Skyrim is for the Writers

Selfcest & Cloning Ft Nelacar

It was a particular fantasy, One you couldn't imagine many being able to physically replicate, but he’d disclosed it to you nonetheless. The idea that - despite how romantic it may seem - no one really knew one's body better than one’s self. He loved everything about you, every form of sex and love-making was absolute bliss, but it was still different from what he experienced himself on those nights when you were gone saving the world. He’d gotten warm just thinking about it, some kind of alternate form, a conjuration, perhaps, that knew him, just as he did - that knew all those little places that made him squirm, that could reach, that could press just right at the perfect speed with the perfect pressure. He’d gotten so riled up just talking about it, you couldn’t help fuck him there and then.

You wanted it to be real for him - you knew, if anyone could achieve such a feat, it was your wonderful star mage. And so, with lots of emotional and physical encouragement, he did. He had. He was doing so.

His skin had always been so beautiful, golden and gleaming, especially in the starlight, and here it was doubled, pressed against one another, golden hands tentatively gliding across it. Goosebumps rose in their wake, muscles clenching beneath the skin as they explored, familiarising themselves with a body well known. 

Their lips pressed to one another's - to their own - teeth knocking gently together as both went to bite the others lips, a gentle, breathy laugh following shortly. Both knew what they wanted, but neither knew who should receive, who should give, creating a strange unsurety. Hands were easy, each knew where they wanted to be touched, where to pinch and soothe and squeeze. Lips were easy too, outside of a regular kiss, dipping to kiss at his favoured side of the neck, marks scattered as they took turns to litter the other with bruises and bites. 

Golden, leaking cocks rubbed against each other, pressed between warm bodies, twitching in anticipation. He gripped his cock, forehead pressing against his own, a familiar hand rubbing up and down his shaft, flicking at the wrist before pressing his thumb into the tip. He bit his lips, hands simultaneously stilling to stave off that quickly approaching release. It would seem the situation was just as stimulating as the actions themselves.

Familiar eyes gazed at each other as hands stroked to the base, thumb and forefinger circling, gripping tightly in a ring as they rubbed the lengths together, hips cantering ever-so-slightly. He’d had centuries to learn the intricacies of his own pleasure, knew that the prominent vein at the underside was so sensitive when partnered with an oncoming release. So they thrust,veins encouraged and pressed together as seeping tips lubricated the skin, soft and slick. 

He moaned - they moaned - breathing into each other's mouths tongues pressed together as they finally, frantically pumped one anothers cock, muscles clenching in tandem as they coated themselves in cum. One another cum, technically their own.

Kinktober 2023 - day 13

Heart beat Ft. Ulundil

Skyrim could be a cruel land, one minute you're living peacefully and the next, total, utter, desolation. Ulundil had heard about Helgen, about Kynesgrove, about vampires and werewolves and other incidents in the other holds. He didn't think terror would be on his doorstep, not his city, not his home, not his wife. 

Arivanya had always hated the city, the stables, but still, she hadn't deserved to be killed the way she was, at the hands of a madman. The only small blessing, a silver lining Ulundil clung to, was that you were there to catch the killer swiftly after, that he wasn't able to take and mutilated his departed wife like he did the other women. 

She hadn't liked you either, the legendary dragonborn, didn't like the way you hung around the stables, made yourself known to the people, made him smile when you let him ramble about his horses. 

She wouldn't of liked you being the person he found comfort in, but he couldn't bear to be alone. 

The first few times had strictly been for comfort, you'd held him as he cried, till the tears stopped, his head against your chest, heart beat lulling him to sleep in his exhaustion. He came to rely on that sweet sound, that constant thump in his ear that reminded someone was there, that you were with him, alive. 

The sound stirred things in him, made him hug you tighter, crying silently as he lay kisses upon your chest. It got out of hand after that. Humping is probably the best word he could think for it, long, desperate thrusts, sometimes he couldn't tell whether it was the bed or your leg he was rutting up against but it didn't matter, all that mattered was each thrust kept in time with that beat. That thumping beneath his cheek as he lost himself. You didn't dare say anything, only stroking through his blond locks, cupping his head to your chest as he hummed harder, faster, keeping in time with your rising heart beat. You bit your lip, intent to stay silent and listen to his breathless gasps, wet moans as he fought back sobs of pleasure rather than grief. 

His breath dampened your skin, panting as his own heart beat in time with yours, rushing and rising like his oncoming climax.

You clung to him, tethering him as he lost himself to pleasure, the feel of his trousers rough against your leg. 

You were still surprised to hear your name spilling from his lips - not hers - desperate and needy. Needy for you, to love him, to stay with him, to live. 

Somnophilia Ft. Garan Marethi

You'd agreed, when becoming the new head of the Volkihar Clan, that Garan was to do his utmost to ensure your attendance. Converting from mortal to intensely powerful night creature had been a culture shock, mostly the change in sleep schedule - visible when you'd fail to rise with the moon. Instead, you'd remain in deep slumber, having remained awake even with the sun attempting to break into the castle. 

It was standard procedure by now, the dark elf entering your chambers to wake you for the night, surely to admonish you for oversleeping when you were conscious enough to heed his scolding. 

And so here he was to do just that, perched at the edge of the King sized bed, looming over your unconscious body, his eyes trailed your bare skin, fingers hooking into the blanket to reveal what lay beneath the fabric bunched at your waist. Weathered fingers pressed into the flesh of your thigh, revelling in the twitches of your brow as he pinched, attempts to rouse you from a light sleep. You didn't stir further. 

The bed dips with his weight, though its still too little to wake you as he settles between your legs, lifting a knee to rest up his shoulder, his mouth gets to work. He starts with gentle licks, the tip trailing over you. Eyes fixed on your facial expression, watching it pinch as he presses down the flat of his tongue, warm and wet. He leaves open mouthed kisses there, feeling you pulse against him as he lathes his tongue over you, top to bottom, briefly straying to place kisses upon your thighs, the temptation of biting into your skin to great. He punctured the flesh, drinking you, letting the blood sit on his tongue before swallowing. 

It was more than enough to get him riled, hips rutting against your bed sheets as your blood slipped down his throat.

It had all done little to wake you, you'd done naught but tossed your head to the side, lips parted to release your heavier breaths. If not for being the cause, garen would've thought you were having a nightmare.

He rose to his knees, intent on waking you as he fished his cock from its confines. Half hard, he tapped it against you, stroking the head against the bite wound, wetting the tip with his own saliva. He prodded, rocking his hips into you till your hole finally gave way. You gasped, though it was quiet in compare to his own breathless moan. He himself hadn't been up for long, and to have to expert himself so soon was exhausting, how bothersome you could be. 

His brow dipped harshly, humping into you, all hips, cock digging into your body at a repetitive pace. His head hung back, hissing as your body instinctively gripped at his cock, his mind clouding as that knot tightened in the pit of his stomach, yet you still slumbered peacefully, so innocent and mortal looking. 

He growled, hungry, bending you in half and balancing himself on the balls of his feet. Heavy thrusts buried his cock deep, the clap of his sack against you loud in the quiet. 

Sensory Deprivation Ft Enthir

Authors notes, honestly, not a fan of this, looking forward to coming back and doing a full edit.

It was quite spectacular, the effect denying one's senses could have on a person. You grow to accustomed to them, take them for granted. And to steal one away drags a sense of vulnerability out from within that you never knew was there. The basement was a place to be vulnerable. 

The Frozen Hearth was quiet on an average day, and beneath it was quieter still. Enthir personal haven away from the prying eyes of the college, where less… moral business could take place. Between his dodgy deals and association with the thieves guild, you'd found his little hide-out, and it'd become your sanctuary also. Surprisingly, the mer was accommodating, especially when you were willing to cater to his more… questionable propersistions.

He'd tried it on you first, the blind fold, robbing you of sight indeed had an effect but it wasn't very often you knew what the man was up to anyways. 

Then it was touch, wrists bound behind your back as his hands had their way with you. Infuriatingly, you could watch as his cock leaked, ignored as he made you cum with just his fingers and tongue, watching as you desperately fought against your bindings. Just wanting to reach out and return the favour. 

He didn't realise gagging you would affect him more than you, hadn't realised how wild your moans and whimpers impacted him. God's how he missed hearing his name on your lips, that gorgeous way you'd whisper "please" with tears welling in your eyes.

He'd compensated by robbing you of hearing, ears plugged, you hadn't heard the unusually crowded gathering upstairs. Couldn't hear how you echoed, how you willed in desperation for his cock, his touch, how you announced your need for him. You didn't know. But everyone upstairs did. 

You'd had a taste of everything, been exposed to sheer vulnerability in all those little ways. But now it was his turn, and what a sight it was.

Beautifully naked, bound at his wrists and ankles to the same wooden chair. Ears plugged, mouth gagged and drooling, petite fangs peeking out from the confines of the cloth. The swathe of fabric that coverd his eyes dug gently into his skin, pressing against sharp cheekbones and hugging the angles of his face. 

You took the time to observe. Take in the wonderful sight of Enthir completely at your mercy, how he twitched and turned to track you down, straining to reach you, to hear you, all in vain. You watched as his cock throbbed in anticipation, pulsing with the rapid beating of his heart, how his skin began to perspire, droplets on his back, running between his shoulder blades and down his spine. 

You crept closer, blowing a stream of air against the pointed tip of his ear, the shiver it elicited thrilled you. You came around to sit in his lap, cock nestled between your thighs, tip resting against your belly. 

"I can't wait to watch your come undone" 

He moaned desperately, leaning into the palm you placed on his cheek, hips rutting gently, unknowing to the gentle threat you'd given him. He couldn't see the near crazed grin that grew on your lips.

Fucking Machine Ft. Aicanter

He'd made it… accidentally. He promised! It was a complete accident- when you'd asked what he was trying to make, he couldn't answer that, but he swore! This- thing, was not his intended creation. It had something to do with the spider, originally, but he'd gotten lost along the way and ended up with this elaborate mechanism, gears, cogs, metal and wire that he'd gave actual names too but you hadn't been listened that closely. 

No, instead, you were too distracted by the cock. Yes you heard right. 

It was carved from moonstone, and looked shockingly familiar. You slit your eyes at him in suspicion, accidental- bull shit, the man had sculpted the damn thing after himself. 

You took a deep breath, fingers pressed to your forehead as he babbled, face flushed and hand flailing, touching the staff and shaft - ha!

"You're judging me aren't you?" You couldn't tell if he was quietly angry or about to cry, tucking himself away into his hood.

"I'm just… confused." You glanced over the contraption once more "explain it to me, not the how! I don't need all those words, but the why. Why this when I have you?"

He flushed deeply, fingers tapping against the metal 

"Well I- I'm not always around, and neither are you! You can go off for days and sometimes I don't know if you're coming back. I just thought. That even when you come home to me, if my work keeps me too busy, you could still have me in some way."

How to make a strange situation so utterly sweet, by Aicanter.

"And what makes it so special? Simply, please"

He glanced at the intricate mechanism, then back at you, locked his lips. Words be damned. A quick zap of lightning left his fingertips and the thing whirred to life. 

It moved, automatically. Up and down, like the steam pistons in Dwemer ruins. He zapped it again, it moved faster. 

You were entranced. Intrigued. 

"Would you like to try it?"

You nodded.

So here you were, legs spread, moonstone cock pistoning into you on a slow, dragging, setting. You bit your lip, ever so slightly rocking yourself onto its length to match the pace.

"Oh fuck" you watched your lover closely as he slowly fisted his cock, reaching out to give the staff another zap, turning up the tempo. It made your legs shake, the tip consistently beating against that tender patch, and better still was you could just sink, completely relax and not feel guilt for your partner having to do all the work. You let your hand roam your own body, content to just melt as the machine fucked into your, gently rocking your body with its thrusting.

You'd become lost, almost, dopey grin and glazed over eyes, a look that Aicanter was utterly obsessed with. Do you make that face when he fucks you? There are moments he gets lost in the feeling of you, when he's not paying too much attention and letting instinct take over - what else has he been missing? 

He ruts into his grip faster, fixated on your face, blindly reaching to spark the staff again. He groans as your eyes light up, convince he can see the stars in their depths - your cumming, he realises, your hips stuttering against the pistoning staff, trying to escape its onslaught, save your oversensitive hole. He reaches out to drain the magic and bring it to a halt, but stops, fingers left floating in the air.

A dark thought crosses his mind, makes him cum, a sign that usually means this is over, clean up and move on to the aftercare. But the machines still going, not breathless like himself. 

Stripping Ft Teldryn Sero

You'd felt bone tired after days of travel and restless nights, you'd nearly crumbled at the mere sight of your home.

He'd carried you through the door, strength unwavering as he brought you to the bath. He'd set the water to boil before the undressing began, an arduous process given your layers, but a burden he was more than willing to bear. 

He stripped you of your gloves and gauntlets first, pressing a thumb to each knuckle as he made his way from one fist to the other, touch circling your wrist and worming its way up your arms, across your shoulders, to the fastenings at your neck. Having the weight of your cuirass lifted from you renewed your ability to breath, and you could feel the elfs eyes roam your torso as you took in deep lungfuls of breath. He pulled the sweat dampened shirt from your body watching your ribcage shift beneath your skin as you flexed and stretch. 

Distracted only momentarily by the details of your physique, he proceeded, determined to have you stripped before the water boiled. Your boots were next, you could feel his fingers follow the musculature of your calves, thumb circling the protruding bone of your ankle as it became exposed. Boots, tossed, your socks didn't last long, flung forgotten to the corner, he tickled your feet gently till you pressed one against his chest, pushing him onto his back as the first whistles of the kettle sounded.

He chuckled beneath his mask, gracefully getting you his feet and pouring in the water, steam rising and swirling around your figure as he guided you in with a gentle hand. The contrast of boiling water from the kettle and cold from the tub mingled into the perfect temperature, allowing you to sink to your shoulders and watch as your lover took his turn to undress. 

His method was not too dissimilar to how he'd undressed you, only you'd had to put a stop to his eagerness, asking him to take it slow, to not toe off his boots whilst he pulled of his gloves. 

And so he did, gloves, gauntlets, dropped to reveal thick forearms laced with deep purple veins, pressing against his skin with each flex of his nimble fingers. Scarf unbound, cuirass unlatched, he bared his toned, slender frame, purple tattoos trailing his chest, across his collar, and lost beneath his mask. You followed the patterns south, over toned abdominals, to that slight trail of hair. Too distracted, you'd missed him taking off his boots all together - and after all that fuss. 

The armour plating was cast aside, his cloth trousers the second to last item obscuring his sculpted frame from your lecherous view. How could he make you feel so turned on when you were so damn tired? 

Thumbs hooked in the waistband, you following the trail of hair as it grew darker, thicker, curling to conceal the base of his semi-flaccid cock. He bent to drop his trousers to the floor, exposing those thick plains of muscle, powerful thighs that had bore your weight numerous times, the insides still littered with your teeth marks and bruises. 

His cock swayed as he moved toward you, stopping to let you kiss the tip before kneeling at your side, elbows resting at the edge, one hand dipping beneath the waterline to trail up your leg to its precipice. 

You gasped at his touch, willing to lounge and let those clever fingers do the work. 

Breeding Ft. Harkon

AFAB reader, "Queen", vampire Lord, bleeding

A new era for vampire kind rose with a red sun, blackness bleeding into the sky and suffocating the world. Solitude, in all its glory, had been the first to go, Elisif herself had fallen to your claws, weak, screaming, splattered in the blood of her court. Sybille had been displeased at first, but to see true vampiric lord takes hold of the city - well she wasn't about to argue back. 

To dwell in the blue Palace made you feel like a queen, to walk in the blackened sun with your hounds trained at your heels made your power swell. But nothing was able to make you feel so good as when your king arrived. 

He'd take you on every surface of the Palace, his scent permeating the stone. He said it was to ensure his territory was sufficiently marked. That any wandering gazes would know just who's queen you were. 

The throne was a favourite, your claws digging into the once ornate woodwork, now scratched and torn from previous love making. You were folded almost painfully, arms hooked around the armrests, knees pressed to backrest, cunt exposed to his brutal cock.

And you loved every minute, opening yourself up to everything he would give you. 

He growled lowly, drool slipping from his fangs and falling onto your awaiting tongue. You could feel blood trickling down your thighs from where his talons pierced your flesh, and the spike of fear you felt rush through you made your impending orgasm feel all the more electric. 

The fucking was feral, that blurred line between man and beast. His connection with humanity waned when his cock was buried so deep, that animalistic urge to breed taking over along with his more beasties form. You could see the shift in his face, the structure shifting beneath his skin. But his eyes, glowing and intense, those were always Harkon, never lost and never straying from the emotions on your face.

"You will- ngh!" You clenched around him, his thick cock gripped deep in your cunt "bear my offspring. I will fill you with so many children my queen, you will birth the most powerful creatures this world has ever seen." He heaved you closer, pelvis pressed to yours, aching balls pressed into the cleft of your ass.

"Yes! Yes my lord, I will fulfill your wishes as always. I will be such a good mother to your brood." You grinned wildly, fangs a teeth bared, reaching for his throat, desperate to drink of his blood and his seed.

He practically roared as your orgasm peaked, the harsh convulsions threatening to push out his cock. Still he persisted, burrowing his length into you, tip prodding at your deepest chambers. It was with visions of you swollen, skin stretched thin over your stomach with the weight of his children that he finally came, potent spunk coating your walls. 

He stilled, leaving you plugged with his cock.

With the easing of his breath he withdrew his talons, features shifting to something more recognisably human. He soothed your skin, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. 

Virginity ft Erik the Slayer

Two virgins walking into an inn sounds like the start of a bad joke, and similar to a bad joke the scenario itself leaves you conflicted on whether to laugh or cry. You're sure the nervousness - that little wobble on his lips, the askance glance, and the not-so-subtle fidgeting with the bedspread - is mirrored in yourself, but it’s a lot easier to pretend he’s the only one who doesn't know what he’s doing. He goes to say something - anything - several times, and backs out each time, mouth snapping closed, but you can't help your eyes straying to his neck to watch his Adam's apple bob each time he swallows. 

For a moment, you attempt to think back on those romantic novels, the embracing, the kissing, the intimacy that leads to more - but all that involves getting closer to him! That sinking weight that stirs in your belly weighs you down too much to do so, let alone anything else.

“Who’d have thought dragon slaying would be easier than this.”

Two virgins walking into an inn is a bad joke, but it makes you laugh, makes you look at each other incredulously as you realise he didn't intend for that to be said aloud - but you're glad he did. The tension leaves the air and that heaviness lightens, just enough for you to scoot closer, shoulder to shoulder, and the kiss you share feels just like all the ones previously because it’s still Erik, it’s still your farmer turned fighter that makes you feel safe and warm. The idea of giving yourself over to him fully has your heart beating as fast as the first kiss did. 

It’s clumsy and arguably funny the way you both disrobe, neither having complete knowledge on how to handle the others clothing, but you make it work, make it so you're soon nude against each other, kissing and feeling your way. 

You could feel him pressing into your thigh, and though it'd make guiding him in more difficult, you were happy the lights were low in his room, it gave you that little extra confidence and besides, you could still see him smiling. He was enjoying himself.

"So er- when do we? Ah- I mean!"

"Now"

"Now?"

You took his face in your hands, knees pressing against his hips.

"I want you now, first time of many, Erik."

You both made a move at the same time, hips pushed forward, length taken in hand. 

There was a sting, not completely painful but, perhaps you weren't quite ready enough, but then you felt go deeper, and deeper still, and with little resistance the slick increased, became easier to move. It was a simple pattern, in and out, in and out, but the drag of his cock stroked your walls like nothing your fingers could accomplish.

"Uh- fuck!" Was it weird to be smiling so much? So rare it was to hear Erik swear and here he was, high pitched curses forced from his lips - because of you. 

Your fingers pressed into his shoulders, you could feel that simple pattern of his straying. Whilst a tightness built slow in the pit of your belly, you could tell his was building far quicker, washing over him like a daunting wave.

"Ohh shit!" He pulled out, thrusting and rubbing against your pelvis as he emptied himself onto the expanse of your stomach. "I'm sorry!" He puffed and panted, face as red as his hair. He took a moment to take you in, that ever present smile illuminating. 

Kintober 2023 - Day 6

Chastity Ft. Erandur

You could easily become lost in the ebb and flow of Erandurs mutterings, his gentle prayers to those above and within, his idle whispers as he became lost in thought, shushed ramblings of observation at a new sight. Every word that dripped from his lips was honey, heavy and smooth and sweet. Sweeter still were his whimpers, those little gasps he attempted to bite back with his lip between his teeth. So shy the outspoken priest became when such a sound escaped, treacherous. 

You knew his resolve was waning, but patience was its own reward. It wouldn't be long till you could free him, and every sweet desire would be his for the taking. For now though, the key would continue to press snug against your sternum, hung with a strip of leather. 

He seemed too focused on his prayers (or too lost within the fantasies of his mind, perhaps?) To notice or address your advances. Your knuckles dragged against him as you slowly bunched his robes in your grip, the faded mustard cloth lifting to reveal dusty grey legs, thin yet toned from your excessive travel.

It had taken time to get to this stage, the cage was a wonderful inhibitor, keeping his urges in check when you weren't present. Erandur had struggled with his physical desires since joining you, and struggled further when you became official, while he was more than happy to dole out emotional love and affection, but physically he was more hesitant to deliver what you were more than happy to receive - after Vearmina, he didn't feel so deserving of your body. 

He'd tries so very hard to hold onto Chastity alone, but his long, slender fingers had a habit of trailing down to his cock. It would start with gentle touches, a stroke of his fingertips, then a quick - harmless - squeeze, and suddenly he'd be rutting into his cock like a virgin.

Thats been when the cage came in, it'd been so difficult to get him caged initially, cock growing hard and thick at your touch, but after ruining so many orgasms the poor thing finally shrunk to fit within the thin metal contraption. 

There were days he'd complain about the tightness, the restraint, the tight ring around his balls, but not once did he ask properly to be released, he'd gotten so good. 

So good in fact, he'd made it to a week, a full week were he hadn't so much as leaked cum out his little slit, hadn't rubbed his tight, swollen sack up against your thigh. He'd even watched you masturbate once, you body writhing, chest rising and falling, cradling his key with each breath. 

So here you were, robes bunched in your hands, admiring the discoloured cock and balls that pressed against their confines, there was a bead at the tip, quickly wiped away. He gasped softly before returning to his prayers, cheeks flushing and eyes turning away from your observations. You gently rested him in your palm, smiling as the priests gentle muttering came to a halt -

Interrupted by the release of a lock.

How is it that something as simple as waking up in a warm bed, surrounded by the arms of your lover could be so moving? To some it was standard, and it probably should be to Ronthil given how long he’d been sleeping with the clan leader, but he couldn't help how blessed and refreshed he felt knowing he had you. It’d been so long since the fall of Harkon, since you’d taken over the castle and raised his rank, or more precisely, made love so loudly the others knew quite well just what your relationship was with the lesser vampire. 

He rolled over, temporarily leaving your loose hold to peer over the edge of the bed. Cusith and Garmr curled against each other, huffing and grumbling lowly as they slept. He braved the chill in the room, extending an arm from beneath the sheets to pet each of the hounds, shushing as Cusith made to stand. 

Momentarily, he considered padding his way to the fireplace to start heating the room for when you awoke but decided against such a thought when your arms sleepily grasped at him, pulling him back into a warm embrace.

“Stay.” A chill ran through him, electric, tingling up his spine as that lower octave settled into his bones, the sleep-laden command triggering every cell in his body to obey. His Adam's apple bobbed and pressed against the leather around his neck.

“Yes, love.” He nestled in, cock half-hard and pressing against your hip.

“How do you feel? You passed out last night before I could take this off.” delicate fingers made contact with his skin, hooking beneath the collar and gently stroking at the skin beneath, no doubt checking for chaffing or marks -  tender spots he’d neglected to report in the throes of passion the night previous.

“I- uhm… Actually, I feel quite wonderful.” wonderful indeed, if the cock prodding at you was anything to go by.

“Is that so? Well, I do like the sound of that my sweet Bosmer.” He grinned sheepishly, lowering his gaze - so very submissive he was, so very beautiful with that blush across his nose, spreading down his neck and disappearing beneath that pretty collar. The polished leather shone in the moonlight that filtered through the window, giving you glimpses of the night previous. You were still tired, but that didn't mean your little pet couldn't have fun.

“My dear Ronthil, I’m so tired, yet I have quite the need to see my beautiful man absolutely wrecked.” He felt a push at his hips, rolling to mount a thigh, balls pressed against the muscles as they tensed. Your fingers pulled him low by the collar, his hips already starting that slow rock as you breathed against his lips, barely touching.

“How I love you my Ronthil, I hope you realise how happy I am to see you in my collar, I only hope you keep wearing it, and show the rest of these idiots exactly who you belong to.” He whimpered against your lips, hips wrecking gently as he whispered words of affirmation. Sweet pledges to obey, serve, and devote tumbled quietly from his plush lips, kisses peppered in between. He could feel the tightness of the collar with each sound, every gasp for breath reminded him of your love and kindness, it made his hips move faster, the exposed, sensitive cock head prodding against your belly, your skin kissing it sweetly. He pressed his palm to its shaft, trapped between his calloused hand and your smooth thigh, he hissed at the delicious friction.

"Who is my pretty boy?"

"I am!" You could remember when he'd been so shy, felt so undeserving of your attentions. But now, with your collar latched around his neck, he was overjoyed to claim such a thing. It was a thrill, to feel so useful and wanted, made his blood quicken with the thrusting of his hips.

He loved it, loved you, and loved painting your skin with his cum whenever you commanded

He hadn’t been your type originally. Even after several beers he still wasn’t. That’s just the way things were and he’d been okay with that, surprisingly. It wasn't often you came across someone who would buy you several drinks and still be civil after turning them down. That was usually the reason you into so many bar brawls, come to think of it. But he was nice, and funny, and that sensible part of you still kept quiet when he invited you to continue your night of fun, having already been kicked out the inn - you hadn’t meant to spill your drink down the front of the barmaid, and you were sure Sam hadn’t meant the lecherous comment about her chest either. 

You couldn’t turn down the chance to follow him to where ‘the wine flows like water’ and even now, as you stood in Misty Grove, you didn't quite regret it. Yet.

“You know, for someone who’s been downing drinks all night, I’m suddenly feeling quite sober.” The realisation that you had been taken to a plane of Oblivion hit you like a wave, made you feel vulnerable, exposed, and you felt prickles upon your skin like there was something crawling beneath it. “Why am I here, Sam?”

“Not completely sober I hope. I’ll be honest, I’m not the best decision-maker, but you? I can feel something in you, and I like it, I want to see where this goes.”

He moved to take your chin between his fingers, yet your movements were too quick, too coordinated (It would seem you were certainly sober now) and you snatched his wrist before he made contact.

“This doesn’t feel right Sam, I’m all for fun and games, but no lies.” 

The splitting grin looked foreign on his softer Breton features. There was light, and noise, a whirl of magic that nearly sucked you in. The grin fit this form perfectly.

Talons. Red talons that peaked blackened fingers took your chin and this time you let him.

“Sanguine” He chuckled low, the sound rattling in your bones.

“So glad you’re already familiar, tell me, am I a bit more your type now?” 

His bulk herded you toward the table, his thick frame slotting between your bare legs… Whenever that happened you weren’t sure, but your mind felt far too frazzled to attempt to make sense of anything that happened in a daedra’s realm.

“Easy dear, focus here, your minds changing things faster than even I can keep up with.” His clothes had gone too it would seem, the realisation that you’d wanted that to be the case suddenly brought clarity to the situation.

Sanguine, the daedric prince of hedonistic revelry, debauchery, and passionate indulges of darker natures was before you, letting you guide and shape his realm with each of your thoughts. 

“I’ve been watching you, you know, you turn your nose up at men, elves sometimes, orcs rarely, but you jump at the Argonians, the Khajit, there’s something about the… less common tastes that just get you riled, isn't there?” He stroked your nethers to prove a point, finding them hot and inviting. “You can indulge in your best-kept secrets, all in the safety of my naughty little grove, if that’s what you’d like. How does that sound?” He bent, nose pressing against the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

“I’d like…” A breath, deep and purposeful that filled your lungs, a poor attempt to quell the stirring in your belly. It wasn’t quite nauseating the way the world shifted, how you felt as though you were still lying upon the table, but it turns out you were upright, atop a demon, and your brain tossed to keep up with the change. “I’d like to have a bit of fun with you, I think.”

He practically purred as you sank onto his rigid, ribbed, cock. The blackened length sinking into your welcoming flesh. His fangs glinted in the foggy lantern light as he grinned.

“Oh my sweet champion I promise you,” He took your hips, elongated fingers groping at the flesh of your rear “This will be a night to remember.”

Mercer had always been a hateful man, he had that toxic tendency of skipping over jealousy and jumping straight to hating those that had which he couldn't have. You were one such person, you had the guild wrapped around your finger within days of your initiation, and despite his best attempts to defame you, everyone seemed weak to your charms. Worse still, he was one of them. You had skill, and passion too, but you didn't follow rules like an obedient mutt. The focus you put on self-preservation reminded him of himself in his youth, he’d seen your greed outweigh your loyalty, and if he didn't see so much of himself, he too probably would have fallen for your lies the way the others had. 

The others truly were desperate to get the Guild back on its feet, weren't they? 

It was pitiful, watching the others dote and clutch at the scraps of attention you fed them, keeping them hanging by a thread. Not him, no. He’d hated the scraps, and so demanded more.

Which is how your relationship came to be, one full of bile, bitter and acrid. You could feel it in your throat along with his cock, the pre-seeping straight down your cullet. His fingers linked behind your head, pulling you flush and keeping you stuffed against his crotch, hidden dark beneath the desk. Your movements were sloppy and wet, the faint clicking from your saliva seemed to echo. He hated the sound, and you got blissfully quiet when he locked you in place, still.

He could almost imagine you suffocating down there on his cock.

He hated this, turmoil that gave him headaches and butterflies simultaneously. How he wanted to drown you and kiss you. How he wanted to humiliate you in front of everyone yet keep you all to himself. How he hated you.

How dare you waltz in, stir things up, take his cock so good, and still begin to unravel the secrets he’s spent so long weaving? His eyes glance over the numerous papers you’ve uncovered leading to Karliah's involvement - no doubt if you discover her you’ll find out all his dirty little secrets. And then you’d hate him too.

He doesn't have long to ponder why such a statement makes his heartache.

He blinks, refocusing as the feeling of your throat constricting around his cock brings him back to reality. You claw at his calves, and he realises you're still pressed against him. He unlocks his fingers, eyes turned downward as you pull yourself free. Water dribbles down your cheeks and spit down your chin, mouth agape, chest rising. He watches as you work your jaw back to life, stiffened and sore. 

And yet you still grin. It makes him growl, and snarl, his lips rising and baring a canine. The disgusted look suits his aged features beautifully. You can feel the hatred radiating off him, so you dive back in, sucking and swirling, taking him deep till he reaches his release. 

After all, he hates you a lot less when you're covered in his cum.

To a somewhat normal person, the idea of having an orc astride your ribcage would be abnormal - terrifying in fact - as the race was hardly known to be featherlight. Undoubtedly, the sheer bulk of one of their kind, sitting atop your torso and pining it beneath their weight would be cause for concern, it could be life-threatening if that weight were to suddenly drop - but that just made it all the more exciting didn’t it?

His eagerness had put you both in this position, the deep green, meaty cock that had practically burst from its confines was now nestled comfortably between your tits, the head dribbling a thick viscous fluid that pooled atop your skin before trickling into the divet of your collarbone. The breast band kept the mounds of flesh pressed snuggly to the shaft as he rocked back and forth, sliding against sweat-slicked skin. Ghorbash had been considerate enough to ball your shirt into his first lest it be soaked by his cum, although you partially suspected it had something to do with him wanting a better view. 

What was a man to do? Travelling with a lover - clad in layers of leather and steel, decorated with ornate weaponry, and just a dash of enemy blood - was absolute agony, cock hard and brushing his thick thigh with each step, fabric teasingly brushing against the cockhead with each pullback of foreskin. He became far too impatient when he got like this, not even needing a hole, just needing you and your soft, battle-touched skin against his length. 

You were at a loss for words, limp against the floor - that’s all you needed to be - able to lay back and watch as the man came undone above you, groans and grunts and growls spilling from his mouth as he fucked into your chest. It was wonderful, making your stomach twist in want, to be filled and fucked, and yet - you didn't want this to end. After all, why stop his fun? Why stop him when he thrusts so deep his cock begins to touch your lips, the head rubbing against your outstretched tongue and salty taste dripping into your mouth. Why stop when you can feel his full, heavy balls pressed against the sensitive skin at the underside of your breasts, tensing with a need for release? Why stop when his hands, all-encompassing in their size, seize a tit in each and press firm, nipples beneath his thumbs as he cums, the seed thick and ropey as it spreads across your face. He pulls back, head buried in the flesh, and you can feel it, warm and wet, pooling beneath the press of his palms as he imagines it filling up your hole.

You can see steam as his breath fogs in the cool air, that glint in his eye not quite gone, the muscles in his thighs twitching with the urge to move and you realise - give him a moment, let his weight ease from your ribs and let it settle between your legs - you may be getting filled after all. 

Isn't it interesting how you can be with someone for so long, and yet, continue to discover new ways in which they better your entire existence? That seemingly endless circle of discovery and love that brought boundless joy to life, new experiences that you’d never think to find alone. Gwilin had experienced such an occurrence numerous times with you, that steel that sparked against his otherwise vanilla lifestyle. You’d brought light and life to him, and though he’d always been comfortable with the hand he’d been dealt in Ivarstead - he couldn't deny that you just made it better. 

It’s a sweet sentiment - wholly romantic.

Not necessarily something he should be thinking as you pounded into him with a fake phallus. 

You’d laughed at that - whilst the Bosmer wasn’t one for dirty talk in the first place, you'd never heard him say it like that. Prick, cock, even dick had slipped his lips though it was often followed by a childish giggle - phallus felt so medical, so proper like it could not and would not give him any pleasure. Only you could receive pleasure from such a thing. He’d been completely wrong, but that's what new experiences are for, isn't it? Proving you wrong in the best of ways.

It was a spur-of-the-moment purchase, the leather harness and sculpted cock that went with it. Glass, hand-crafted to a shape that curved prettily and hung heavily between your legs when you first tried it on. You had overcompensated with the tightness of the harness so the cock wouldn't slip from its position, the straps now biting into the meat of your hips - but gods you didn't care all that much, not with Gwiling before you, face down, ass up, and moaning so very much.

Stopping momentarily to increase your comfort passed through your mind, forced out by the sounds your pretty Bosmer made - whines, whimpers, attempts at long, drawn-out moans that jolted with each thrust of your hips. There wasn't much in the way of inhibition, observing the way his fingers gripped at the sheets and his toes curled, you'd guess there wasn't much thought left behind those beautiful eyes, not as he felt the rod of glass stroke against his prostate, kissing depths inside of him he never knew existed. The temperature confused him in an oddly pleasurable sort of way, each time it left the comfort of his hole, bared to the elements, the material attracted a chill that he felt reenter his body, but that only made him grip tighter, his ass pulling it in to heat it up quick, but he was never quite able to hold on tight enough as you pulled away - only to pound back in and bring the chill with you.

“Nnngh-!” muffled against the pillow as he was, it was impossible to hear what word such a sound was supposed to be. An anxious stab, had he wanted to stop? 

The hand that reached back to grip your hip answered, short nails digging into your skin as he pulled you close - deeper. So deep you could feel his body pulling you in, tugging incessantly.

Only as you watched him writhe, bucking and panting, that gorgeous grin plastered dumbly across his face did you realise he’d come.

Mid-year. TES Summerfest Free Day. Ft. Paarthurnax.

Mid-Year.

One of the finest months - the temperature finally rising, the most frozen of areas a touch more bearable than the rest of the year. That delightful time of year when most of the wildlife were too preoccupied with their partners than with wanderers – and those with cubs or pups could be heard a mile off thanks to the rambunctious nature of the young.

It was when the roads were dry and the dragonborn’s boots weren’t caked in mud, when they could travel from Whiterun to Riverwood to Rorikstead without a sudden torrent drenching them down to their skin. It made travelling Skyrim easier – easier, not easy, for it never was easy to travel in this land – so the hardest to reach places were suddenly a little less daunting to access.

Ancient. Ft. Gelebor.

The snow crunched, melting quickly beneath his feet, fresh clumps sticking to his soles with every step. To trek through the snow wasn’t easy for most, but it was instinctual for him, the path well taken by past initiates, ghosts guiding his every move. He didn’t need to look, instead his soul guided him safely, eyes closed, the fading memories of life seeping into his being as he walked.

How he wished it wasn’t all ancient history. How he wished he wasn’t a relic of the past. He wanted them to come home. His people.

His heavy sigh clouded in the cold.

He reached the wayshrine, gazing at it solemnly, mouth turned down. It was fading, stone stained and grass growing higher than it should ever be allowed, nature attempting to claim it the way she did all forgotten things. He dropped slowly to his knees, his joints objecting the straining movement, and began to pluck the weeds, the tall blades, till he felt the shrine was safe.

He was there for hours without even realising, the sun rising to its peak. Time meant far less to him now than it once did.

Only when the surrounding ground was littered with severed weeds did he finally rest back on his heels, observing the ring of muddied snow his presence had cleared. He finally noticed the dampness at his knees, the water soaking through his trousers to his skin.

He regarded the entryway, the glowing, shimmering portals allowing him glimpses to the other shrines, and he realised that they shimmered with life.

His thoughts drifted to his own wayshrine, tucked away in his cave, ignited with the same life he’d assumed was lost to the ages.

All because of them.

He smiled, content to bask in these brief feelings of optimism.

It gave them time to catch up, to fill the area with their energy and excite the lingering ghosts.

“Can’t tell if you’re praying or if you’re stuck down there.”

“Hm, perhaps it’s a bit of both? Perhaps neither.”

They knelt beside him; arm pressed to his.

“So, you are contemplating, deeply I take it from those delightful wrinkles.”

Their playful shove made him click his tongue in annoyance, faux it was, given away by the blush blooming on his high cheekbones.

“You need not point out my age further, seeing you everyday reminds how far behind me my youth lies.”

“I’m not that young, besides, you know I like ancient things, that’s why I love exploring ruins so much.”

His lips wobbled in maintaining his scowl.

“I’m going to choose to cling to the compliment concealed withing that statement and ignore the comparison of me to a ruin.”

“Good, that was my intention, you know I’m not the best flirt, but I am the better cook – Mr. I’ve lived off cave shrooms for the last millennium.”

He regarded their extended hand, taking it to alleviate the stress upon his joints as he rose.