feeling too tight and too warm to keep on for a moment longer. His eyes blaze with lust and he looks just about ready to take you on the metal table standing between you two. The one you’re conveniently chained to.
He did not consider this possibility earlier when he decided to take advantage of being selected as your court-appointed attorney. But hey, he’s not complaining now.
plot: despite you both being from entirely different walks of life, thranduil couldn’t stay away from you, just a mere human — themes: x f!reader, no plot, focus is on smut, hardly any plot if any, passionate/lovey language, body worship — w.c: 1.4k
pairing: thranduil x f!reader
kinktober masterlist • on ao3
The night was still, and the forest lay hushed and silent. The air was cool and heavy with the fragrance of dampened foliage. Thranduil walked a step away from his court, needing to catch some space to breathe. His pale hair caught in the moonlight, glinting like silver.
It was not the first time that he had wandered away from his own kind, for curiosity, perhaps it was, led him astray. he told himself for the longest time that it was to oversee if there had been any trouble afoot, but the reality in his mind was clear:
He couldn’t stay away from you.
A mere mortal, human in blood, and yet, his heart remained captivated. Longing, yearning—all of those silly things that he once felt but lost.
He met you at the usual rendezvous spot: in your home, just past the greenwood, situated in a village that lay not too far beyond. He adorned a concealing cloak to wander within, knowing that his status might get you in trouble if spotted.
Overall, these visits felt homely, like he had been missing them. There was some aspect of human culture that felt nostalgic to him that he wasn’t quite able to place in his long-lived life; like he was able to relax and be himself, rather than the man he was expected to be.
When you opened your door for him, he was reminded of just that: the warmth that bubbled beyond the door, the smell of something herbal, the sound of the fire crackling from within. The way you greeted him, inviting and welcoming, was a far cry from the coldness he had long experienced from his own kind, even if their intentions were anything but.
It was just something about humans, he supposed.
“It has been a while,” he greeted warmly, although in a stoic manner. He could not yet shake that off.
Your lips pressed into a thin line, curving at the edges. “So it has,” you acknowledged, “are you staying this time?”
His breath hitched at the invitation in your words, wanting nothing more than to stay for as long as he could, especially knowing that your time was fleeting when compared to his. Luckily, he had a night to himself; there was no conflict just then, and he could afford to keep away from the weight of his responsibilities for just a while.
“For a night, if you’d let me,” he tried to say in a lighthearted tone, but it didn’t come across that way.
A short huff of air escaped your lips. “Then, let’s get you inside,” you allowed.
He regarded you for a long moment, as if questioning your offer before steeling himself with a deep breath, taking a step inside. Within the interior, he was met with a sweep of warm air and the scent of dinner from earlier on, the setting already making him want to never leave.
His eyes remained fixed on you, taking in the charm of humanity that he enjoyed the look on you, especially. Of perfect imperfection, something real, not rehearsed or polished because it had to be. You reminded him of a moment indeed, that was far too fleeting, but when he was with you, he could feel it bloom in his chest.
And so when he stepped in after you, he didn’t waste any time with his lips pressing over onto yours, sealing the moment with a kiss.
Of course, you reciprocated.
Because how could you not?
Thranduil’s hand felt calloused as it palmed around you, the other that settled around your hip tight and unyielding. He pulled you close to his chest, but then couldn’t resist the urge to walk you back until you met with the rim of the bed, his intentions undoubtedly clear.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, “but I can’t resist,” he added in a soft-voiced confession, his words dripping into your ear like molten honey.
Then his fingers trailed up to your face, watching how you regarded him with curiosity and affection. His fingertips gazed along your skin in a light touch that left goosebumps in their wake, the sensation rippling down your spine. Your pulse quickened too, as he came to loom over you with an intention so clear, and yet, you longed for him to say it.
Thranduil was frustrating, though, in a way, for he was excruciatingly slow. His gaze flicked over to your lips that parted in anticipation before kissing you once more, his own moulding to the soft, pillowy press, addicted to the taste of you.
Finally, he said it. “It is maddening how much I crave you.”
Before you had a chance to respond, his touch grew more demanding, pulling away from your longing breathless gasps and peppering his yearning want in hot kisses down from your neck, your collarbones and down to your chest. He savoured the slight drumming of your heartbeat, his one hand still lingering by your jaw, while the other crept up from your hip to palm over your breasts beneath the cloth you wore.
Your own hands explored too, sliding up beneath his tunic, your soft skin brushing along hardened panes of muscle, pushing, rolling up the fabric over his shoulders, equally as desperate to connect with his bare skin.
Then he tore himself away from you, a soft groan escaping his lips as he gazed over at you with a look that had nothing to do with mere want—but need. “You will be my undoing,” he admitted that time, “I need—“
Your chest heaved as you prepared for the moment, helping him help you out of the clothes you wore. Thranduil’s eyes widened in appreciation at the sight of your exposed, curved flesh. No longer able to deny his desire, and with a dominant step forward, he then walked you backwards, allowing you to softly fall over the bed.
Deft fingers made short work of the rest, parting the remaining garments to expose the rest of your skin. He trailed longing kisses along your throat as he surrendered himself to you, to the hollow of your collarbones once more and then finally, settling a few over the upper slopes of your breasts.
You arched beneath him all the while in preparation, elevating your hips ever so slightly to allow him to ease into your waiting sex. Your hands were unable to sit still, combing through his golden hair that draped over you, and as he pushed inside, filling you out completely with his length, you were not shy about voicing your pleasure.
Thranduil, too, couldn’t silence himself. The sensation of your soaked heat is nearly sending him over the edge already. His hips moved in deep, plunging movements, sawing in and out of you with abandon—his hands grasping beneath your buttocks at the same time—kneading against the supple flesh as he lost himself within you.
“And how beautiful you are,” he panted, breathless in his delivery.
“Y-yeah?” you gasped out, shifting slightly to wrap your legs around his waist so that he could move even deeper.
His lips curved slightly, even if he was taken aback. Your eyes are so longing, your face so expressive. Genuineness that coursed right through you, so intoxicating-
“I will never deceive you of my feelings,” he assured before taking the hint from your gestured repositioning.
With a powerful surge of his hips, he tilted himself forward, sheathing himself to the hilt within your heat. You were not quiet indeed—a loud cry erupting from your throat from being filled so utterly. Thranduil too shuddered from the feeling, savouring the sensation of your welcoming body wrapped tightly around him. he groaned low in his chest, his eyes fluttering shut from bliss alone, before beginning to move with renewed determination.
Thranduil’s newfound rhythm was primal as much as it was raw. Your own hips rolled in mirrored strokes of his own, matching him thrust for thrust, each impactful slam of his hips pushing you closer, closer, closer—god so close to the edge and then—then—!
You gasped—loudly—then the rest of your voice died in your throat.
Unable to find his voice either, Thranduil could only collapse forward, blanketing your body with his.
And when you had finally regained your ability to speak, you still managed to surprise him with just how you were.
Warnings: Yandere themes, consensual relations, he's just a lil freaked out, violence, a little bit of yearning (not really)
Humans and elves live alongside each other fairly amicably. There were occasional territorial disputes, of course, and the rare wars recorded throughout history; but in the modern day, your worlds were allies. You are a researcher at a Botanical Science Research Center. Your job consists of looking at plants, taking photos of said plants, and taking a sample or two to study in a laboratory. The elven territories hold fauna that humans have never been able to access. But, with new studies being founded on the medicinal benefits some of their plants may have, your boss was quick to get you on a private trip to their territories with the permission of the Elven King.
What you didn't quite comprehend was why the hell your tourist guide was the Elven King himself; Yinwa Doren. You were not dressed in 'greeting the great Elven King attire.'
Upon arrival to the forest, you immediately bowed your head, the little lanyard with your company ID smacking you in the face and causing the prince to let out a soft chuckle. "H-Hello, sir- er- your majesty!" You had only faintly read over elven pleasantries and quick tips. You prayed to any and every god there was to please not let you offend a man that could singlehandedly start a ten thousand year war.
"Please, raise your head. I am a friend today." His voice was smooth, quiet yet demanding. He found you to be an utterly adorable human.
Yinwa would often spend his days reading human literature and secretly watching human media, from movies to shows to more intimate videos. You reminded him of the nerd archetype he would see in a few early 2000's films. He wondered if your personality was genuine, or simply a character you decided to put on to woo him. Yinwa placed a slender hand across your back, leading you into the forest to find the plants you would need for your research. The way your eyes would light up as soon as you'd see a rare plant, and the smile on your face when you would go on ranting about random botany facts; Oh, he found humans to be entirely too delectable!
"Why is it that humans have gained an interest in our lands?" The king hummed, gliding his nimble fingers over a leaf before faintly brushing his thumb against yours.
You pulled your hand back, startled and flustered, only serving to amuse Yinwa further. You let out a nervous laugh before shrugging, "The plants you have here... Could save a lot of lives." You turned your head to face him. "Elves live for thousands of years. But us humans, we only get 80 or so if we're lucky. I want to make sure everyone can make the most of all of their years."
Yinwa's lips curved into a deep smile, his yellow irises tracing the shape of your eyes down to the plumpness of your lips. "Humans are fragile creatures," he agreed, almost begrudgingly.
From that day on, Yinwa began requesting for more visits, cloaked under the guise that he was only offering more plants for the research facility as an act of good faith between the elves and the humans.
-
Your second outing together was filled with flirtatious hints from the elven king.
"Your skin is quite soft for a human." He would remark rather unabashed, a finger trailing up the smoothness of your arm and causing goosebumps to form.
To not offend the king you would naturally shy away, if only slightly. A nervous laugh and a visibly flushed face was Yinwa's only confirmation that his advances were working.
"Your hair is down today," Yinwa noticed, eyes widened. You were trying to impress him, he figured. "How lovely." With a quick lean, Yinwa buried his face into the mid section of your hair, inhaling deeply. "Hmm, flowery."
It was one such day, when his request to meet with you had been approved again, that you became only a bit more confident. You were completely sure the elven king was flirting with you and you would be a fool not to accept. You let your hair fall loosely against yourself, your button up shirt separating where your cleavage began, your makeup done a little heavier; it was all to entice him, reel Yinwa over the edge just enough to make the first move seeing as you certainly weren't going to.
He was more than happy to oblige with your obvious intentions, quickly pulling you into a secluded area and ravaging your body.
At first, Yinwa was gentle. He softly squeezed at your thighs, love handles, then gently cupped your cheek into his hand, his free one rising to knead at your breast. It was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to imprint himself into your very flesh. Your struggling moans confirmed your sensitive spots; the little vein trailing up your neck, your abdomen. Frankly, anywhere his mouth would latch onto would spur a reaction out of you.
"Does everything I do arouse you?" He mumbled in-between his licking at your shoulder. Your only response was a hand lightly shoving at his chest.
Yinwa chuckled before moving towards your lips, catching your tongue and nipping at your mouth. He needed to taste you, be as disgustingly close to you as possible.
As he laid you hesitantly against a tree, his knee travelled upward, situating itself beneath your wetness and moving forward and back. Your head flung backward, hitting the bark of the tree hard and causing a half-hearted yelp before Yinwa could muffle the noise with another kiss.
"As much as I love the sounds you make, little human," He put his long index finger into your mouth, then another before moving them closer to the back of your throat. "We must be silent."
Yinwa began pumping his fingers in and out of your lips, your saliva traveling down your chin and jaw; the lewd scene causing the elven prince to feel that familiar tightness in his pants, the one that he often got spending the day with you.
He continued moving his knee against your clothed cunt, allowing you to get yourself off while he relished in the sensation. Your arms snaked around his neck, pulling Yinwa unexpectedly closer. "How needy~" He cooed into your ear, licking the lobe and removing his fingers.
Yinwa could feel your grinding becoming eratic, desperate, like an animal in heat seeking relief from the painful knot in your chest. "See how good I can make you feel? Go ahead, that's it." His voice was an inviolable reminder of the elven man's power over you.
He spoke in a way that commanded respect, and you were certainly no fool to deny him such an ego boost. As you rode out your high, Yinwa continued to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. Sometimes pleasantly degrading, other times with genuine praise.
"You'll continue meeting with me, won't you?" The pleading cadence he masked over his usually authoritative tone sent you entirely over the edge, your moans a muffled cry as you finished from grinding against him.
"Yes, yes, yes," You babbled out. "Of course, my king."
-
You held true to your promise, meeting with Yinwa at an almost weekly basis under the guise of collecting new samples for the laboratory.
The both of you would often spend the majority of these outings on top of one another, cuddling and kissing and growing a budding summer romance that only strengthened with time. Of course, you focused on your research (because of course you did, you were his little nerd). So focused on improving the average health of humans. Yinwa became a sweet respite from the hustle and bustle of your strict work schedule; a kind, innocent elf. You, in all honesty, had no clue how he could run an entire kingdom when he seemed so aloof.
That unconcerned personality was exactly the front he needed for you to believe of him. To you, he would be your kind little king with a passionately gentle love. To the unfortunate elves working in the king's own research facility, he is a malevolent dictator, desperate and conniving and forceful in their astringent work schedules that he personally crafted.
"Humans live far too short lives." He whispered, a soft smile on his face as he inspected the different tonics created by his royal scientists. That same hand that held you with such tenderness became a weapon as he gripped the back of one of the elves' necks, forcefully shoving them forward. "How do you expect me to call this woman mine if I can't even fix something as trivial as a lifespan?" His words were sharp, targeted.
"I will do whatever it takes for my little human."
In this NSFW Choose Your Own Adventure, you're set out into a strange new world to complete some... smutty requests.
🔗READ/PLAY HERE to make your own choices!
[Playthrough by Anonymous]
You clear your throat, the sound loud in the quiet field. "Quests," you say, the word feeling both strange and significant as it leaves your lips.
"Very well," the System's voice rings in your head, calm with a hint of an almost robotic feel.
Before your eyes, a large screen appears, seemingly something only you can see as no one around you reacts or even seems to hear you or the System speak. The display is crisp and clean.
-Quests!-
These can be filtered by male and female if you'd like, just let me know
(Dwarven Stress Relief - ♂ A dwarf residing in a cabin near the dark mines needs a way to relax!) (50 Cumpoints)
(Flower Maiden's Plea - ♀ Help the Flower Maiden reach her release!) (60 Cumpoints)
(The Elf Prince's First Submission - ♂ Aid the innocent Elf prince experience his first sexual encounter!) (150 Cumpoints)
(The Orc Chief's Pet - ♀ The Orc Chief needs a pet!) (500 Cumpoints)
"These are your current available starting quests," the System explains. "The Cumpoint reward is listed beside each. Accepting a quest will provide more detailed instructions and mark your destination. You may accept one now, or you can ask me to refresh the list for different options. Some quests are time-sensitive, though these are not."
The screen hangs in the air, waiting. The descriptions are blunt, leaving little to the imagination about what kind of "help" is required. A part of you flutters with nervous excitement at the directness of it all. This is really happening.
You look over the list, your golden eyes lingering on the third entry. The reward is substantial, and the description piques your curiosity. "I'll accept the Elf Prince's First Submission," you say, your voice firm.
"Quest accepted," the System replies promptly. The screen updates, the other three quests fading to grey. The selected quest glows with a soft, golden light.
-Quest Accepted: The Elf Prince's First Submission-
Objective: Travel to the Sun-Kissed Glade in the western Whispering Woods. Locate Prince Elian and provide him with guidance and experience in consensual sexual submission.
Reward: 150 Cumpoints upon successful completion.
Additional Notes: The prince is young, sheltered, and nervous. Patience and a gentle, instructive approach are recommended. Discretion is advised within the elven court.
A new, smaller map overlay appears on the screen, showing a winding path leading west from your current position, through the fields and into a densely wooded area marked 'Whispering Woods'. A pulsing star indicates 'Sun-Kissed Glade'.
"The destination is marked. The journey on foot will take approximately half a day," the System informs you. "Would you like to view your Stats or the Shop before you depart? It may be prudent to understand your capabilities."
The quest is set. The path is clear. You're no longer just standing in a field; you have a purpose, a destination, and a very specific kind of mission.
The map overlay winks out, and the main screen vanishes, leaving you with the mental image of the path west. You take a steadying breath, the weight of your first real task in this world settling on your slender shoulders. With a determined flutter of your iridescent wings, you turn away from the eastern path to the halfling village and set off across the sun-drenched field toward the distant tree line of the Whispering Woods.
The walk is peaceful, giving you time to adjust to the new sensations of your body—the way the grass whispers against your ankles, the effortless way your wings balance you. As the sun begins its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, you reach the edge of the forest. The trees here are ancient and towering, their leaves forming a dense canopy that filters the dying light into a soft, green-tinted gloom. A clear, well-worn path leads into the depths, exactly as your mental map indicated.
You step into the woods, the air growing cooler and carrying the rich scent of damp moss and blooming night flowers. Following the path, you soon arrive at a breathtaking clearing—the Sun-Kissed Glade. Even in the twilight, it lives up to its name; the last rays of sun pierce the canopy in golden shafts, illuminating a small, crystal-clear pond and a soft bed of luminous blue moss. In the center of the glade, sitting on a mossy stone with his knees drawn to his chest, is a young elf.
He looks up as you enter, his eyes—a startling shade of silver—widening. He is beautiful in the way elven folk often are, with fine, delicate features, pointed ears peeking through strands of long, pale blonde hair, and an aura of untouched innocence. He wears simple, elegant robes of silver and green. He looks nervous, his fingers twisting together in his lap.
You pause at the edge of the clearing, allowing your delicate, iridescent wings to give a gentle, deliberate flutter. The movement catches the last dappled sunlight, scattering tiny rainbows and a soft, pearlescent shimmer across the moss and the prince's silver robes.
The effect is immediate. Prince Elian's anxious expression melts into one of pure, childlike wonder. His silver eyes follow the play of light, his mouth slightly agape.
You step forward, the soft moss muffling your footsteps. "Hello," you say, your voice gentle to match the twilight atmosphere. "My name is Penelope. The System guided me here to you."
He blinks, tearing his gaze from your wings to your face. "You... you glow," he whispers, his voice soft and melodic, touched with awe. Then, as if remembering his manners—and his title—he straightens up on his stone. "I am Elian. They... they said someone would come. To help me." He says the last part with a mixture of relief and fresh anxiety, his hands clasping tightly together again. "I did not expect someone so... so radiant."
He looks you over, taking in your pink hair, golden eyes, and the heart-shaped mark by your eye. A faint blush colors his pale cheeks. "Are you... is this... your area of expertise? What the System said I needed?" He seems genuinely unsure, looking to you for guidance in this utterly unfamiliar situation.
You offer him your warmest, most reassuring smile, the expression feeling natural on your new face. "I'm here to guide you, Elian. Step by step. There's nothing to fear."
Your words seem to loosen something in his shoulders. He lets out a breath he might have been holding. "Step by step," he repeats, as if the concept is a lifeline. "That sounds... manageable." He glances around the secluded glade, then back at you. "It's just... I've read things. Heard things from the guards when they thought I wasn't listening. It all sounds so... intense. Overwhelming. I don't wish to disappoint anyone, or... or do it wrong."
He looks at you with those wide, earnest silver eyes, seeking confirmation. "The System said you would know what to do. That I should listen to you. That this is... a lesson I need."
He shifts on the stone, making a small space beside him in a silent invitation for you to sit. The gesture is shy but hopeful. The air in the glade is still, waiting. The only sounds are the gentle trickle of the pond and the distant call of an evening bird.
You step closer, the luminous moss soft under your bare feet. You reach out, not forcefully, but with an open palm, and gently take one of his hands where it rests on his knee. His skin is cool and smooth, his fingers long and slender. He doesn't pull away, but his breath hitches slightly at the contact.
"The first step is trust, Elian," you say, your voice a soft murmur in the quiet glade. "Do you trust me?"
He looks down at your joined hands, then up into your golden eyes. His own silver gaze searches yours, looking for any hint of deception or mockery. Finding none, his shoulders relax another fraction.
"I... I want to," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "The System trusts you. And you... you don't seem like you wish me harm." He gives your hand a tentative, almost imperceptible squeeze. "I trust you to guide me. I just... I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Or be."
He holds onto your hand as if it's an anchor. "My tutors always had detailed lesson plans. Scrolls to study. Is there... is there a plan?"
You smile, feeling the cool smoothness of his skin under your fingers, and give his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "The plan is to go at your pace, Elian. We can start with something very small. Something that feels safe."
He nods, a flicker of relief in his eyes. "Small. Safe. I like that." He seems to be steeling himself, waiting for your instruction.
You glance around the tranquil glade, thinking. The atmosphere is serene, the fading light casting long shadows. "Close your eyes for me," you say softly, your voice blending with the whisper of the leaves.
He blinks, surprised by the simplicity of the request. Then, obediently, his long silver eyelashes flutter shut. The effect is immediate; without his sight, his other senses seem to heighten. You see him listening intently to the sound of your breathing, the rustle of your dress as you shift slightly.
"Good," you murmur. "Now, just breathe. In and out. And tell me... what do you feel? Not with your eyes. With everything else."
A small, almost shy smile touches his lips. "I feel the moss. It's soft and cool. I feel your hand... it's warm. I hear the water. And I can... I can still see the light through my eyelids, all red and gold." He takes a deeper breath. "I feel... calm. More than I did before you came."
He's following your lead perfectly, finding comfort in the simple act of focused sensation. He keeps his eyes closed, waiting patiently for your next word.
"Open your eyes, Elian," you say, your voice still soft.
His eyelids lift slowly, revealing those clear silver eyes again. They look a little dazed, as if he's returning from a peaceful daydream.
"That was perfect," you tell him, your smile genuine. "How did it feel? To follow an instruction so simply?"
He considers this, his gaze thoughtful as he looks at your joined hands. "It felt... easy," he says, sounding surprised by his own answer. "Not like a command from my father or my tutors. There was no pressure to get it 'right.' It was just... a request. And it felt good to say 'yes.' To let go of trying to decide what to do next."
A new kind of curiosity sparks in his expression, less fearful now. "Is that... is that part of it? The letting go?"
He hasn't pulled his hand away. If anything, his grip has become a little more sure, a little more present. He's looking at you not just as a guide, but as someone he's actively engaging with in this strange, new lesson.
You nod, your pink hair catching the last of the twilight. "Letting go of control is a big part of it. Finding comfort in not having to decide every little thing." You watch his face, seeing the idea settle. "Would you like to try letting go a little more?"
He bites his lower lip, a nervous habit, but his silver eyes hold yours with new determination. "Yes," he says, the word firm. "I would."
"Good," you say, your voice a gentle encouragement. "Then I'd like you to give me a small piece of your control. Something simple. Can you tell me one thing you'd usually decide for yourself right now? Like... when to take your next breath, or when to blink?"
He looks puzzled for a moment, then understanding dawns. "Oh. You mean... you want to tell me when to do it?"
"Only if you give me permission," you clarify. "That's the choice. You choose to give that instruction to me."
He thinks for a long moment, the quiet of the glade wrapping around you both. "My breath," he decides finally. "I give you permission to tell me when to take my next breath. After this one." He takes a deliberate, deep inhale and lets it out slowly, his chest falling. Then he holds it, his body still, his eyes fixed on you, waiting.
The trust in that small, vulnerable act is palpable. He's completely still, his lungs empty, placing the basic, autonomic function of his next breath entirely in your hands. His expression is one of intense focus and total surrender.
You watch him, this beautiful elf prince holding his breath on your command, his entire being focused on your next word. You let the silence stretch for just a heartbeat longer, feeling the weight of the trust he's placed in you.
Then, you reach out. With a feather-light touch, you place a single finger under his chin, tilting his face up just a fraction. The contact is cool and electric.
"You can breathe now, Elian," you say, your voice a soft, clear note in the quiet glade.
A shuddering, grateful gasp escapes him as he obeys, his lungs filling with the cool evening air. He sags slightly with the release of tension, but his eyes never leave yours. There's a dazed, almost euphoric look in them now—a mix of relief, accomplishment, and something deeper, more vulnerable.
"That was..." he begins, his voice a little unsteady. He swallows. "It was... more than I expected. To wait like that, to want it so much... and then to have your permission." He looks at you with newfound awe. "It felt like a gift. The air, I mean. When you finally said I could take it."
He's still leaning into the gentle pressure of your finger under his chin, not pulling away. The simple act of controlled breathing has opened a door, and he's standing on the threshold, looking in with a mixture of trepidation and keen interest.
You gently lower your hand from his chin, letting the contact break naturally. A faint, pinkish blush remains where your finger touched his pale skin.
"You did wonderfully, Elian," you say, your voice warm with praise. The words make him sit up a little straighter, a flicker of pride in his silver eyes. "Would you like to try something else? Something a little more... physical?"
The word hangs in the air between you. He glances down at his own hands, then back at you. "Physical," he repeats, testing the feel of it. "Yes. I think... I think I would." He sounds less nervous now, more curious. "What did you have in mind?"
He's asking you, willingly handing over the decision once more. The glade feels more intimate now, the shadows longer as full twilight settles in. The first stars are beginning to prick through the canopy above, and the luminous moss provides a soft, blue glow from the ground.
You reach for his hand again. This time, he meets you halfway, his fingers intertwining with yours more readily. You guide his palm, placing it flat against the soft fabric of your pink dress, right over the steady, rhythmic beat of your heart.
"Feel my heartbeat, Elian," you whisper. "Just focus on that rhythm. Now, match your breathing to it. In... and out."
His hand is cool against your chest, his touch tentative at first. He closes his eyes, his brow furrowing in concentration. You feel his breathing begin to change, the shallow, nervous breaths deepening, slowing, until each inhale and exhale falls in time with the lub-dub beneath his palm.
A profound calm settles over his features. His shoulders drop, the last vestiges of tension melting away. He's not just following an instruction now; he's synchronizing with you, his body aligning to your internal rhythm. It's an intimate connection, silent and powerful.
After a long moment, his eyes flutter open. They're darker now, the silver depths soft and unfocused. "It's so steady," he murmurs, his voice full of wonder. "And strong. It's like... a drum. A quiet drum leading me somewhere safe." He doesn't remove his hand. He keeps it there, listening with his skin, his breathing still perfectly matched to yours. He looks utterly captivated, lost in the simple, profound act of connection.
You keep his cool hand pressed against the steady drum of your heart. Then, you lean in slowly, closing the small space between you. Your lips brush the delicate curve of his ear as you whisper, your breath a warm caress against his skin.
"Now, Elian... I want you to ask me for something. Anything you want."
He shivers, a full-body tremor that runs through him and into the palm resting on your chest. The request is a paradox—you're giving him an instruction, but the content of that instruction is to voice his own desire. It's a test of his surrender and his burgeoning self-awareness.
For a long moment, he is utterly still, his breathing still synced with yours. You can feel the frantic flutter of his own pulse in his wrist. His silver eyes are wide, looking past your shoulder into the darkening woods as he searches within himself.
When he finally speaks, his voice is hushed, choked with emotion. "I... I want to feel more," he whispers, the confession torn from him. "Not just my hand. I want... I want to feel something I've never felt before. Something that isn't in any of my books." He turns his head, his nose almost brushing your cheek, his gaze pleading and vulnerable. "Can you... can you show me what that is?"
It's a raw, honest request. He's not asking for a specific act; he's asking for an experience, placing the definition of it entirely in your hands. He's asking you to take him further, to guide him into the unknown he both fears and yearns for.
You nod, a slow, understanding smile touching your lips. You see the hope and the fear warring in his silver eyes. "Close your eyes again, Elian," you say, your voice a soft command. "This time, I'm going to kiss you."
He obeys instantly, his eyelids falling shut. His breathing, which had finally steadied, hitches once more. His hand is still on your heart, and you feel the pace of it quicken beneath his palm. He is perfectly still, waiting, offering you his trust and his mouth.
You lean in again, but this time your target is not his ear. You bring your face close to his, giving him a moment to feel your warmth, the faint scent of night flowers that seems to cling to you. Then, with infinite gentleness, you press your lips to his.
It's a chaste, closed-mouth kiss, soft and lingering. His lips are cool and surprisingly soft. For a second, he doesn't move, frozen in the newness of the sensation. Then, a small, helpless sound escapes him—a sigh of surrender and discovery. He kisses you back, tentatively, his own lips moving with a shy, unpracticed grace.
When you finally pull back, just an inch, his eyes remain closed. A single, crystalline tear escapes from beneath his lashes and traces a path down his cheek, catching the starlight. He's trembling, but it's not from fear. It's from the overwhelming flood of sensation, of vulnerability, of a first step taken into a vast, unknown world.
He slowly opens his eyes. They are glistening, wide with awe. He touches his own lips with his free hand, as if to confirm what just happened. He looks at you, and there are no words. There is only a profound, speechless gratitude and a dawning hunger for more.
"That was your first," you murmur, your voice thick with the intimacy of the moment. You reach up and gently brush the glistening tear from his cheek with your thumb. The skin is smooth as silk. "Would you like a second?"
He doesn't hesitate. He nods, a quick, eager motion. "Please," he breathes out, the word a prayer.
This time, you don't tell him to close his eyes. You let him watch as you lean in again, his silver gaze locked on your lips. The second kiss is less of a shock, more of an exploration. His mouth opens slightly under yours, a shy invitation you accept. The kiss deepens, becoming warmer, softer. You taste the faint, clean sweetness of elf-wine and spring water on his tongue.
His free hand comes up to tentatively rest on your shoulder, then slides into the soft strands of your pink hair. He's not leading; he's following, mirroring your movements, learning the rhythm from you. A low, quiet hum of pleasure vibrates in his throat.
When you part, you're both breathing a little faster. His cheeks are flushed with a delicate pink, a stark contrast to his usual pallor. His eyes are half-lidded, hazy with a pleasure so new it borders on confusion.
"I..." he starts, then stops, swallowing hard. "I didn't know it could feel like that. Like... like falling and flying at the same time." He looks at you with utter devotion, the last of his walls crumbling away. He is fully in your hands now, eager and pliant, waiting to see where you will take him next.
"You're learning so quickly," you praise him, your voice a warm murmur against his lips. You take both of his hands in yours and gently guide them down, away from your face and shoulders, until his cool fingertips brush the soft, woven hem of your pink dress where it rests against your thighs.
"Help me take this off, Elian."
He freezes for a heartbeat, his silver eyes flying wide. This is a different kind of instruction—tangible, consequential. He looks from your face to his hands, then to the fabric he's touching. The blush on his cheeks deepens to a rosy hue.
He nods, a slow, deliberate motion. His fingers, which had been so tentative before, now curl into the material. With a reverence that makes your breath catch, he begins to gather the skirt, lifting it slowly up your legs. The sensation of the cool night air on your newly exposed skin is sharp, but the look of absolute, focused devotion on his face is warmer than any fire.
He doesn't rush. He treats the simple act like a sacred ritual, his movements careful and precise. As the hem rises past your knees, then your thighs, his breathing becomes shallow again, but this time it's not from anxiety. It's from awe. He is undressing you, following your command, and in doing so, he is uncovering a new layer of both of you. His gaze is locked on the progress of the fabric, his entire being consumed by the task you've given him.
You let him continue, his hands trembling only slightly as he lifts the dress higher, over your hips, your waist. With a final, soft rustle of fabric, he pulls it up and over your head, letting the garment fall forgotten onto the luminous moss beside you. The cool night air washes over your completely bare skin, raising goosebumps. You stand before him, bathed in the soft blue glow of the moss and the silver light of the emerging stars.
Elian’s breath leaves him in a soft, stunned rush. His silver eyes travel over you with a reverence usually reserved for holy relics. He takes in the curve of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the pale, smooth skin of your thighs. He looks utterly overwhelmed, but not with fear—with a kind of devout wonder.
"Now, touch me," you say, your voice a gentle command in the hushed glade. "Anywhere you like."
His gaze snaps back to your face, seeking permission one last time. You give a slight, encouraging nod. Slowly, as if moving through a dream, he raises a hand. His fingertips hover in the air for a moment, then finally make contact, not on your breast or between your legs, but on the side of your neck, just below your jaw. His touch is feather-light, a whisper of cool skin against yours.
He traces a slow, wondering path down the column of your throat, over your collarbone. A shiver runs through you, and he feels it, his eyes widening. "You're so warm," he whispers, his voice full of awe. "And you feel like... like moonlight feels. Smooth and alive." His hand continues its hesitant exploration, skimming over the slope of your shoulder, his thumb brushing the very edge of your breast. He stops there, his whole body tense with anticipation and a desperate, silent question.
You capture his wandering hand in yours, stilling its exploration. Then, with your other hand, you gently cradle the back of his head, your fingers tangling in his soft, pale hair. You guide him forward, his silver eyes wide and trusting.
"Use your mouth, Elian," you whisper, the words a warm breath against his temple. You direct his lips to the soft, pale curve of your breast.
He goes willingly, his body pliant. For a moment, he just rests his lips against your skin, breathing shakily. Then, with a soft, questioning sound, he opens his mouth. His kiss is clumsy at first, all closed lips and nervous pressure. But as you murmur soft encouragement, he grows bolder. His tongue flicks out, a tentative, wet stroke that makes you gasp. The sound seems to ignite something in him.
He begins to kiss you in earnest, his mouth learning the shape and feel of you. He suckles gently, then with more confidence, his arms coming up to wrap around your waist, holding you as if you might float away. The sensation is exquisite—the coolness of his mouth, the warmth of his tongue, the utter surrender in his embrace. He is devoting himself to this single act of service, losing himself in the taste and texture of your skin.
When he finally pulls back, his lips are slick and swollen, his eyes glazed with a dazed, hungry pleasure. A thin strand of saliva connects his mouth to your nipple for a second before breaking. He looks up at you, his expression one of pure, unadulterated worship. "Did I... was that right?" he asks, his voice husky and unfamiliar.
"That was perfect," you breathe, your own voice unsteady with the pleasure he's drawn from you. You take the hand that was wrapped around your waist and, without breaking his awed gaze, guide it slowly down the plane of your stomach, over the gentle curve of your hip.
His fingers are cool, but they tremble with a new kind of heat. You guide them lower, through the soft thatch of hair, until his fingertips brush the slick, heated folds between your thighs.
You let him feel your wetness, the undeniable evidence of your arousal, coating his skin. His breath hitches, a sharp, startled sound. He looks from your face to where your hand holds his, his silver eyes wide with a mixture of shock and a deep, primal understanding.
"You're..." he whispers, his voice rough. "For me?"
He doesn't pull his hand away. Instead, his fingers curl slightly, a reflexive, exploring motion. The sensation is electric, a jolt of pure pleasure that arches your back. A soft moan escapes you, and the sound seems to unlock something in him. His tentative touch grows more deliberate, his thumb stroking a slow, clumsy circle over your most sensitive flesh. He's watching your face intently, learning what each touch, each pressure, draws from you—a gasp, a sigh, a shudder. He is mapping your pleasure with a scholar's focus and a lover's reverence, completely lost in the act of giving it to you.
The feeling of his curious, devoted fingers exploring you is almost too much. You need more. You need control. With a soft, firm pressure on his chest, you push him back. He goes easily, without resistance, his silver eyes wide with surprise and anticipation. He lands on the soft bed of luminous moss with a gentle whump, looking up at you from his new position beneath you.
You don't give him time to think. You swing one leg over his hips, settling yourself astride him, your knees pressing into the moss on either side of his slender body. The thin fabric of his elegant robes is all that separates your heated core from him. You can feel the hard length of his arousal pressing against you through the silk, and a fresh wave of wetness coats you at the sensation.
You look down at him, your pink hair falling like a curtain around your faces. He is utterly captivated, his hands coming up to rest tentatively on your bare thighs. His breathing is ragged, his lips parted.
"You feel that?" you murmur, rocking your hips slowly, grinding against him. The friction draws a choked gasp from his throat. "That's what you do to me, Elian. That's your power."
He shakes his head, his expression one of bewildered ecstasy. "It's not my power," he breathes. "It's yours. You're giving it to me. All of it." His hands tighten on your thighs, not to guide you, but to hold on, as if he's afraid he'll dissolve into the starlight.
You don't break the intense eye contact as your hands move. They slide down your own body, over the swell of your breasts, your stomach, until your fingers find the intricate silver clasps holding his fine robes together at his waist. His breath catches as you begin to work them open, one by one.
"Let me see you, Elian," you murmur, your voice thick with desire.
The clasps give way under your touch. You push the soft, expensive fabric aside, revealing the pale, smooth skin of his lower abdomen. And there, freed from its silken confinement, is his arousal, standing proud and eager. He is long and slender, like the rest of him, the tip already glistening with a bead of moisture.
A soft, helpless sound escapes him—part embarrassment, part overwhelming need. He tries to cover himself with a hand, but you catch his wrist, pinning it gently to the moss beside his head.
"No," you whisper. "Don't hide. You're beautiful."
He goes still, his chest heaving. He looks from your face to where his body is exposed to you, to the night air, and a profound vulnerability washes over his features. But beneath the vulnerability is a fierce, burning trust. He is letting you see all of him, in every way.
Your own wetness is a slick promise against his thigh. You shift your hips, letting the sensitive head of his arousal brush against your heated core. The contact makes him jerk, a full-body spasm of pleasure. His eyes squeeze shut, his head tipping back into the moss, his mouth falling open in a silent cry.
"Look at me, Elian," you command, your voice a low, husky thread in the night.
His silver eyes, which had been squeezed shut in overwhelmed sensation, fly open. They lock onto yours, wide and dark with need. Holding that intense gaze, you begin to lower yourself. You shift your weight, positioning the slick, aching heat of your entrance right against the tip of him. The pressure is exquisite, a promise of fullness.
You sink down, slowly, inch by torturously slow inch. His mouth falls open in a soundless gasp as you take him inside. He is tight, the resistance giving way to a smooth, hot slide as your body stretches to accommodate him. His hands fly to your hips, his fingers digging into your skin, not to control you, but to anchor himself as he's enveloped in a sensation so profound it seems to steal his breath.
You don't look away. You watch every flicker of emotion on his face—the shock, the piercing pleasure, the dawning, awe-struck realization. You are fully seated on him now, sheathing him completely within you. A deep, shuddering sigh escapes you both at the same time.
He is inside you. Connected. His body is trembling beneath you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears of overwhelming feeling. "Penelope," he breathes, your name a sacred word on his lips. He can't seem to form any other thought. He is utterly, completely yours.
You hold yourself still for a long, breathless moment, letting him feel the incredible tightness and heat of your body wrapped around his. Then, with a soft sigh, you begin to move.
You rock your hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm, lifting yourself almost all the way off him before sinking back down in a smooth, gliding motion. The pace is languid, sensual, giving him time to feel every millimeter of friction, every shift of pressure.
His hands on your hips tighten, his knuckles white. A low, broken moan is torn from his throat. His head rolls back against the moss, his eyes fluttering shut before he forces them open again, desperate to keep watching you, to see the pleasure you're taking from him written on your face.
"You feel... so good," he gasps, the words fragmented. "So... full. I can't... I've never..."
His hips begin to move in tiny, involuntary jerks, trying to match your rhythm but overwhelmed by the sheer intensity. He's not thrusting; he's being moved by you, his body responding instinctively to the deep, rolling cadence you've set. Each downward stroke draws a sharper gasp, each lift a whimper of loss. He is completely at the mercy of the sensations you're orchestrating, lost in a sea of pleasure so vast it seems to drown him. Tears of overwhelmed ecstasy spill from the corners of his eyes, tracing silver paths down his temples.
The slow, deep rhythm is building a delicious tension within you, but you can feel his control fraying at the edges. You want to push him over. You want to see him shatter.
You tighten your thighs around his hips and increase the pace. The languid rocking transforms into a more urgent, driving motion. You rise and fall faster, the slick sounds of your joining filling the quiet glade. Each downward stroke is deeper, more demanding.
Elian cries out, a sharp, beautiful sound that echoes off the trees. His hands scramble on your hips, trying to keep up, but he's lost to the sensation. His back arches off the moss, his head thrown back, exposing the long, elegant line of his throat. His breathing is ragged, coming in desperate gasps.
"I... I can't..." he sobs, the words torn from him. "It's too much... I'm going to..."
His whole body is tensing, coiling like a spring. You can feel him swelling inside you, throbbing with the imminent force of his release. His silver eyes are wild, pleading, fixed on you as if you are the only anchor in a storm of overwhelming pleasure. He is right on the edge, completely at your mercy, waiting for your permission or your push to send him tumbling over.
You don't slow down. You keep riding him with that urgent, demanding pace, driving him relentlessly toward the brink. You see the desperate plea in his wild silver eyes, the way his body is trembling on the precipice.
You lean down, your lips almost brushing his. Your voice is a low, clear command that cuts through his ragged gasps.
"Come for me, Elian."
It's the final permission, the last push he needs. His control shatters.
A broken, ecstatic cry tears from his throat as his release crashes through him. His hips buck up off the moss, driving him deep inside you as he pulses, hot and wet. His hands clamp onto your hips with a strength you didn't know he possessed, holding you tightly against him as he empties himself in shuddering waves. His eyes are squeezed shut, his beautiful face a mask of pure, unadulterated rapture.
You keep moving through it, milking every last tremor from him until he goes limp beneath you, spent and panting. His grip on your hips loosens, his hands sliding off to rest palms-up on the moss, as if in total surrender. His chest heaves, and his eyes slowly open. They are hazy, unfocused, filled with a deep, satiated peace.
He looks up at you, a slow, dazed smile spreading across his kiss-swollen lips. "Penelope," he breathes, the name a sigh of utter contentment. He reaches up, his hand trembling, to brush a strand of your pink hair from your face. "Thank you."
Wanna make your own choices and see what happens next? READ/PLAY HERE! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
🎮interactive fanfic "Ohh nooo monster dihh" by Jamie_
I just saw elf bf post and id like to suggest for your consideration: elf bf learning what kink is and learning that he has some very unorthodox (for an elf) interests. Maybe he is intrigued by crossdressing, cuckolding, or exhibitionism/voyuerism because the idea is so taboo to an elf. Maybe he wants to try bondage or total power exchange because he’s always been told that partnerships are always equal (or that elves are better than humans) and submitting to a mortal partner makes him feel rebellious (but at the same time he feels safe because the person dominating him is his partner who he trusts). Maybe he has a praise kink because he doesn’t often get told “you’re a good boy and I’m proud of you.”
So many options! I wonder what you’ll do with them? 👀
ouuhhhhh anon this is such a big brain thing, lemme crawl inside ur skull
elves, by the standard of the world so far since nearly the beginning of time, has always been deemed as the ‘best’ race to ever walk the lands. tall, regal, elegant, fairest and wisest eternal beings who don’t even get sick. wounds heal quick unless they’re mortal, or of the broken heart. they don’t tire easily nor are they quick to fall. the perfect race
so what happens when said perfect race falls in love with the imperfect one? when an elf falls in love with a human? and said relationship is taken seriously between said lovers, bound for eternity together, blessed by the stars and the moon? well, you get something like you and your elf husband, a human and an elf, happily married
and extremely happy in the bedroom too
as the most perfect race, elves always had a certain amount of ego to themselves. it’s not so high and mighty to the point they could die if they fall from said ego’s height, but it’s always there. it’s like an instinctive feeling, akin to how humans are instinctively stubborn and passionate. too emotional. and due to their ‘perfection’, elves barely get any words of hostility aimed towards them unless it’s by a few passing dwarves or their kin who had been angered. praise has always been a normal thing to fall upon their pointy ears, so much so they count it as the norm
so for an elf to being into degraded, it is rare and frowned upon. why would the most perfect creatures require any words other than the highest form of acknowledgment? but your husband was into it. and you too, to certain extent. whispering filth into those cute, pointy twitching ears of how disgusting and vile he is to enjoy having human hands on him gets his cock hard in his pants within milliseconds. calling him a slut for moaning out loud when you simply grasp his hair has him rubbing his thighs together, feeling the familiar aching heat in his groin. and stars, have mercy on him when you lean in, strong arms caging him from behind between your warm body and the table as you spit out, “pointy eared whore” into the skin of his neck, hot breath sending shivers down his body. by that point, your elf husband’s all but clawing at your clothes, hopping onto the table all too eagerly as he spreads his legs for you
crossdressing is a mixed feeling for the elven race entirely for one, they are just such an eternally graceful beings to the point it becomes hard to tell the difference between some of their genders and two, their clothes share a lot of similar things. long, flowing clothes made of the finest materials any hands could ever touch
but your hubby loves it! the soft and frilly skirts, the smoothness of the dresses or even the breezy laces and provocative bras and thin underwear with straps to keep them up on the flesh of his hips. and don’t even get him started on his love for the ‘dancer’ outfit. the long loincloth like skirt, the golden chains at the sides to keep them perched on his waist and the tiniest bras possible paired with the mouth covering cloth. your elf husband is your private entertainer for the whole night, swaying his hips, twisting his hands and running them over the curves of his body as he gives you the most shit eating grin underneath the mouth cloth, makeup covered eyes narrowing hypnotically at you
it wouldn’t last too long on his lips when he’s being fucked in the very same outfit, being forced to keep the skirt to the side by his hands so you wouldn’t get it dirty for his next dance. not like it ever happens, your elf hubby’s a little crybaby, whining about how mean and rough you’re handling your dancer, sobbing fat tears about how your rough human hands were leaving bruises on his soft, creamy skin
owh lawddd the amount of times he pulled you to the side, into an empty room or behind some particularly huge tree when out on a walk so you could fuck him behind it has lost count. exhibitionism seems to be one of his favorites since he loves it so much, giggling about a quickie or “i promise, i’ll be silent this time” when you both know it’s not true at all
keep his one leg up with a hand hooked under his knee, pushing his chest flush against the cold marble walls or the bark of the tree for him to cling for stability while the filthy wet smacks of your cock constantly squeezing into his tight hole fills the area. just as loud as the whimpers of your pointy eared husband, whose ears twitch and droop so cutely. who bites down onto his hands and knuckles to shut himself up to no avail, always stuttering out “r-rough..! sho rough♡︎! can’t—can’t haaagh h-hold it i-eek hiigc! c-can’t hold it in ’nymoowr♡︎” as if he wasn’t the one who asked you to pound his pathetic hole until he was seeing stars. it’s as if he doesn’t care that someone could hear or even stars forbid, see them right now! doing such a dirty and private deed out in public place, where any elf with their sharp senses could hear, see or even smell the musky scent of sex
your elf husband’s boobs always jiggle so cutely whenever you fuck him, bouncing as you thrust the strap into his soppy hole. who even has a bit of a thing for feminization, whining out how you were fucking his womb, “y-nyur human d-dick is kissingg ma-agh my cerviiixx♥︎!!”, who rubs a hand over his slightly bloated belly with a dazed look in his eyes, slurring of “… got knocked up… by a human heheeh..♡︎” as if he could get pregnant. who has the cutest shrill squeals whenever you suckle on his nipples, biting around his areola to leave a mark as he weakly slaps at your back, speaking of how fucking animalistic and bestial you are
“s-so cruel… such a vile mortal—!”
elf husband who loves loves lovessssss bondage and sensory deprivation! an absolute rope bunny, he is! choosing the most finest and softest silk in the color he likes for special days, picking up the harsh and rough material ropes for the days when he wants to feel the sting, the pain, the adventure. who is into being tortured and overstimulated, forced to cum beyond what he is used to by your rough hands or hot mouth while his words turn to incoherent babbles as he tugs uselessly against his bindings. he’s just a weak, helpless little bunny in your lair, hungry wolf! please be gentle with your sharp fangs on his tender skin and smooth planes of muscle. such a sweet, innocent bunny like him could never handle the rough mating of days and nights a hungry wolf like you have planned for him♡︎
a bit of a masochistic elf husband who loves to have his senses deprived off of him. hands tied behind him, legs tied in a spread out manner and blindfolded with a dark cloth over his eyes. leave his ears free and make him try and guess what you would do to him. snap a belt or a riding crop onto your hand and watch as he flinches, jolting in place at the sound, wondering when and where it would land on his perfect body. his thighs? arms? chest? stomach? or perhaps even his cock and you would be mean enough to make him count how many hits it takes until he is cumming untouched, soiling his stomach as his blush spread all the way to his shoulders due to the whole shame. make him ponder, make him squeal at the unexpectedness, make him cry out in surprise, make him shake in the excitement of it all. he can take whatever pain and pleasure your human hands could dish out
and when he gets too loud, just shove something into his mouth. maybe a peace of cloth or even your own undergarments, whichever fits, whichever you want. he’ll be chewing on them and wetting it with his tears and saliva by the end of it
A fandom event celebrating sexually explicit fanworks based on the The Silmarillion and related legends — now in its fourth year!
September 28 to October 4, 2026 (Monday to Sunday)
The aim of Silm Smut Week is to foster a positive, inclusive, and fun culture around the creation and enjoyment of smut, porn, and erotica.
Themes and Prompts (Mobile) | Event Directory
How to Participate
Create something that narrates, depicts, or considers sexual activity involving the characters of the Silmarillion.
Post it on Tumblr and/or add it to the AO3 Collection and mention this blog (@silmsmutweek) and tag #silmsmutweek2026.
We will reblog posts daily.
If you do not see your post reblogged after 24 hours, please send us an ask or DM mods @polutrope or @ettelene.
The themes and prompts for each day are just suggestions. You can post anything any day of the week and we will reblog it.
Late submissions for the event are welcome and we will try to reblog those as well but cannot guarantee that we will.
Engage with other creators! Enjoy their works!
All genres, tropes, and kinks are welcome, as are all forms of creative of engagement (writing, art, meta, headcanons, playlists, podfics, etc.) with the Silmarillion and the Silmarillion fandom.
