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Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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I need this in my life.
Maybe OP...Maybe...

This is intriguing, Jaenna's one of a kind, and I'm following eagerly!

*cries* This is too cute to go unfilled... :'(

OP here, as long as it's not excessive gore i'm perfectly good with it!

Oh if she tells, Farkas is in so much trouble.
I can't wait for the next update.

I would actually prefer a female DB if possible >.

As punishment, Janshir made him wait. Farkas did not know how long, because now his days were not measured by deliveries of food or water.

Farkas had made the choice to stop eating, and was resigned to hunger, but the lack of water was the purest torture. Dizziness overwhelmed him to the point where he could not stand. Once he started having seizures, he curled up on his bed, waiting to die, wanting to die.

Amid the tremors and delirium, he began to hallucinate. His mind drifted in a dream in which he could smell the most mouth-watering venison stew, but could not find it. Unseen hands prodded him, telling him to wake up and eat. Fingers poked, hands shook him…

“Kas. Time to wake up. Kas.” Janshir’s voice intruded on the dream.

“Uh…”

“I’m here to make you better, Kas.”

“Go ‘way. Not taking your potions.”

“Got some bad news for you, Love,” Janshir said, his voice unaccountably tender, “You don’t need to swallow a potion for it to work. I just have to get it inside you.”

Janshir rolled Farkas on to his stomach, lifting his hips, and bending his knees so that his buttocks were in the air. Farkas could not find any strength to resist, even as the neck of a potion bottle was inserted gently into his rectum, and he felt cold fluid drain into him. Janshir repeated this procedure twice more, before sitting on Farkas’ bed to wait.

“Takes a bit longer this way,” he said, “but you’ll feel better soon enough.”

“Fuck you,” Farkas grunted into his pillow.

Janshir ignored him. “Let me explain how this works. The first bottle was a bog-standard healing potion, and will make you feel better. The second was one of mine. A restoration potion that will reverse all the damage you have done to yourself over the last two weeks.”

The first two potions were doing their work, and Farkas was slowly being returned to perfect physical health.

“What about the third?”

“An experiment of mine. I’ve been playing round with it for a while, but I couldn’t try it out until the side-effects were a little less...fatal. It’s relatively slow-acting, so in the meantime, you need to eat.”

He presented Farkas with a bowl of venison stew that smelled so delicious he was barely able to resist. He didn’t even try. Janshir had just proved that starving himself was pointless. He ate the entire bowl with as much dignity and decorum as he could muster.

“You’re not being very straight with me about that third potion. Thought you enjoyed a good gloat.”

“Safer to wait till it starts working,” Janshir said, “and by now it should have. This potion is the ultimate quest for experimental alchemists. A layperson would call it a love potion.”

Hi OP! A!A here!:D I'm so glad you like it! ^^ Hihi:> it was so much fun to write:P

Oooh, an update! Things are starting to get warm here!

Her first real memory is fear. She has many memories that were long lost, but her most important memory is DON'T LET THEM KNOW. She is a mouse. Timid and shy. She does not raise her voice in anything but a whisper. She does not touch. She can't destroy everything she loves with a word like she did that terrible day when her sister was torn apart in front of her horrified eyes because she had lost her temper.

The Dragonborn Says nothing. Under the mask is something to keep her eternally silent. She had sown her mouth shut with only a small gap to suck a blended mixture into her mouth and the terrible scars still remain. She never bares her face. Not even to the Greybeards as she is forced to learn those Terrible Words. She had railed against the destiny she hadn't known would forced upon her.

It wasn't her fault that the terror and the burning and the chaos of Helgen happened. It wasn't her fault that the Imperials had seen her mouth sewn shut and threw her into a cart with the other monster. She had deserved to have this curse removed from this earth, but the dragon had stalled it.

And so she devoured the soul of a stranger without opening her mouth and the Call of the Greybeards left her tearing open her stitches as she screamed at the knowledge she hadn't wanted was burned in her head.

She can't ever let go. She does not raise her voice in anything but a whisper of breath. Her silence is proof that SHe will not let herself be anything but in control. And if it means locking herself away in the middle of the marshlands where it is dangerous to go...

Then so be it.

Conceal. Don't Feel. Don't let them know.

Her first experience in Skyrim was one not to be desired. She was after all, going to be executed for being on the border. She had been hunting quarry and gotten too close. Without any form of identification, she was listed as an illegal and thrown on a cart with a horsethief and some man with royal robes. Of course, since she had violently protested her treatment, a bit of a kerfluffle had happened and she was waking up while they neared Helgen. It wasn't long before the chaos of the Dragon's arrival had occurred.

It hadn't taken her long to react accordingly and race after one of the men. THe imperial had been kind, yes, but he had been willing to put her to the blade all the same. She didn't care about imperials or stormcloaks. In fact, she didn't bother to seek either of them out. Politics and Civil wars were for rulers. Not for simple hunters like her.

So what if the dragon turned into light and mist? It just meant she was taking their strength in a more literal sense. So what if she could pin a man against a wall from a full klik away. She was a hunter. It was normal for her to be able to stalk in shadows to come up behind her prey and leave it to quietly gurgle it's last breaths.

The Brotherhood only caught her because SHE wished it. Their leader had watched her split the Khajiit in two equal halves without batting an eye, but she had seen that gleam before. She had accepted the position as a sister of this group because they were hunters as well. She hated the leader immensely.

THe arrival of the keeper had been interesting. She liked the keeper. He reminded her of hunting dogs. All cheerful and eager to please their master, but she also saw the hackles that were raised around the Leader. He didn't like her much either. That was fine with Vasilisa. She enjoyed watching him when she wasn't off planning her executions and he enjoyed being watched by someone who didn't judge him.

it came as no surprise to her that she was chosen as listener. She was a hunter. She would follow commands of her superiors despite personal dislike. She completed her contracts without fuss or prolonged suffering. She was efficient. Cold. Precise. And if her presence was unsettling, Well...

It only made them fear her all the more.

Companions were a different sort. Whereas the Brotherhood had an hierarchy, a village of hunters, the companions were a pack. There was a pecking order out of respect for the stronger. Her silent stalking wasn't a help. Her quick blade and powerful thrusts that sent men staggering perked their interest. Her light feet were a boon as she fenced and played with the warriors who spoke of honor and yet slaughtered their enemies en masse without remorse.

And she was fiercest and most terrifying for when she first changed, she touched no one and sent those who feared her running. She escaped the city without spilling a drop of blood and lead the COmpanions on a merry chase. And then she had participated in her first slaughter. She enjoyed the wildness of the pack.

Becoming Harbinger had been all too easy. She was the one to end the witches. She was the one to save the Harbinger's soul from Hircine. She was the most powerful. The most dangerous. The most lethally intelligent. And the most unmerciful. She did not allow her enemies to plead for their lives. They would only turn around and attack her again like a rabid beast, so she made sure they wouldn't. And to her face they called her Vasilisa the Brave.

Behind her back, she was Vasilisa the Barbaric.

She rarely spent much time speaking with people, but she always took the opportunity to give to those who wore ragged robes. She always gave them a septim or two. In her home, those who could not hunt well were given what was needed until they became a burden. These people were not a burden to a place where people were not nomads. She didn't understand how they could be left in such a state.

And if a raggety man wanted a drink, who was she to deny him? It was light feet and quick hands. She was quick to offer help to those less fortunate. But not because of guilt. To her it was simple. Society was failing them. SHe would not. And so, those who could not afford much...
They called her Vasilisa the Gentle.

Oh, A!A... I've seen Frozen but it didn't touch me as much as this did. This is beautiful. You're beautiful. <3

I know... I'm positively evil that way mwahahaha! >:D
She is quite a bit of a hard ass but who loves Zairan in a tough love sort of way. Let's just say she also shows nonchalant excuses to look out for Marelle; just to ease your suffering and apologise for the clumsy cliffhanger.

Don't worry, I'll try to update it either this weekend or the next. I'm sorry for being late in my reply; start of exams next week you see. As I said before, I won't leave you or the other supportive people hanging, dearest OP! ^^

PS - Oh thank you, OP/Mia!Anon!!! *bear hugs*

Sincerely, Ash!Anon~

*boop*?

Lorkhan was bored and horny, but mostly horny. So he went to the place where time lived to see his other self.

And there was Akatosh, in his half-dragon and half-man glory. Which was ugly but that was just Lorkhan's thoughts. Akatosh was not all that pleased to see him. While Lorkhan did not like to see Akatosh, other parts of him did. Akatosh's eyes widened, drawn downward. "Oh!"

"Oh yes," Lorkhan crowed. "My spear is still the mightiest in all worlds."The Aedra snarled, wrapping his talon-tipped fingers around it tightly. "I don't think so, Lorkhan," he said. "I can make your spear shrink to insignificance at my leisure."

"Ah!" Lorkhan's teeth shined into a smile. "How long has that been?"

Akatosh answered only with the scrape of a talon along his spear, all the way to the head. Lorkhan grabbed the dragon head of Akatosh and forced his jaws apart, reaching in her pulled the mer head of Auri-El to rest against the teeth. Grinning ferociously, he kissed them deeply. A growl rumbled through him like thunder, and he grabbed a fistful of Lorkhan's streaming hair, pulling him closer.

Lorkhan chewed on the Aedra's lip, drawing blood with his dagger-like teeth. "How long since we bonded? How long have you craved for me?"

"An eternity, you fiend," he hisses, grinding his hips forward, talons still pricking at the base of his adversary's spear.
Lorkhan licked the blood, groaning huskily. He could have slaked his lust with Kyne or Mara, but Akatosh... Akatosh made it so good. He drags nails against the scales, ripping some of them off.
He snarls in pain and pleasure, the scales regrowing instantly; his hand pulls and strokes, both rewarding and punishing at the same time with those cruel claws. He lowers his mouth to Lorkhan's neck, kissing and biting as he goes.

The Aedra gasps, moving his leg over the dragon's arm to receive more. He digs his teeth into Akatosh's long neck, blood rushing out. Akatosh roars in passion and pushes Lorkhan to the ground, grinding himself down on top of him. All of his eyes blaze with fire, hungry and seething.
"Yes!" Lorkhan groans, both sexes of him yearn. "Make us whole again!"

At this Akatosh digs his claws in, thrusting forward his hips and crushing Lorkhan's spear between their bellies. His mer-mouth descends upon the other Aedra's lips, while the dragon jaws around his head stretch wide in ecstasy. Lorkhan screams in pleasure, devouring Auri-El's mouth and body shuddering with need and want.
Akatosh blazes with light, sliding viciously into Lorkhan's deepest reaches, claws raking over the Aedra's skin. His forked tongue teases at his neck and then his nipple, a rumble building in his throat. The dragon's body is tearing Lorkhan's apart and he loves it. Each movement is like a strike of lightning. His eyes roll back; he digs at Aka's face. The dragon purrs and the mer groans, thrusting harder as he grinds his belly to Lorkhan's. Blood splashes and falls as newborn stars, and Akatosh's talons dig into the other Aedra's thighs.

Lorkhan moans, voice following the stars. Red Mountain trembles for another eruption.The Dunmer run for cover. A crack begins to appear in the White-Gold. The Aedra drinks the blood deeply.
"I will rend you!" roars Akatosh in his rage-love, kissing Lorkhan's red-smeared mouth. His hand aggressively curls tight around the Aedra's trapped spear with a force that would have crushed continents.

Lorkhan screams, nearly coming from the contact. "Rend me! Yes! Paint my blood over Nirn, over Aether! Break me!"

His dragon-neck arches forward, hips now moving faster than the mortal eye can see. Even as he drives himself into the Aedra, he brings him closer to himself. His hand tugs mercilessly, now engulfed in the fires of Aetherius, and the seas of Nirn boil. His fangs catch at Lorkhan's throat and lips, his tongue flicking to catch the red that wells up as he kisses him.

Anu stirs restlessly in it's sleep and Sithis croons lovingly. Lorkhan kisses Akatosh back, making new cuts and tears as his teeth catch on the Dragon's. The insides of Nirn start to scream and there is an unusual surge from the eye of Magnus. Lorkhan wraps his legs around himself, murmuring their one-name lovingly. Akatosh rests his mer-forehead against Lorkhan's, the world beginning to spin off its axis. He is on the brink of his breaking point, the fires blazing high.

"Let us bring the world end as one again!" Lorkhan stares into Akatosh's many eyes. Nails digging hard. "YES!" Akatosh roars with both mouths, so close to Lorkhan they are all but fused. He reaches his end with such power that time itself shatters and then unshatters again, over and over - but such trivialities are lost upon the pair of them. The pleasure is great and he shares every last bit of it with his other-self.

Aka-Lorkhan screams and twists, merging into several forms as time rearranges around them before the ecstasy finally leaves and they are apart once again. Lorkhan croons lovingly to the dragon, still shuddering with aftershocks. "We are good for something."

---

char: Akatosh, char:Lorkhan, kink:slash, kink:hate sex, kink:divines/aedra, kink:pain,

F!Dragonborn/Inigo

I love Inigo, and I can't believe how few fills he has. So, I want to remedy this.

I don't really care what the fill is! Give me anything – them getting in a fight, him taking care of her after her getting wounded, what he thinks when he sees her for the first time, them raising a family, etc.

Though I would really love a long fill starting from him meeting her in the jail cell and going through their adventures to them raising a family, :)

More please! :3

This story just gets better and better, can't wait for more!

Thank you for reading! Glad things seem to be off to a good start. :) I’m happy to see the OP and another anon have found this fill!

***

The first order of business was food.

The second was a bath and a change of clothes.

After ransacking the kitchen (the cook only sat in a corner and stared at the dragonborn in horrified fascination, not daring to intercept her), Jaenna entered the main hall and looked around. Soldiers glared at her from the doorway.

The dragonborn considered for a moment. The Jarl had said nothing about threatening his servants. She strode across the hall and entered another stairway that led up a floor. Here, she found several guest rooms, largely unoccupied.

Next, she intercepted a servant, grabbing her arm. “Excuse me,” she said. “I need a bath. I want you to bring me some fresh clothes.” Jaenna would have been happier with armour, but she would need to clean and oil the leathers she’d been wearing until the stench of the dungeons no longer hovered around her like a miasma.

The serving woman bit her lip and looked down. “The Jarl said not to speak to you, ma’am.” She pulled on her arm, her nose wrinkling at the other woman’s smell.

“Fine. You need not speak,” Jaenna said. “Draw me a bath and fetch me clothes - silently. Also, lavender soap would be lovely.”

Unable to argue with that, the woman scurried away.

After washing the stench and dirt from her body and dousing her hair and skin in a fresh lavender scent, Jaenna finally dressed in clean clothes. Washed, her hunger and thirst sated, the woman felt her eyelids sagging.

With a yawn that popped her jaw, she claimed an entire guestroom to herself – never mind that it had two beds – and closed the door. For good measure, she slid one of the beds in front to defend her privacy. At last, she collapsed into the other and let out a sigh of pleasure. Sleep found her so swiftly she didn’t remember closing her eyes.

***

A loud, rapid knocking on the door startled Jaenna awake.

“Dragonborn?” a voice called. There was a flurry of mutterings. “Dragonborn!”

The door handle dipped, and someone tried to barge in. There was commendable cursing when the door did not budge. The man thrust his shoulder against it, grunting as the bed blocking the doorway screeched across the floor bit by bit.

Jaenna wiped sleep out of her eyes and scowled. She sat on the edge of her bed and crossed her legs, smiling pleasantly towards the door. Why take the stranger out of his misery?

Finally, a soldier was able to stick his head into the opening. Upon seeing Jaenna, a mixture of annoyance and relief flashed across his face.

“Well?” she asked.

The man coughed. “We were just seeing…”

“If I was were here?” Jaenna filled in.

The soldier cleared his throat. “Orders.”

“How is this for an order? Knock next time before barging in on a woman’s personal chambers, you heathen!” Jaenna grabbed the book resting on her bedside table and hurled it at him.

Jammed in the doorway, the man couldn’t move fast enough. The spine of the book dinged off his helm and fell to the floor. “I did!” he protested.

Jaenna reached for another book.

The man squirmed and his head disappeared from the doorway. The door closed with a gentle click.

Fetching the tome she’d thrown, Jaenna returned it to the stack on her bedside table. Straightening a few bent pages, she told the book, “My apologies.”

***

That afternoon, the dragonborn explored the rest of the area surrounding her self-proclaimed room. She found an arcane enchanter at the base of a set of stairs. Nearby, there was also an alchemy lab. She studied it curiously. Apparently, Ulfric was unaware that the dragonborn was also something of an alchemist. She took note of the materials set out on the tables and shelves. Pleased at the variety of ingredients, she made her way back to the main hall.

Did poison count as physical harm? Did paralysis potions or sleeping droughts? Jaenna considered this as she walked.

It appeared to be past noon. Jaenna helped herself to the food in the kitchens once again. Then, she wandered towards the room left of the throne. Ulfric Stormcloak was there, speaking with another man. Upon seeing Jaenna approaching, Ulfric dismissed the warrior.

This was absolutely wonderful, just absolutely hot and sweet. Not to mention I loved your mysterious and awesome DB, and your Vorstag was perfect. Thank you so much for writing this <3

The dragonborn came to stand by the table. “So,” Jaenna said to the Jarl. “I suppose the fact you are letting me wander around is because you are now secure in your plans. You have taken Whiterun.” She glanced down at the map, noting the position of the red and blue flags.

The Jarl gave her an appraising look. “Whiterun is now in Stormcloak hands,” he confirmed.

“If the fools had sent you someone else with that stupid axe,” Jaenna growled, “you wouldn’t have had a chance.”

“Then they sealed their own fate, not using their resources wisely,” Ulfric said, a smile in his eyes.

“Oh? And what would you have done instead, O Dishonourable One?” Jaenna asked. “Would you have used me as your private assassin against the opposing leaders? Try to order me to kill them in their sleep, when they wouldn’t have a chance to defend themselves?”

Ulfric shot her a cool look. “No,” he said. “I would have treated you as an equal.”

“Oh, of course,” Jaenna said, unconvinced. “Forgive me to not recognizing how noble you are. I was too busy locked in a cell and dying or boredom to notice.”

“You are free now.”

“If freedom is where you can’t see the sky.” And a dragon needs the sky.

Ulfric turned away, the broad line of his shoulders unsympathetic. “Go look out a window.”

***

There was a knock on her door the following morning. The dragonborn sighed. She thought she’d done such a good job of scaring away all the servants. It pleased her to no end promoting terror in the Jarl’s household. If she continued long enough, maybe Ulfric would let her leave the Palace of the Kings out of sheer desperation.

Thud thud thud.

She didn’t respond to the knocking. For about half an hour, she tried to ignore it and sleep. However, the knocking continued in short bursts. Three knocks. A short pause. Another three knocks. Never rising in volume or tempo.

Thud thud thud.

Jaenna groaned and covered her head with a pillow.

Thud thud thud.

“Oblivion take you,” she muttered. Throwing away the pillow, Jaenna stumbled out of bed and changed from a thin night shift into regular trousers and a shirt, overlaid with a leather vest. They were the clothes from yesterday, but at least they were clean. She still had to clean the mess her armour had become.

Thud thud thud.

“Damn it, what do you want?” Jaenna called. Whoever it was probably had bloody knuckles. “You may enter.”

Thud thud thud.

Seething, the dragonborn went to the door and hauled away the extra bed that blocked it. Grabbing the door handle, she yanked it open.

The ugly-faced servant that had attended her in the dungeons stood waiting. He gave her a flat look. In his arms, he held a pile of clean clothing.

“Oh, you again?” Jaenna asked, nonplussed. She stood back and allowed him inside. He must be the only servant with any guts.

“Yup.” Hrothar entered the room and set the clean clothes on the edge of her bed.

“Do you like me or something?” the dragonborn asked, sending the man a lascivious wink.

The man did not smile, but his eyes crinkled. “Of course. The dragonborn is most beautiful.”

Jaenna smirked. “You and I,” she told the ugly-faced man, “are going to be great friends.”

The man bowed and turned back towards the door. Jaenna cleared her throat, stopping him. “Since you insist on not being frightened,” she said. “I might as well keep you busy.” She glanced pointedly towards the armour she’d set out on the floor in one corner of the room.

Hrothar looked at the pile of stained, reeking armour, and then back at her.

“I want you to clean it,” Jaenna said.

“You are not Jarl.”

“I am dragonborn.”

Hrothar’s nose crinkled. Without a word, he turned and strode out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Well, it had been worth a try.

Jaenna examined the clothes the man had brought her. An extra night shift, some small clothes. A few other tunics, vests, and pairs of pants. She was disappointed not to find any dresses. It might have been entertaining wearing one around, convincing the staff of the Palace of the Kings that she was a harmless, dainty woman, and then showing them how wrong they were.

There was another soft tapping at the door. Annoyed at being bothered again, Jaenna answered it.

Two young servants, a man and a woman, stood outside, fidgeting. “We were sent to tend to your armour,” the woman said.

Jaenna smiled.

***

“You have an interesting way of convincing my staff to serve you while also keeping them terrified,” Ulfric Stormcloak told her the next time they spoke, on her fifth day of freedom within the Palace of the Kings.

Jaenna smirked. “Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two from me.”

Ulfric only grunted. He was busy writing a letter, seated in his plans room before the map of Skyrim.

Jaenna hopped up onto the table beside where he was writing. The man shot her an unimpressed look, but did not spare her much more attention.

“Where does your next conquest lay, O Dishonourable One?” Jaenna asked.

“You will see soon enough.”

“Will I?” she asked. “Unless you plan to release me, I anticipate having to pry that information from one of your soldiers and piece together the events myself.”

Ulfric ignored her.

“Tell me, if I were on your side, what would your command to me now be?” Jaenna wanted to know.

The Jarl glanced upward again, his blue eyes almost as difficult to read as Hrothar’s. “I would ask if you would be interested in participating in the rescue of Stormcloak prisoners,” he said.

Jaenna’s eyebrows shot up. “Whoa. You actually rescue those who are captured while under your command?” She crossed her arms. “I’m impressed.”

“The Imperial Legion rescues theirs, as well, dragonborn.” Ulfric continued to write. “Just not you.”

She recoiled. Slipping off the table, Jaenna strode out of the room.

The man was right. Time had long passed for the Imperial Legion to rescue her – or at least try. Either they thought she was dead – which meant they had so very little faith in her – or they didn’t want her back.

Maybe the Jarl was right.

Rescue in itself didn’t matter. She didn’t need their help. She could get herself out of here if she wanted to. It might mean stooping to Ulfric’s level, but she could. Right now, all she wanted was some sign that the Imperial Legion valued her, even a little bit. She’d done so much for them already.

The thought that they cared so little about her well-being made her chest tighten.

What if Ulfric were behind this? She paused her marching, looking up the empty hall towards her room. Maybe, dishonourable as he was, the man was lying to her. Could it be that he sent word to the Imperial Legion that she was dead?

That was ridiculous though. So many people saw her, alive and well, at the Palace of the Kings. Surely someone would have let it slip to the rest of the world that the Dragonborn still lived.

Jaenna’s lips pursed. He might have done something else, though. Perhaps the answer to her questions lay in the letters Ulfric Stormcloak wrote and received – letters, she guessed, that were secreted away in his personal chambers.

She would have to pay them a visit tonight.

She returned her room and waited for a while. When she was certain the guards in the hall had changed duties, she left her chambers and tiptoed down to the room where she recalled discovering an arcane enchanter and an alchemy lab. Making sure no one followed her, Jaenna closed the door.

Rubbing her hands together, Jaenna smiled and went to work. She found a set of ice wraith teeth, a rare nirnroot, and some chaurus eggs. It took her about an hour, but she mixed a potion of invisibility. Storing the milky brew in three thin vials, she hid them in her pockets and snuck back out of the room with none the wiser.

***

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