#ondolemar x reader

[peachfridges]

masterlist

to see my other fics, check out @peachcloudss to see kpop idols x reader :)

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dc

bruce wayne

nothing here yet…

dick grayson

nothing here yet…

jason todd

nothing here yet…

fortnite

jonesy

nothing here yet…

midas

nothing here yet…

montague

we’ll be okay - fluff, very slight angst, brief mention of canon-typical violence

modern warfare

alejandro vargas

dating headcanons

coming soon…

john ‘soap’ mactavish

dating headcanons

five times they almost got caught (and one time they did) - fluff, suggestive content but nothing graphic

john price

late that night - fluff, can be read platonically

kyle ‘gaz’ garrick

nothing here yet..

simon ‘ghost’ riley

dating headcanons

upcoming: hushed words

resident evil

chris redfield

nothing here yet..

leon s. kennedy

dating - fluff + a small bit of smut

re2 drabble - fluff + a tiny bit of smut

skyrim

brynjolf

nothing here yet..

farkas

nothing here yet..

miraak

nothing here yet..

ondolemar

nothing here yet..

[lokamon]

Wrath

Pairing: Ondolemar (TES:V) x Dragonborn Breton Reader.

A/n: This is a sequel of sorts to this fic that I posted years ago but it can be read alone. I make no excuses, I'm a very slow writer. Also posted on my Ao3 here.

Warnings for: smut(ofc), oral sex (male receiving), Light slapping, religious fetishization, degradation.

"-and of course, Elenwen has no intentions of honoring her word, Ancano could rot in that backwater excuse for a college and she'd be all the happier for it."

You smiled to yourself as you listened to Ondolemar's grumbling from Vlindrell hall’s dining room. He could gossip like an old milkmaid when the mood struck, and only recently had the gossip turned to matters of his own comrades. In ever-growing doses, you were getting deep insights into the very bones of the dominion’s arm in Skyrim. All because your undercover lover liked to bellyache.

"So Ancano is doomed to rot at Winterhold for one slight fifty years ago?" You twirled and inspected yourself in the mirror before pushing your hair aside to fasten the chain around your neck. "I noticed he wasn't at the embassy, I wonder if he even got an invite."

A faint, mirthless chuckle slid into your room from the other side of the doorless archway. "Yes, the Lady Emissary can hold a steel grudge... I wouldn't be surprised if she pretends the poor sod is already dead."

"Wow." You muttered to yourself, only partly at the conversation that you were barely listening to by this point. The mirror was the object of the brunt of your focus, or rather, yourself in it. Gods, this was going to be good if only he reacted as you hoped. Really, you felt sort of kinky as you looked yourself over, not necessarily because you were in a particularly racy outfit, but simply by virtue of the nature of your attire - the meaning. Especially with regard to who was currently in your dining room…

Ondolemar's voice broke you out of your thoughts as he called your name, clearly questioning as to if you were still listening. A giddy feeling bubbled at the eaves of your chest and you bit your lip as you turned from the mirror and stepped into your bedroom doorway.

When Ondolemar looked up from the book he'd nicked off your shelf, he froze.

"What-" he gave a jolty pause, uncharacteristic and cast in hues of similarly foreign confusion, "-are you doing?"

The smile that broke your face was mischievous, a playful wickedness shining in the curve of your lips and spark in your eyes. In the presence of a member of the Thalmor, and one of their most zealous at that, the amulet of Talos hanging around your neck felt nothing less than sinful. From the moment you lifted it off of Ogmund, you knew exactly how you would present it to your pious Altmer lover, potential consequences be damned (though you doubted their integrity where you were concerned, anyway). It was a risk, but one you felt would be well worth it, should the right plays be made and the right pieces be knocked from the board.

Play one had been privacy. The risk of any audience, any witness at all to what was to transpire being blown from the equation, which led the two of you, as always, to your home far away from the keep. An empty house, sans housecarl, where the song of your repercussions could pound carelessly against the stone walls, echoing so deep within the mountain that nosy ears couldn't hear enough for substance.

Ondolemar's scowl from your dining room chair was burning. Almost toeing the line of bona fide anger, but not quite to-temperature. His eyes roved you with a glint of open suspicion, and no attempts were made to hide their stall along the curve of your hips or the low wrap of the fabric of your silk robe. The amulet itself garnered little more than a glance and that was the moment you knew your suspicions about what may lay beneath the veneer of his zeal were almost certainly correct.

"It would be wise of you to remove that at once." He drawled, "need I remind you of the company you keep?"

Twelve paces from your bedroom door, down the couple of steps into your dining room, and you were rounding the table under the heavy pressure of his stare. Slowly, carefully, you drew near, hovering just outside of arm's reach, more to tease than to protect.

"I'm well aware of my company." You felt electric, acting like this, like some tavern girl playing a part for the reward of coin. Every part of your proper Breton upbringing was anathema to it, screaming in your bones to sit down, cross your legs, and let him work for your attentions. But the little wanton within you, the one born and grown in the shadow of your grandmother’s lectures, a legacy to the over-restraint, begged otherwise. It took no effort for it to win out.

"So you're going to have to be more specific..." your fingers traced along the contours of the amulet, down to the collar of your robe where it lay loosely closed along your chest. His eyes followed the trail. "Is it the Talos amulet you want off....or the robe?"

He ignored the question pointedly, but one hand settled on his thigh in a gesture half defiant, half betraying.

"That's the amulet I asked you to retrieve from Ogmund, I hope?" His eyes lingered on it for a beat longer, then fixed onto your face again. He was tense, visibly white-knuckling his resolve, torn at a crossroads where his duty and his passion met, stuck between piety and the sweet sin laid bare before him.

Well, almost bare.

Play two, sweeten the deal.

"Perhaps it is." You toyed with the pendant, "or maybe I'm a dirty heretic, myself."

Ondolemar gave a half-scoff, meant to sound more aloof than it did, but it clipped off abruptly, betraying his non-committance. You hazarded a step closer, watchful of his movements like a hunter approaching a sleeping bear, praying to make the right moves before the beast can have time to react. Then, with a slight of your hand, you let the robe pool by your feet, baring your body to the glow of the flames in the hearth. Ondolemar struggled to keep a measured countenance and prevent his starving eyes from chewing on the divots and peaks of your form.

"A shame, then.” He tried desperately to keep up his defiance. “Heresy is a punishable offense..."

It was a wonderful thing, watching such a superior mer struggle so plainly with his convictions in the face of a naked Breton. Really, he should be loathe to any situation rendering either of you clothless. He was a Thalmor agent, brainwashed his entire life to be repulsed by your woefully unyellow skin and full legs.... he should not find such pleasure in the sight of your bare body. Your shorter frame and wide hips should not have such an affect, but oh how they do.... if the rising peak in his lap was anything to go by, at least.

"Then punish me, commander."

Play three. Indulge the usual script, but turn the context on its head.

Very seldom had you seen your Altmer fumble, unable to get a grip on his wits that were usually so quick and ready, especially in the face of teasing, but he was at a clear loss now. Slowly, you took a seat at the edge of the table behind you, parting your legs and resting one foot on Ondolemar’s chair, squarely between his thighs.

Heavy eyes took your bait and fell enraptured upon your naked cunt.

Tentatively, a hand slid up your calf, in more of a suggestion of touch rather than a bonafide connection, so light against your skin that it seemed to speak to a deeply held fear on his part. Whether for his own actions, yours, or both and what meaning lay beneath, you would likely never truly know. His motivations, inspirations, and secrets were his own but the naked want on his face was all yours. With no small bit of hesitancy, the hand made a blazing path along your skin, but escalated in pressure until he gripped the meat of your inner thigh just so and a heat spilled immediately into your gut. Slowly, Ondolemar stood and loomed above you, pushing aside your leg and pinning you between his broad frame and the edge of the table. He slid the same hand into a loose loop over your collar bone, thumb teasing the face of the amulet between your breasts.

Then, you watched as he chose his path and barreled through the trees, leaving duty behind him.

“I’m sure we can find some way to absolve you of your transgressions,” he told you, pressed so close that you could feel his anticipation, hard beneath his robes. “But what to do with you, hm?

“Punish me, Ondolemar.” You couldn’t stifle the begging whisper. “I came to you wearing an amulet of Talos and I think that deserves something…”

���Oh it does.” He nodded. “Indeed, given the circumstance, being that you so filthily presented yourself as such to a commanding officer of the Aldmeri dominion, I think a whore shall get what a whore deserves.”

You gasped as a rough grip suddenly pinched your jaw, his face coming within inches of yours.

“Shall I fuck the heresy out of you, whore?” He gritted.

“You can certainly try.”

A shadow of something wild flashed in the lineaments of his face before he jostled you roughly.

“I’m going to. Thoroughly.” His promise was cut with a softer look, “But should you want to stop, you are to tell me so. Simply say the word and it will be over. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” You grinned, both appreciative of his consideration, even in this predicament you’d sprung on him, and anticipating the best bedding you’d had in ages.

“Good girl.” He revitalized his grip on your jaw, the strength of it just on the right side of bearable as he plucked you off the table and then let go.

“On your knees, filth.”

Immediately, you sank down, your face coming level with the tent in his clothes. Obediently, you sat and waited with your palms on your thighs.

“Take my cock out.”

Nimble fingers pulled up the fine tunic he wore beneath his robes and tucked the hem behind his belt then made quick work of his trousers. His length sprang free, bobbing in front of your face, already weeping at the tip.

You dare not voice the thought that his arousal brought forth, that he was certainly enjoying this much more than a thalmor official strictly should.

“Come now, girl, don’t play coy. A heretical whore certainly knows how to work a cock.” His biting voice cut through the silence, over the crackle of the hearth. Hazarding a grin, you took him into your hand and gave him a few languid strokes.

He grunted, closing his eyes against the sensation, spreading his stance wider over the stone pressing hard against your knees. “Yes, that’s right. Spit on your hand for me, girl, make it slick.”

You obeyed and it earned you a deep groan. He gripped the back of your head with one hand and looked down at you, his eyes momentarily flitting to your neck.

“I can think of a much better use for your mouth than praising a false god, can’t you, girl?”

You gave him a biddable look, nodding quietly, knowing better than to speak unless told to. He smiled gently, but you had no way of telling if it was a piece of him showing through or a warning for what was to come.

“Open.” He commanded and as soon as your lips parted, his tip slipped between them.

Slowly, his entire length invaded your mouth until you gagged around him and he pulled away.

He held you back by your hair in his fist, the tension making you wince. Derision burned in his tone as hotly as it had the first time he ever spoke to you. “None of that now, whore, we both know you’re not that useless. You can take a cock down your throat.”

He sneered when you didn’t react.

“Say ‘yes, sir’ when I’m right.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Immediately, he pulled you onto his cock again, shoving himself down your throat, ignoring the small gag you couldn’t stifle at the sudden intrusion. He fucked your face ruthlessly, slamming his hips against you until tears pricked at your eyes and you tapped his arm for air. He gave you a chance to breathe, gasping himself in the wake of his exertion.

When you opened your mouth in offering again, he plunged back in.

“Oh, gods.” He rasped as he thrusted into your face, “yes, you fil- filthy bitch. Suck harder.”

You hollowed out your cheeks more and did as he bid, ripping a deep groan from his throat. He pumped your head onto his length a few more times, groaning and pulling at your hair so hard it stung but you couldn't be bothered to care, the pain of it and the physical discomfort of being used in such a lewd way stirred your appetitive hindbrain into a frenzy, watering the buds of your nascent pleasure, preparing for the bloom of it you knew lay between you and whenever he considered you well and thoroughly fucked.

His breath caught, mid-stroke and you could tell by the way he ripped you off of him that he was reigning himself in, denying himself an early end down your throat. When his head rolled to look down at you, he looked wrought with pleasure. Eyes lidded, brow puckered, lips parted around the ghost of his groaning.

“You’re a heretical little whore, aren’t you.” He gritted his teeth and growled down at your tear-smeared face, your head yanked back to look directly up at him. His free hand slapped against your cheek, not enough to hurt but plenty to arouse. In the months of your entanglement, slapping had been a topic you broached for your own pleasure, something he only took to with some encouragement. You were pleased he pulled that ace from his sleeve now. “Speak, whore.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You think you can put that amulet on and get off easy? No, I think not.” He’s practically spitting at you now, years and years of some untapped religious hang-up bursting forth as if it lay there beneath his skin all along and your actions tonight had been the one thing to tap the well.

“I’ll show you exactly what happens to heretical whores like yourself. Get up.”

You stood and he pulled you into a kiss, licking into your mouth with his tongue. You met him head on as he backed you against the table again, his hands squeezing at your curves as you struggled to keep up with his relentless advances on your mouth and body.

"The Thalmor know how to deal with Talos worshippers." He broke the kiss to hiss against your lips, his greedy hands staking claims on your ass.

"You will not," his teeth nipped the flesh of your earlobe, gusting humid breaths down your neck, "find my reproach..." lips bumped the ridge of your clavicle as he gathered you up against the table, slotting himself between the spread of your soft thighs as he sat you on its edge.

"Lacking." He finished as he bent into your chest and licked a thick stripe over one nipple before pulling it between his lips.

"You will not persuade me to blaspheme my god, Justic-oh-" your train of thought broke around the teeth that bit into your nipple.

"Own it." He raised his head to growl against your cheek, "hail your god aloud if you're so proud to worship his falsehood."

"Hail Tal-" you attempted to whisper, but a broad hand clamped onto your jaw, wiring it shut.

"Say it like you mean it." Ondolemar gritted, and released you with a rough jostle. You felt him push against your cunt, his cock sliding over your folds, the tip pressing into your clit with every stroke.

You took a stabling breath.

"Hail-" the catch of him at your entrance caught you off guard as he lined himself up for the plunge.

"Talos." You breathed, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He sank in steadily on the last syllable, inch by inch stealing your breath with wild eyes and hands gripping down on your pelvic bone at either hip.

He set a brutal pace. His hips slammed against you, cock deep in your heat with every connection, driving any thought but the sensation of how he filled you out of your head. Your spine tingled, low between your hips where he ended and you began, as he punched into something wonderful, something other lovers had rarely succeeded in finding.

"Say it again." Ondolemar panted, fully given to the unexpected pleasure. You gave a gasp, unable to fill your lungs adequately under the driving force of such vigorous pounding.

Summoning what effort you could, the words come out weak but they come all the same. "Hail Talos."

"Again." It sounded suspiciously close to a plea.

"Hail Talos."

He gave a near feral grunt, "again. Louder," he ordered, a slender thumb venturing down to stroke at your clit as he thrusted.

"Hail Talos." You managed to whine, so loud it filled the air in Vlindrell hall, almost sounding like an honest prayer

"You filthy fucking heretic!" He hissed.

Ondolemar’s free hand slid up your front, hooking into the chain of the Talos amulet for leverage. You fully expected the links to give beneath the force of his grip but the necklace was sturdy and withstood every thrust he pulled against it.

You had read stories, filthy candlelight novellas written by faceless pen names, with motifs homogeneous to tales like the Lusty Argonian Maid, in which people fucked with “wild abandon”. And you were no prude yourself, despite your grandmother's best efforts. You’d sat upon a cock or two in your time, had been fucked with what you would previously have called “wild abandon”, but that was nothing compared to the way Ondolemar wrecked you upon your dining room table. He truly was wild and he truly did abandon anything tethering him to any kind of compunction. Gone were any scruples of the noises being made or whether anyone could hear them. Similarly gone was his usual hesitation to mark you, if his bruising grip on your hip was any tell. And completely gone was his pious dedication to repulsion at anything dealing in the ninth God of the Nords, as he fucked the fabricated heresy out of you, leaving you screaming to the nine and to Talos himself beneath him.

His fingers on your clit rubbed violently, the pleasure peaking and scrubbing your mind clean of any thought but that of your burgeoning release. You tensed and your body fluttered around him, ripping a breathy growl from his mouth and only serving to heighten his urgency.

Ondolemar announced his orgasm in barely enough time to pull out of you and release in sticky ropes across your stomach. He panted and gasped as his hips still thrust into the open hair, the shaft of his cock grazing lightly against your pubic bone as it throbbed.

“Auri-el’s mercy, what have you done?”

It wasn’t a question, not really, but a statement of disbelief as he panted and regarded you with wide, conflicted eyes. He leaned on the table to regain himself, pining you where you lay, covered in the evidence of his base indulgence. His sin.

“Commander, I think you may have a kink.” You accused slyly, fingers reaching up to toy with the straps across his mantle. He didn’t react at first but just as a hesitancy was beginning to take hold (had you overstepped?), his mouth pulled into a soft, conceding smile.

“Not another word.” He groused playfully.

Mood light, body already feeling the first signs of soreness, you pulled the amulet chain around so that you could take it off and set the thing aside, ready to be collected as evidence and taken back to the keep. As your fingers found the clasp though, Ondolemar’s hand took your wrist, and when your eyes met his, the look there gave you immediate pause.

“Leave it,” he ordered, tone tipping back towards that of the wrathful commander once again. “I’m not even close to finished with you yet.”

A fresh bolt of arousal poured down your spine and he followed it with his trailing lips as he set to work pulling as much blasphemy from you as he could with your knees thrown over his shoulders.

[emperor-palpaminty]

Well Learned

@rl-nancyholbrook requested Ondolemar x Reader quite a while ago. I haven't played Skyrim in a long time so please forgive any inaccuracies.

He was haughty, sure, but his intelligence really couldn't be denied. Ondolemar could tell that the new comer was frustrated- many nights with bleary-teared eyes, sprawled over scrolls and books and writings and trying to learn. Worse, they wanted to learn, and the topic was hard to grasp.

But they were resilient. The best kind of student.

"You know," He would say in brief passing. "You can take a break from that."

The response would always be a grunt and the shuffling of paper and the scratching of writing. Perhaps copying spells, or lessons, or whatever it was.

He walked down the hall, head held up high as he moved. People would step out of the way with respect, reverence really, when Ondolemar passed. Soft footsteps and chatter filled the hallways often. Words of multiple languages and subjects moved past him as he walked, and he was moving in a sea of thought, intelligence, wisdom.

And yet this student, peer, intrigued him.

Wise they were not. But yes! Resilient. Firm. Determined. Few men would stick with their studies if it was too hard for them to grasp- he knew many people who often dropped subjects and stuck with what they knew, even the brightest and most well known minds in the lands.

Something in him softened as he paused at the library doors for a second. He could smell the candles curbing inside and envision them, perched over the books and notes, learning, perhaps a thought finally falling into place. Learning.

He thought briefly of opening the door. Just to look. Say hello. Watch. How would they react- would they even notice him?

Ondolemar shook his head and, with a breath, pushed onward into his day. There were more important things to focus on.

And yet, his mind would still be in the library, stuck with the sounds of pages and smell of candles.

[maybemanyskeletonhats]

Hey!

I hope you are feeling good.

I read a lot of your works, and i love them, THEY ARE FABULOUS!!!

I hope to not bother or annoy you by making my request (in case forgive me, it wasn't my intention).

Could you write Reader x Elves? about how the elves would react to their s / o that due to this tremendous heat, they continue to feel bad/ill (literally these temperatures leading me to exhaustion ).

Thank you for everything, and i wish to you a nice day .

(Forgive me for my poor English, it isn't my first language).

Sotha Sil immediately takes notice of the fact they are visibly dizzy. Has water fetched for them as he goes to tweak his creation so it's just abit cooler. "I'll alter today's weather, you seem ill." He hides his concerned gaze

Vivec probably also hates the days where the warm heat in Vvardenfell turns too hot for even his tastes. Sometimes it's bearable, other times its not. Notices their disorientation and has someone get them water and shade quickly. He's seen people pass out before...it's...frightening. "a little steamy today wouldn't you say?"

Almalexia is usually in the shade but when she's out in the sun she'll sometimes fan herself or her partner when they both feel hot. Also water. Drink water. No they don't get a choice. "Drink. Don't give me that look."

Voryn Dagoth grew used to the heat. But is really in tune with catching those who aren't. If they are teetering on the edge of passing out he will convince them to lie down and have a glass of water at their bedside.

Mannimarco can't feel the heat and it takes him a surprising amount of time to catch on that they don't feel good. Even if he doesn't really get hot himself all that much. He'll gladly feign relief to go indoors if it makes them feel better. "Hmph."

Neloth finds that the tower is usually cooler due to the walls taking in water from the ground but he immediately feels the change when he steps out in the sun. Complains till both he and his partner can get indoors. Sadly they're both terrible at dealing with it. "By malacath it's HOT."

Divayth Fyr isn't usually bothered by the heat himself because he's had SO long to get used to it. But he's smart enough to know they aren't. So he makes sure they drink water and nudges them to sit down when they don't feel well. "Sit down. Oh please they don't care what you do."

Ondolemar hates being in Markarth in the summer but being in the keep usually helps him..they don't have that luck unfortunately. So when they arrive back eyes fluttering and skin red he's immediately tense and ready to catch them when they fall. Barks at the poor chef to get them water. "Go, you imbecile, water!"

Indoril Nerevar is usually used to it but when it gets real bad even he's somewhat light headed. He gets them water himself and will even idly wave a fan at them to help them cool off. He can't change the weather but he can most certainly try to help.

Vanus Galerion is leaning on them also. They both can't stand the hot temperature with no breeze. when they both get to shade and water he drops to his knees in relief. "By the GODS." Has them drink and lie on their back till they feel better.

Teldryn Sero feels for them. Truly. He had years to get used to it especially when wearing so much armor. Tosses his canteen to them and subtlety pushes them into places where it's gonna be cooler. What do you mean? He's not worried.

[cutelittlevamp]

Can you do a Yandere Oldemanar with a non-elven dragonborn?

Hey Anon .-. I'm gonna apologise to you so much now, but please hear me out

So, first of all, I am deeply sorry you had to wait for so long and now your oneshot is so short .-. I really am but (!) I will definitely write you a continuation if you want it (hopefully won't take me a year. Damn, I'm truly sorry about that) but for now I wanted you to finally get at least something

Also, I am not 100% sure if I have the right character. You were talking about the Thalmor roaming the hallways in Understone Keep/Markarth, right? I do hope so. And if not, I am sorry .-.

and, once again, super sorry that it's so short. I was a little stuck

______________________________________________________________

“You know, you may not be an Altmer but you have a certain … charm.” The two Thalmor soldiers behind Ondolemar snickered slightly while he just kept staring at you with that stupid smug grin on his face. How you had hoped he’d leave you alone. The divines definitely didn’t smile down on you today but they sparsely did so anyway.

“If only I cared about your opinion I may feel flattered.” Obviously you didn’t care at all. Anyone would have known that by simply looking at your slightly annoyed expression. “Now call back your dogs as I’d like to leave.” His ‘dogs’ - the two soldiers that were always with him - had indeed moved to stand behind you instead of him. It was beyond irritating. His smug expression remained as he tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes. “Why? Do you need to go somewhere, Dragonborn?” “Indeed I do,” you pressed out through gritted teeth. 

“How sad and here I was really hoping to add you to my collection.” Collection? This was just getting stupid now. Damn these Thalmor. Yet if he wanted to play you’d play. “That must have been the lamest pick-up line I’ve ever heard.” The statement was supposed to annoy him and finally get him off your tail but he seemed mostly unfazed - actually, he even seemed amused. “Oh, don’t worry. It was only plan A.” You didn’t like the direction this was going in at all and hearing the soldiers move behind you only added to your discomfort. “Yeah? What’s plan B then?” Ondolemar now smiled brightly at you, a dark glint in his eyes. “I’m so glad you asked.”

A small wave from his hand is all it takes to have the soldiers barge in on you. You manage to draw your weapon but before you can hit one of them you get hit by a paralysis spell yourself. The metal of your weapon makes a loud clashing sound as it hits the stone floor while you yourself are caught by the soldiers before you can collapse.

“Plan B, little Dragonborn,” his voice is close to your ear but you have difficulties seeing him clearly through your blurry vision “was to simply abduct you.”

[1000fiction]

Magic

Magic. Ft. Ondolemar.

The room was dulled, the only source of light coming from the several melting candles scattered about the stone room. He didn’t mind, it made the room more… intimate. Though not in the way he was used to.

“Show me your favourite party trick.”

He blanked – face set in stony displeasure.

“Party trick?”

His body slumped further, his usual professionalism dumped at the door for it held no place in his bedroom, the scene too casual with the pair sat upon his bed.

“My dear I am a commander of the Thalmor – not some magician doing parlour tricks for petty change.”

“Is that why your socks have so many holes?”

Exposed toes were quickly tucked away beneath his blanket, a brief flash of self-consciousness rippling through him.

“Dare I ask the connection you are attempting to make?”

“A beggar once pulled a coin from behind my ear, gave him ten septims for the trick, the man didn’t even have sleeves to hide it up! No idea how he did it but all’s I’m saying is maybe if you did a bit more magic, few tricks here and there to impress the youngsters you might be able to buy yourself new socks.”

Their hand dove beneath the sheet, fingers grasping and pinching at toes that pointed through the exposing fabric.

He squawked, retreating further up the bed till his back hit the headboard. Their laughed chased after him and so his hands flew up in surrender.

“Fine! If it means you’ll leave my feet alone I suppose I do know one party trick.”

He spat the words like poison. Muttering as he gathered an empty bottle and a septim from his nightstand.

Noncommittedly he shook the bottle, silent and absent of liquid.

“Observe the empty bottle and the septim too large for the neck, no matter how much you force it, it shall not enter.”

A puff of laughter escaped their lips at his unenthusiastic script, if they didn’t know any better it would seem he’d been forced into this situation before.

With a barely concealed quirk of his lips he demonstrated, pressing the coin against the rim of the bottle, the metal clinking as it was refused entry

“And now,”

He lay the coin flat, layered his palm atop, concealing it from the dragonborn’s sight. He quirked his brow, amused at their anticipation.

Suddenly, with a sharp exhale toward his hand, the septim dropped, an echoing rattle sounding from within.

Despite enjoying their dazzled expression immensely, he controlled his face, lips locked in a straight line as he monotonously drawled.

“Ta-da” He hadn't desired any applause, but they gave it anyway, the glowing smile that grew across their face infectiously spreading to his own. His head dipped shyly – he should be offended, not appreciative, but then their reaction did seem truly genuine, as most of their interactions seemed to be.

It was only after their applause ceased the dragonborn spoke.

“I think I owe you a new pair of socks.”

@tes-summer-fest

[datorchoe]

i want some cuddles and kisses from ondolemar 🥺 or ancano.. and talking to either of them about some nerdy dragonborn stuff

Doing Ondo because he’s easier to write for IMO

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Nighttime was always a relief for Ondolemar. After a long day at work, he wanted nothing more than to come home to you and just relax. Being a Justicar was always hard, but you kept him sane. 

He walked into your shared home and didn’t waste any time walking into the bedroom. Normally, you were asleep when he got home, but today he found you laying on the bed in a pair of his pajamas reading. You heard him walk in and turned to him. 

“Oh! Hello love. How was the day?” Ondolemar smiled. As soon as he heard your voice, all of his stress melted away. Without saying anything, he threw his stuff down and changed into some more comfortable clothes. 

He then slid into bed, lying on top of you. You knew immediately how his day was. You kissed the top of his head and continued to read. 

“Whatcha reading?” Ondo mumbled into your neck. 

“Ah, it's an old Dovahzul book I found in a Dragon Priest tomb.” 

“Oh, sounds interesting. What’s it about?” 

“It's just a ton of information about the different Priests. I could read it to you if you want?” 

“That would be lovely dear, as long as you don’t take offense when I fall asleep.” 

“You could never offend me, baby.” 

[raining-in-my-soul]

I'm going to be turning this into a slasher/villain/fandom fanfic blog!

These are the characters I'll be writing for (subject to change as I watch films/play games and currently in no particular order).

Slashers:

-Brahms Heelshire (The Boy)

-Jason Voorhees (Friday the 13th)

-Michael Myers (OG and RZ- Halloween)

-Yautja (Predator) *

-Thomas Hewitt (Texas Chainsaw Massacre)

-Harry Warden (My Bloody Valentine)

-Asa Emory/The Collector (The Collector)

-Bo/Vincent Sinclair (House of Wax) (might do Lester if requested)

Movie Characters:

-Imhotep, Ardeth Bay, Jonathan Carnahan, Rick O'Connell (The Mummy)

-Captain Hook (Peter Pan 2003)

-Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)

-General Hux, Darth Maul (Star Wars)

Video Games:

-All TF2 Mercs (Team Fortress 2)

-Farkas, Vilkas, Argis the Bulwark, Marcurio, Ondolemar, Ancano (Skyrim)

-Karl Heisenberg (RE8)

-Pyramid Head (Silent Hill)

-Just about anyone from RDR2 except Micah. But definitely big focus on Arthur

I will not write anything I feel uncomfortable with, which is outlined in the rules but specific asks are up to my discretion.

Allowed:

-Romantic

-Platonic

-Fluff

-Angst

-Smut

-AU

-Crossover

Not Allowed:

-Anything illegal or otherwise generally considered immoral

-Non-consensual activities

-Crossovers to a fandom I'm unfamiliar with

Formats you may request:

-Headcanons

-Oneshots

-Drabbles

-Alphabets

Feel free to send in asks or use prompts or anything your little heart's desire! And if you see a fandom I've listed but not the character you want to see, talk to me, I may make an exception for a character that isn't particularly inspiring for me, but I'm willing to write for!

All works will be character x reader and reader will either be female or gender neutral (sorry this is just what I feel comfortable writing)

*I am aware yautia are technically not slashers but I'm throwing them in anyway. Also I will take requests for specific yautia from the moves (ex: Scar, Wolf, Fugitive, etc)

[yugirimistwalker]

nice to know you hate zenyatta. what kind of sick fuck hates the best person in overwatch.

i… dont hate zenyatta. he’s probably one of my fav characters. i havent even reblogged any post about zenyatta since march

[datorchoe]

Ondolemar X Reader HC’s

So, in honor of my new love Ondolemar, here are some HC’s for you! 

---------

- Now, if we were gonna make a list of all the gentlemen of the TES universe, Ondolemar would be one of the top 10. This man will treat you like the queen/king you are and he is so smooth about it. 

- Has not once been flustered. Well, not in front of anyone at least. He’s the type of guy to respond to everything so smoothly then get all flustered and gushy after he leaves the room.

- He absolutely hates PDA. The man has a very serious reputation to keep, and he can’t be seen all lovey-lovey. Besides, someone could use you against him and he does not want you to even come close to that danger. 

- But, when you two are out of the public eye, he is really affectionate. Mans gives the best cuddles. His arms are so freaking long that he can quite literally wrap just one all the way around you, no matter your size. 

- Not gon lie, he got some dry lips. Like, mans needs some lip balm or somethin’, so when he kisses you it itches a lil. The beard doesn’t help either. 

- If you are a different race than an Altmer, it’ll probably take him a while to see you as an equal when you first meet. He’s absolutely kicking himself when he figures out he’s got feelings for you. But, he eventually comes around. When he does, he doesn’t care what his comrades think, he loves you all the same. 

- Now let's talk about flaws, this man cannot remember special dates for the life of him. Anniversaries? Who’s she? Even if he isn’t busy he just doesn’t have enough room in his brain. 

- He also gets really grumpy when he’s stressed and gets really pissy with you. Even when you try to help, he just blows you off. He doesn’t mean to upset you, he just struggles to express his emotions. 

[lokamon]

Mercy

Pairing: Ondolemar (TES: V) x Dragonborn Breton reader

A/n: This is a very quick, very rough thing because I am thirsting over asshole thalmor justiciars today and I had to get this out of my system. I have another work in progress which is Orc x reader so be on the lookout for that soon if that’s more your cup of tea.

Rating: M for sexual content, beware below the cut

Of all the things you never expected to be doing in the very wee hours of a Tirdas morning, writhing around your bed with a snobbish high elf had to be at the top.

Ondolemar’s large body, bare save for his small clothes, bore down on yours, taking up most of your bed in Vlindrell hall and pressing you firmly into the animal skins and straw as he kissed a plump trail along your neck.

“Please, Ondo, stop teasing.” You breathed, fighting the urge to moan.

“Don’t call me that and perhaps I will.” His hands tightened on your wrists at either side of your head but his mouth stayed on its track down your neck and shoulder.

“Fine.” You hissed as you felt him nip at your clavicle, “Please, oh great and benevolent Thalmor Justiciar, have mercy on the poor little Breton.”

There was a sharp exhale by your ear, and if you hadn’t been so caught up in your own lust, the look your Altmer partner pulled back to give you would have sent you rolling. He leveled you with the most unamused look you’d seen, his face squinted in its practiced scowl, but you paid it no mind. You’d gotten his attention.

A roll of your hips up against him disturbed his mask. His eyes fluttered and his body pressed down into yours harder than before, your pelvis under his stomach.

“You’re insufferable.” Ondolemar growled and brought his lips crashing down to yours.

The kiss lasted for quite a while, with his golden-tinged body flush against you and one hand burning a trail up and down your side. It was not the first kiss you’d shared, there had been a few stolen in private moments before, but it was the first of its particular kind. Completely safe to last and gain traction, unthreatened by the possibility of a guard’s intrusion. Even your housecarl was on paid orders to stay at the inn tonight.

Against yours, Ondolemar’s lips tasted faintly of snowberries and you found it hard to pair them with the mer above you, the one that paced the halls of Understone, belittling anyone he deemed fit. And when his hand ghosted down to tug your small clothes away from your hips, he certainly didn’t seem like the righteous Justiciar he claimed to be. He seemed little more than a male with base desires like any other.

His thumb found the bundle of nerves between your thighs and you felt like you could sing. Your free hand found purchase in his hair, pulling it until he broke the kiss with a pant.

“Is this what you wanted, Breton?” He pushed harder at the little nub and you saw stars shoot across your vision, “To be made a whimpering whore by your superior?”

“You call me anything you want, Altmer, but do remember you’re the one who’s fucking me.”

This was your game, the one the two of you’d been playing for weeks. A back and forth of derision and snark, one that you could tell set a fire in Ondolemar’s blood as well as his pants, as if all he ever craved was someone who saw through his bullshit just as much as they wouldn’t take it. It always made him squirm...

And now, it drove him to thrusting a finger into your quim.

If you’d have had the room to do so, you would have arched right off the bed. His finger was long, slender, and he was suspiciously quick to find a spot within you that made your toes curl. He pressed his finger up into it, opposite his thumb bearing down on the outside, and set to rubbing your mind apart in tight circles. The over stimulation sent you babbling nonsense at him, words somewhere between a praise, a curse, and a begging need.

He added another digit that sent you choking back a lewd whine and your head flew back against the pillows.

“Now, you’re going to be a darling girl, aren’t you?” He cooed against your chin, “you’re going to be a darling girl, drop the attitude, and spend yourself on my fingers, am I understood?”

With fingers hooked into your warmth, pushing into whatever heaven he’d found over and over, you could do nothing to broach your usual protests. The proud part of your mind whispered that you should counter with disobedience, with more “attitude”, perhaps shout him off of you just enough to give you the chance at showing him that you’re no “darling girl”. But fuck if the larger, more primal part of your mind didn’t want to be his darling girl for as long as he damn well pleased. You could do little more than submit.

You came against him quick, with a chorus of ragged, relieved moans, soaking his fingers until the mess of it dribbled down and left a wet spot on your bedfurs. He watched you as if enraptured, dark eyes blown wide and trained solely on you.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his fingers slowing to a gentle massage as you gasped and came down from your high, “such a whore for me with such a greedy little quim.” His lips brushed yours. “You’re almost irresistible.”

“That was good, Justiciar,” you panted back, unable to resist a good tease, “suspiciously good for a mer.”

“Darling girl,” he rasped back, “I can make you feel better than any man or mer ever has.”

You felt the sensation of his fingers leave, replaced by the brush of something stiff and warm against your folds. Losing control once again, you couldn’t stop your hips as they bucked lazily against him. The movement caused the head of his cock to slip down and press deliciously into the wet mess of your entrance, and his haughty look was broken by a groan.

You grappled at him, your thighs spread wide to beckon him in, your entire body and mind forgetting anything but the need to be filled.

“Do it then.” You snarled in challenge, “Prove. It.”

And he did.

With a set jaw and a strained noise from the back of his throat, he obliged and split you in two.

You’d heard countless times in your life that each race had its merits. The nords had their hardiness, the orcs had their unmatched strength, the dunmer, their passion and so on, but the altmer... you’d yet to find a true merit to the cocky band of bullies until you felt the length of Ondolemar’s cock fill you absolutely to the hilt. It was then that you decided that maybe, just maybe, there was something to this whole superiority thing.

Ondolemar didn’t give you the chance to adjust before he set a bruising pace. The entire room filled with the sound and smell of sex as he pounded down into you, his mouth on your neck again.

He bit tantalizing kisses into your skin as you drug red lines across his back and moaned for him, glad for the privacy your home afforded. Coupled with the rhythmic bang of your bed against the stone wall, your own moaning fueled your heat and only served to make everything louder. More wanton. You found yourself increasingly glad that you’d sent Argis away for the night, if just for the sake of his ears.

Well, and the sake of your dirty little secret thrusting into you with abandon.

Ondolemar rose to his knees over you, both of his hands pulling at your hips until they were more on his lap than on the bed. He continued his relentless thrusts with a renewed vigor as he watched you squirm. His thumbs dug into your hipbones.

“I’m not long, darling girl, where do you want it?”

He looked absolutely disheveled above you like this. His hair fell more around his face and his golden skin shone in the candlelight with a layer of sweat. Lithe muscles rolled under his skin as he worked, making him quite the sight and it sent another shot of lust down through your bones.

“Outside. Anywhere.” Was all you could choke out for his harsh pounding. His brow quirked.

“Anywhere?” He echoed and his lip curled into a sneer, “Dirty girl.”

In a flash of gold on white, he flipped you over, only slipping out of you long enough to swing your legs around and position your body with your head against the pillow and ass in the air. He slipped in again and a large hand slid down your spine, taking hold of the back of your neck. Shamefully, you bucked against him.

“That’s it, Breton.” He spat behind you just as you kept pushing back on him, “So filthy, don’t you dare stop.”

And you didn’t dare. You thrust back on him, your ass connecting with his hips, his erection dipping deep into your quim, until he was an uncharacteristic, sputtering mess, grabbing at your skin and hair, coming undone.

You found your second release bouncing against him like that, back arched into just the right angle for him to hit the spot he’d tortured you with earlier. He shuddered, feeling you grip impossibly tight around him, and pulled out a few thrusts later.

You turned just in time to see him straighten and paint your ass with his seed, breathless and wrecked, spewing a string of words in high elvish that you doubted were suitable for court. His hips pushed in rhythm against his hand until he was finally completely spent, the evidence found in a smattering of his mess all over your backside.

He sat there panting behind you for a quiet moment. And when he looked at you, his face seemed softer.

“You know, you are quite beautiful for a human, if I’m honest.”

You threw him a grin as you reached for a couple of stray bits of cloth in your nightstand.

“See?” You teased, “being nice once in a while doesn’t hurt.” 

Ondolemar looked at you with honeyed eyes that almost seemed alien on him as he took the rag you offered. He didn’t tear his eyes away as you both wiped at your messy bodies.

“Beautiful but absolutely insufferable.” He said quietly, and pursed his lips a little too late to hide the sweet smile that bloomed there.

[1000fiction]

Day 1: Glory Hole ft. The Thalmor

Relationship:  Multi, Gender neutral reader Species: Unspecified Warnings: Lemon, Oral sex, anal sex, voyeurism

Summary: The Stormcloak rebellion has been quelled, with the dragonborns allegiance aligned with the Thalmor, a party whose members are more than happy to thank them generously - at their own discretion

The room – which was more of a box – was hot the moment it was entered, the faint smell of sweat and sex hung in the air, stirring the pits of the dragonborn’s stomach with a curious arousal.

“My, my, Elenwen,” They announced, no doubt the Ambassador could hear through the apparent thin walls. “When you said you’d allow me to engage in one of your parties’ traditions, I’d expected high tea, certainly not something as indulgent as this…” Their eyes scanned the perimeter, blacked walls surrounded them with two curtained holes on each.

“Your insatiability is renowned Dovahkiin, I don’t believe there’s a man in my company that you haven’t at least attempted to sleep with. That being so, I saw no better way than to thank you for your assistance in the quelling of the Stormcloak Rebellion.” Her voice was lilted with humour, no doubt buzzed from the sadism that accompanied offering her own people as a prize to the Hero of Skyrim. “I shan’t stay for the show, but do be gentle with my boys, I’ll require at least half of them to be able to walk after this.”

“No Promises.” The Altmer’s laughter echoed eerily as she became more and more distant, the muffled shutting of a door leaving the room in complete silence.

It wasn’t long before the walls began to whisper, shuffling feet and hushed voices. From one direction, the snapping of buttons was faint, shy, delicately intending to maintain anonymity throughout the endeavour, whereas the opposite wall echoed with the heavy flutter of fabric, unashamedly stripping for the night’s activities.

“Is it truly necessary to be that naked?” The bitterness was undeniable, distinct, and caused the dragonborn to erupt with poorly stifled laughter, hand against their chest as they turned within the tight space to the source.

“Ancano!” They bellowed enthusiastically, the outer walls muffling the chuckles his accomplices made. The advisor groaned, the crease of his brow undoubtedly deep and pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“Amateur mistake.” An associate quipped, shortly preceded by the parting of fabric as the first golden cock slipped into the room. Its shape was all too familiar. Heavily hanging despite its erection, and slightly bent to the left at the middle. With a bitten lip and playful fingers, the prominent vein beneath the shaft was trailed to the curtains, then drug up to the bush of dark bronze that they’d expected to find.

“Long time no see Rulindil.” Ancano’s gag of shock would have been noteworthy, had it not been shadowed by the theatrical moan of the Third Emissary.

“So glad you remember me darling,” He began, his cock bobbing and twitching in summons “how’s about we continue where we last left off?” And so, they did, taking his length deep to the back of their throat with no complaints. He’d never been one for hands, preferring wet heat and hard suction, rough and to the point. A mer in his position had no time to wait.

A distinct grunt was heard to the right of the emissary, one the dragonborn had heard far too often whilst at the college. The sound was followed shortly by his cock, a rod shorter than the one being serviced by a head, but it was straight, proportional to the point it could stand proudly. A pretty cock to match a pretty face they thought. They watched as it twitched impatiently, the advisor had violently refused their advances despite the constant staring and ‘accidental’ touches he’d sent their way, but the moan he elicited at their sudden grasp proved it to be an amount of posturing, as almost immediately he began to gently thrust into their grip.

The sounds were obscene as both men found their rhythm, the slick and gurgle from the dragonborn as they salivated heavily onto Rulindils cock, the pre-cum from Ancano’s prick creating its own subtle slickness that allowed them to quicken. Despite their preoccupation, the dragonborn couldn’t help the feeling of being watched. Eyes flicked quickly to the left, catching an eye of the deepest, purest, amber that could be found, drinking in the view from a hole in the perpendicular wall. There was good breeding in those eyes, they could tell, but a breeding they were unfamiliar with. They held contact with the slightest shimmer of fear, a shimmer that simmered and died, when the dragonborn failed to look away, pupils blown wide with lust. Rulindils head pressed against their inner cheek, copious saliva dribbling from their lips and off their chin as they made a show for the onlooker that twitched and hummed in quiet appreciation for the display, their subtle swaying likely stemming from his own hand that pumped casually along his cock.

Both were snapped from their unofficial contest when the advisor hacked, fist pounding against the divider as cum spurted from his slit. He whined almost painfully, thrusting pitifully to milk himself in their hand. His strings hit the opposing wall, seemingly endless to the point the dragonborn briefly wondered if he’d been forced to partake in abstinence whilst attending the college. The imagined image of him was divine, sweat-soaked forehead, snow-white tendrils that had escaped during his thrusting sticking messily across it. There was a soft thud against the wall when he’d finished, and the room held silent as he recollected himself with heavy breaths. Slowly – presumably embarrassingly – he withdrew his cock, the shuffling of fabric quickly followed by the shutting of a door.

“One down darling,” Rulindil broke the stunned silence, his cock pressing eagerly against the dragonborn’s tongue. “four more to go.” He resumed his thrusting, moaning heavily as the dragonborn hollowed out their cheeks. They took him deeply, hearing his nails drag against the wall where they desperately desired to be against their scalp. Intense eyes still watched from the left, urging them to finish, surely growing impatient from the time the emissary had occupied.

“Exactly, so hurry it up. You’re impressing no one with your restraint.” Now that was a voice they recognised, one that commanded the entire room, and sent heat rushing to their loins. They could almost picture the commander, robes open and trousers parted, a pristine streak of gold from his eyes to his cock, they chuckled around the prick, certainly hoping the carpets matched the drapes – or lack thereof.

This new knowledge of the commander’s presence spurred the dragonborn into action, deciding Rulindil had been in their mouth quite long enough, and that the others were more than deserving of their release. There was tight suction, heavy breathing, slick, lewd, sounds that had that the emissary groaning behind the wall, his hips bucking and banging the division till it shook with his momentum. In his last moments, the dragonborn took him deep, gagging as his cock slipped to the back of their throat and came, swallowing every drop as he liked it, his self-proclaimed seed “too good to waste.”

A gentle kiss to the tip accompanied his sigh, and though the shuffling of robes could be heard, the closing of a door did not follow.

“Staying for the show?” enquired the dragonborn, delicately swiping a smidgen of cum from the corner of their mouth.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world my darling.” He answered, the scraping of chair legs sounding as he took a seat to rest.

“Very well, who’s next?” Immediately, three cocks penetrated the walls, varying shades of desperate purple seeping pre-cum down to their bollocks.

“I’m afraid we’re running late to a meeting Dovahkiin, so do be resourceful.” Hi voice came from the opposing wall, the dragonborn coming to it immediately, kneeling and fingering the slit as they appraised the surrounding cocks in comparison. Both were smaller, and the one to the left aroused a memory – nothing more than a quick fuck in a sailor’s cabin in trade for a map – but damned if they couldn’t remember the poor sod’s name. to her right, though smaller than the commanders, the amber-eyed mer was certainly not lacking. Already he had threaded his sack through the hole, showing his balls’ tightness as they lifted with every forced drop of pre-cum.

The dragonborn broadly swept their tongue over the commander’s shaft, joyfully noting the lack of hair that would be at the base. The others could wait a moment longer, their anonymity buying them no sympathy as the dragonborn set their mouth to work, coating the commander’s cock with spit. Busy hands undid their leathers, undergarments joining a pile on the floor as the dragonborn stripped their bottom half. Resourceful they could be.

They slickened their fingers when they pulled back for breath left palm stroking Ondolemar’s cock with a tight grip as the right impatiently stretched out their hole.

“I shan’t keep you much longer gentlemen.” They announced, standing and turning till Ondolemars cock rested against the curve of their ass. An appreciative hum sounded through the wall, the commander clicking into the dragonborn’s plan. With a little fiddling and steady breathing, the dragonborn had fully sheathed themselves onto his cock, an immense feeling of fullness as it penetrated the tight hole. He palmed the wall, moaning shakily as he gave the first steady thrusts, speeding only when muffled whimpers turned into breathy, hearty moans.

With the commander taking charge, and ass pressed against the wall, the dragonborn bent, the smallness of the room a blessing that allowed them to grip the other neglected cocks. Both men gave a shuddering sigh at the touch they’d been so desperate for.

The position was awkward, and Ondolemars thrusting made it even more so to jerk the cocks in either hand, but by the growls, whines, moans, and whimpers they made, neither was focussed enough to notice the less-than-stellar performance. The commander had no cause for complaint, the tightness waning till he could pound the dragonborn with little resistance. His moans were harder to control than he’d like to admit - though the chorus his companions were making lessened his reluctance in sharing them.

The cock in the left hand was the one to come first, though not by the strokes on his prick, but by the harsh tug and squeeze the dragonborn had suddenly given to his balls. It had sent cum flying, the thin and watery threads splashing onto their cheek. Only a few landed before he pulled back harshly, knees knocking against the wall as he took his cock in hand, milking the last of himself with the smallest of lightning sparks from the tips of his fingers. A masochist if there was ever one to be seen.

The right followed, a hum of satisfaction accompanying the heavy streams that flowed from his slit, dribbling down the shaft, coating their thumb and heel of their hand. The not-so-stranger from Solstheim had been just as easy to please back then too – not that they were complaining, for their attention was quickly snatched with a harsh thrust from the commander.

His clenched fist pounded against the wall with the same ferocity as his hips, bottom lip bit harshly by the full row of his top teeth. The dragonborn pressed back, his cock now reaching depths that made them both moan in euphoria. It was the last straw needed to break his control, his cum filling them with heat.

For a moment there was no sound but deep and steady breathing, everyone grounding from their highs as he removed his cock from the dragonborn and the hole in the wall. As it had done previously, the fluttering of clothing broke the haze, and reality seeped into the dragonborn’s mind as well as wetly down their thighs.

“I do hope this experience was adequate compensation Dovahkiin,” Rulindil spoke, accompanied by the shuffling of unsure feet, and the opening of the door. “As I can assure you, and I presume I speak for all when I say, for us, it’s been simply glorious.”

[1000fiction]

Comfort, ft. Farkas, Vilkas, Ondolemar, Marcurio, Brynjolf, Neloth, Ancano.

Farkas:

He was oddly calm, no wisecracks, no attempts at discussion. Instead, he was a solid and silent body lying upon the bed, with even his breath muffled to quiet huffs as it left his nose. His broad chest cradled their head, his steady breathing rocking it gently like a cradle, with the steady thrum of his heartbeat their lullaby against their ear. He was resilient and un-moving, his arms caging their body against him in security, no wandering hands or gentle touches to be found – only the comforting weight of his limbs. He drowned out the problems of the outside world, determined to make the space within his arms their own little world for as long as needed it.

Vilkas:

He felt them quiver with each breath, felt the stuttering of their lungs as they desperately quelled the welling emotions in their chest and throat. He’d waited this long, and he’d wait even longer if needed for them to talk; for now, he’d ignore the wetness that dripped onto his shoulder, opting to wrap his arm tighter as they sunk against his side. He drew in a breath – gentle words flowing from his lips as he continued to read from the book perched against his lifted knee, soft and soothing phrases that he hoped would ease their troubles, if only for a little while.

Ondolemar:

He regretted being unable to offer more, unable to lay with them and hold them for as long as needed, but with all his heart, he hoped; prayed, that what he could do helped them. He pulled them close, the tightness of their arms around his waist leaving him breathless for a moment, but still, he gathered them in, shielding their vulnerability with the heavy fabric of his robes. For a moment they were in darkness, surrounded by the smell of him and the slightly faster beating of his head. He felt the warmth against his chest when they breathed out, and carefully placed a kiss atop their head before resting his chin.

Marcurio:

They lay face to face upon the cot, sheets gathered and tangled around their legs as he treated their bare arm with his tender touch. One hand held their wrist, delicately, gently, as the other ghosted fingertips across their palm, tracing the creases and crevice’s that mapped their skin. He reached the pulse, pressing gently to feel the slow pace of their heart, before turning them over to trail the lifts and dips of their knuckles and veins. His subtle glances caught their eyes following the intricacies of his patterns, ignorant of the silent tears that fell across their cheek. He pressed a kiss to their hand, gentlemanly and tenderly so it drew out the smallest smile, before gathering them into his arms, himself smiling softly as he felt them press even closer.

Brynjolf:

His nose pressed lightly against their spine, the slight itch of his beard eliciting a huff from the body he spooned, their back arching in an attempt to evade his scruff. He chuckled deep, firmly peppering their shoulders with kisses to sweeten the tickle of his facial hair. His hands locked them in, large hands spreading wide across their abdomen, halting their attempts to flee his onslaught. His knees tucked in behind theirs, and soon they were completely at his mercy, the attack ending when their laughter bubbled up through their throat. They both sighed, resettling into the quiet, but with a lighter air surrounding them. He couldn’t be their protector – not from their problems – but he’d happily be their idiot.

Neloth:

He watched them, observing how the weight of the world pressed them deeper into the furs of the cot, too heavy to even turn their head when he summoned them gently. His brow creased heavily, and his feet carried him with un-announced purpose. Talvas was first, exiled to the steward’s quarters under the excuse of ‘private experiments’, next came the tea, canis root that was far too strong to drink, but powerful enough to fill the room with comforting scent as it was placed upon the bedside table. With a delicate wave of his hand, the magelights dimmed, and Tel Mithryn became silent save the soft hum of spriggans, and the slight creak of the bed as he sat beside them and took their hand.

Ancano:

He’d passed by their room far more than usual, multiple times had he caught himself extending his patrols in order to cross the archway, spying their unmoving body from his peripheral, his frown deepening with each pass. The creases in his brow deepened with the worry that stirred inside of him, fuelled by the lack of response when he offered his assistance. He’d tut bitterly at their silence, but in reality, it made his heart cringe that he was at such a loss. It wasn’t until nightfall when the hall was silent, and his apprentice had succumbed to an exhaustive slumber that he crossed their threshold willingly. Gently, he laid his robes across their fetal form, mouth twitching as they curled deeper into the fabric. His knuckled brushed against their cheek, faint as his footsteps as he left the room.  

[1000fiction]

for the drabble challenge, #101: you don't hate me, quit lying to yourself with ondolemar please?

“I hate you.”

“You don’t hate me, quit lying to yourself.”

His frown deepened, finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose in attempts to stave off his headache.

“Well, I certainly don’t like you.”

“Lying again! For a Justiciar your not very convincing, how did you persuade all those people to deny Talos?”

“Brute force.”

“Maybe you should try that on me.”

Their voice dropped an octave, so sultry and seductive that he choked on the wine in his throat.

They sped from his quarters narrowly evading the firebolt he’d let fly from his palm – what was he going to do with them?

[1000fiction]

For the drabble challenge, could you do number 20, "It's just rain, you're not gonna melt" , with Ondolemar?

“This weather is despicable.”

“Oh do you ever have anything positive to say? It’s just rain, you’re not going to melt. Besides, we wouldn’t be out here if one of your guys hadn’t gone rogue!”

The dragonborn bellowed over the storm, trudging through the muddied path with the unwilling Thalmor trailing behind.

They could see it was getting to him – pale cheeks and chapped lips – pity the dragonborn that pities the Thalmor.

Lok Vah Koor!

The rain halted and clouds cleared, the sloshing of mud drawing his attention.

“Let's get moving your superior-ness, we don’t have long!”

[1000fiction]

Feeding ft. Aicantar, Cicero, Hadvar, Ondolemar.

Warning: Blood, Vampirism, Suggestive themes, tired author Requested: Yes

Aicantar:

It was quiet at twilight, the hours where his uncle slept and Aicantar could tinker away to his heart's content. The guards shirked their duties, and even those few that did pass gave no care for the younger Altmer.

Soul gems, dwarven metal, and various gems littered his table, and his spider skittered around his feet, bumping his ankle almost ‘affectionately’ – or at least he liked to believe. Its clinking sound was soothing in the quiet until the echoing sound of heavy doors being heaved broke the bliss.

A shrouded figure stumbled in, near throwing themselves into his arms, his spider hadn’t struck.

“Help me.” Their voice was weak, but it was without a doubt the dragonborn – but not as he knew them. Their cowl fell away, and he stared into orange, glowing, eyes, near shy of their pupils. They were gaunt, hollow, and he could feel their famish through their robe as he held onto them.

The breath was taken from him as they lowered to the floor, breath cold against his neck as they shook.

“I can hear too much, everything hurts.” Their voice trembled as they gripped him. Vampirism, far past help of potions, and far past his level of skill. He swallowed thickly, the dragonborn was a dear friend, to him and his uncle, if he could not fix then he had to delay.

“Feed from me.” They looked to him as if he was mad

“No.”

“Yes.” He steadied them, shedding his robe off one golden shoulder. “It will subdue you, then we’ll seek help, I cannot help you with potions, and you cannot function in this state. Do it.” His voice wavered, but his face steeled as their eyes locked upon his pulse. He turned away, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

First, lips grazed across his skin, a bright flush painting his cheeks despite the situation. The scratch of fangs followed, teasing his skin till a pulse was felt beneath. He squealed when they plunged in, rose pink reaching the tips of his ears.

How on Nirn would he explain such a bruise to his uncle?

Cicero:

It never failed to amaze him how such a violent being could be so elegant, graceful, powerful enough to send the scum of Tamriel to Sithis in pieces, yet not spot of blood upon their person. They were perfection in his eyes, he’d barely lifted a finger, too taken with watching his listener at work. They were immaculate.

They hovered over the bodies, daring not to step in the puddles of unworthy blood before returning to their mortal form. They were tainted, weak, sewage water might as well run through their veins – as they’d put it.

But they liked his, said it was sweet, refreshing – just like him, and oh how that made the jesters heart flutter, though, not as much as when they’d very first drank from him.

He’d bared his neck in their hour of need, and almost intimately had they taken their fill, their tongue sweeping greedily across the dips of his collar bones so as not to waste any ‘precious’ blood.

He’d felt so blessed, so needed, that only he was good enough to keep them from going hungry. That night, he’d gave and gave till he was pale in the face, yet still insisted on giving more as he lay weakly in their arms. He promised he would keep them fed.

For he was their keeper.

Hadvar:

Hadvar had fear, draugr, ghosts, Bleak Falls Barrow – rational fears, healthy even, though as he stared into glowing, orange, eyes, he found himself irrationally unafraid.

“Dovahkiin?” the being sighed, taking their hood with shaking fingers, the dim lights casting shadows upon their harrowed face. They looked akin to death itself, his blood ran like ice water, but yet he did not flee.

“By the eight what happened?” He touched his eyes to their shoulders, deathly cold skin beneath his palms as he took their hands, slowly guiding them to sit at his chair.

“Vampire scratch, hadn’t felt the damn thing. I was three days inside a dwarven ruin before I notice, and by the time I’d gotten out it was too late – I couldn’t reach the temple in time. Apparently, there’s a mage in Morthal that can assist me, but I just feel so tired.” Their body sagged in the chair, head falling into their hands.

“How can I help?” He asked without a moments thought “As my legate, I’d follow your order, but as my friend, I’d walk to the ends of the earth.” His fingers intertwined with their trembling digits, and he knew they could hear the pounding of his heart when he spied their tongue sweeping across their lip, catching on the extended fangs.

He followed their eyes as they traced his neck, feeling his breath hitch when they locked onto his own. He nodded wordlessly.

He jumped, the pinching of their fangs in his skin eliciting a small squeak, yet still, as his blood flowed into their mouth, he did not feel fear.

Ondolemar:

He was the last person he expected them to go to, but between the Thalmor and the city guards, in Markarth it was clear who was less corrupt. They’d snuck in, nothing more than wisps of smoke between his doors and a cold chill up his spine, a ghostly presence that loomed over him and blew out the candles at his desk.

“You owe me.” They bit back, eyes glowing defiantly when he’d first threatened their life. His hands sparked with arcane lightning, and whether they were friend or foe, a vampire was still a vampire, and a certain level of caution needed to be had.

Not for long though, as caution was thrown to the wind when he saw the desperation in their eyes and the trembled in their fingertips. His robes lay strewn across his bed, gooseflesh rising across his skin as their lips pressed against his neck. The entire situation felt compromising, their body between his legs as he sat upon the bed, their fingers pressing against his throat to position him.

It wasn’t until they pierced his skin that he felt truly vulnerable, though despite the warm trail of blood that slipped past their lips and down his chest reminded him of the ridiculously dangerous position he was in – blood still insisted on rushing elsewhere.