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Skyrim Page 5 - "NAKED! Naked naked naked "

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Later on, after everyone managed to eat a stew that didn’t assail our gag reflexes, I readied the children for bed. Or, at least, tried to.

Blaise, in a fit of childish mischief, ran away wearing only his underwear when Ghorbash attempted to give him his evening bath. In the next room, I fared worse with Lucia, who, upon seeing her reflection in the bathwater, wailed like a banshee and threw a temper tantrum that both Rayya and I failed to restrain. This went on for the better part of a half hour until we decided to just sort of dunk her into the basin a few times and call it sufficient.

Both children put up a fight when we tucked them into their beds. Eventually, all the adults ended up in the bedroom, trying to convince them to go to sleep.

“But Mama, you’ll be gone by the morning, won’t you?” Lucia pouted from under the frilly white nightcap she insisted on wearing for the next several months.

“Yeah, we don’t want to fall asleep when we don’t know when you’ll be back,” Blaise added, evidently having gotten over his anger at me.

Their unhappy faces tugged at my heartstrings, and I found myself torn between duty and parental love. Kharjo stepped forward at that moment, offering to tell them a few bedtime stories of his homeland that would carry them over until I returned. I sent him a grateful look when they accepted, and I had Llewellyn play some soft background music as we settled in to listen. The atmosphere finally winded down to a calm quality, with Kharjo’s lilting, accented voice weaving together the tales of Elseweyr.

Ghorbash took my hand and entwined our fingers as Blaise and Lucia’s eyelids grew heavy. Once Kharjo finished the last story and Llewellyn plucked the final few notes on his lute, I stood and planted a kiss on each child’s forehead. The adults tiptoed out, and I was about to shut the doors and thank the Divines for the peace and quiet I so desperately needed.

The front entrance banged open.

“I have returned!” Derkeethus’s voice announced. “By the way, did you all know there’s a dead giant out in the front?”

NO!

My heart plummeted when the children’s eyes instantly popped open. Our achievements in the past twenty minutes came undone as they shot out of their beds and barreled past me to greet my friendly Argonian steward—whom I now wanted to kill.

“Derkeethus! Derkeethus! What took you so long?” they chirped.

“Damn it, lizard!” Ghorbash roared from downstairs. “Efaldra and I were able to get these two to sleep at last, then you come in and just ruin everything!”

“Oh, she’s here?” was Derkeethus’s nonchalant reply. “Excellent! I need to let her know I borrowed one of her horses, which, sadly, didn’t make it on the journey back…”

“She will be most displeased,” Kharjo remarked. “I have seen how she reacts when her equines die.”

“And who might you be?”

The volume of noise escalated as everyone began talking at once, and above the new ruckus, Llewellyn called, “Should I play something again, mistress?”

I stayed frozen on the spot in front of the children’s bedroom, fuming and too livid to respond.

“Derkeethus, I need another opinion on this stew I made earlier.” Rayya’s voice joined the fray. “Perhaps the Argonian digestive system will have better luck with it.”

“Don’t do it,” Gunjar warned. “That culinary abomination is better off as poison.”

“Say that again, carriage driver,” Rayya snarled.

When all the bickering reached an intolerable crescendo, I commanded my legs to walk… out the north balcony and down the stairs to escape the manor. I came upon an amateur conjurer at some ritual stones down by the lake, and I absentmindedly zapped him to death when he turned hostile. Sighing, I sat next to the skeleton he’d laid out on an altar in the middle of the stone circle, weary beyond my mind.

However, I had found silence and tranquility at last.

“You’re the only one who understands me,” I said to the skeletal remains of some unfortunate soul. “The quiet is best. Now move. This is the only place around here where I can get some rest.”

Hey, OP! Sorry for the wait; I was finishing up some other projects, but now I'm dedicating all my writing time to this fill. I do have a background planned for Kressun, and all these questions will be answered down the road :)

LOVE!

Arnbjorn presses his hand against a deep, weeping gash in his abdomen. Blood spills across his fingers as he applies pressure to the wound. Every breath and every movement sends fissures of white-hot pain through his torso. He doesn’t understand how a simple cut from an ebony blade could hurt so intensely.

He glares at the black door set into the edge of a small cliff. It’s all that keeps him from tearing the little jester’s throat out. If only he knew the password - but he doesn’t know it, and he isn’t certain if anyone other than Cicero knows it. So all he can do is cower in pain like a helpless pup and wait, hoping his wife either comes herself or sends someone halfway competent to aid him.

Damn that jester.

+++++

It is dark, and while the air around him is cool, he is burning hot. A prickling, clawing heat seems to radiate from the cut in his side. He lifts his hand, which takes more effort than he expects, and runs his fingers across his sweat-slicked brow. He drags in breath after breath, panic finally clawing up his spine when he realizes the jester has poisoned him. Figures.

There is a thunderous pounding in the distance, and deliriously he thinks a storm is blowing in from the sea, but the air is still and his sluggish mind finally recognizes the steady rhythm of hooves. These are not the hoofbeats of a normal horse, but the deep, resonant pounding of a daedric steed. Arnbjorn relaxes then, knowing help is on the way, but his respite is short-lived when he sees who his wife sent to help him.

Of course Astrid would send her. Though, for the life of him, he cannot understand why. Just a month ago the Bosmer was claiming the Night Mother spoke to her. Whether it is true or not is irrelevant to Arnbjorn. The only thing that matters is that the entire situation had deeply upset his beautiful wife. If he thought Astrid was paranoid before, it was nothing compared to how paranoid she became after the fact.

Lumen tugs Shadowmere’s reigns, slowing the horse to a stop. “Arnbjorn!” she calls out, sliding from the saddle and running over to him. "Are you all right?"

"Of course I'm all right, Bit. I'm alive, aren't I?" he snaps, swallowing hard when Lumen kneels beside him to inspect his wound. He feels uncomfortable under her piercing gaze, and even more so beneath the touch of her hands. Something about her always sets his teeth on edge.

“Can you stand? I can’t heal you here, we need to get to the inn.”

“I’ll be fine. Just go kill that damn clown.”

She is silent for a moment, and through his blurred vision, he can see her turn to stare at the black door. “No,” she says calmly, and turns back to him. “Astrid sent me to get you first, and Cicero second. She’ll kill me if you die.”

“I’m not going to die,” he says. But he can feel Lumen’s arms slipping around him, her voice murmuring gentle encouragements - like he needs them. If standing is what it takes to make the annoying elf leave him alone, so be it. Arnbjorn pushes up to his feet, but he cries out when a bolt of excruciating pain zips through him and he falls to his knees.

His vision swims, then fades to black as unconsciousness claims him once again.

+++++

Arnbjorn slowly wakes to the sensation of gentle hands caressing his sides. He wonders if he’s home and in bed with his wife, and that Cicero has been nothing but a terribly annoying dream. But when the small, calloused fingers begin to trace every scar along his torso, both old and new, he remembers where he is. His wife hasn’t bothered to explore his scars for a long, long time. Arnbjorn’s eyes snap open and he grabs the curious hands, halting Lumen’s study of his body.

“Oh, good. You’re finally awake.” she says softly. “I was worried.”

“Not worried enough, Bit.” He growls.

Lumen shrugs, completely unrepentant. “What can I say? I’m an opportunist.”

Arnbjorn glares at her. “Where am I?”

“Does it matter? You’re warm, dry, and very much alive,” she says. A mockery of the first thing Astrid said to her after he’d brought the elf to his wife. “The same cannot be said for Cicero.”

“So, you killed him?”

“He’s been dealt with,” she murmurs, “and if it isn’t obvious, you’re at the Windpeak Inn.”

“How’d I get here?” he asks, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

“You’re surprisingly compliant when you’re unconscious, Arnbjorn.” she answers simply. “Any more questions?”

“Just one,” he mutters, looking down at his bare torso. Soft furs cover his hips and legs, but he knows that he is bare beneath them. “Why am I naked?”

Her lips curl in a smirk. “How does your side feel?” she asks, completely ignoring his question.

“Better.” He’s surprised, really. The terrible pain from the jester’s cut is gone and all that is left is a thin, red mark. Even long-ignored aches from old injuries that he’d grown used to are gone.

“Good,” she says, and moves to straddle him. Her tight, leather armor creaking as she settles herself upon his hips. “Now we can decide how you’ll repay me.”

Arnbjorn sucks in a breath. "Tidbit-"

"Oh, do stop calling me that," Lumen says, narrowing her eyes at him.

He smirks at her irritation. "Sorry, Morsel. But I told you before that I'm a werewolf, and it's hard for me not to think of you as a snack."

“Then, by all means,” she grinds her hips against him, “have me.”

“No. Get off of me,” he sits up to push Lumen off of him, but his head spins so violently he feels he may lose consciousness again, and he gracelessly flops back down onto the bed.

“Ah, careful now. Your body is still fighting off the poison,” Lumen purrs, stroking her fingers across his rigid abdominal muscles. “I can give you more of the antidote, but there is a price.”

“I’m loyal to my wife,” Arnbjorn says, pushing Lumen’s hands away. “I love her.”

Lumen’s grin grows wider and more menacing. “You can keep your love,” she says, leaning over him and staring into his eyes. “I only want what lies between your legs.”

Arnbjorn's lip curls in a sneer. "I'm not interested."

"That's too bad, because I've got an urge," she drags her fingernails along the tender flesh of his recently healed cut, drawing a hiss of pain from him. "You don't know this about me, but-" her hands slide up his chest to wrap around his neck and she squeezes - not hard enough to choke, but just enough to assert her dominance. "I'm very good at acting on my urges."

Arnbjorn swallows hard, though it is difficult to do so under the pressure of Lumen’s hands. A shiver runs through him, his unease mutating into the exhilarating thrill of being chased. He says nothing to the elf, his sluggish mind trying to process the situation. His loyalty to his wife warring with his loneliness and a deep-seeded primal need.

“Oh, come on, Arnbjorn,” she says, one hand leaving his neck to tease his nipple into a hard bud. The action pulls a frustrated groan from him. “It’s only a little fun. Once we’re finished you can scurry back to Falkreath and to the safety of your forge. You know, I always thought it was odd that you preferred to bang away at your forge, rather than banging your wife.”

“Don’t talk about things you know nothing about, elf.” His scowl deepens, but there is little heat behind it. He and Astrid have been growing apart for quite a while, he cannot deny it, and shame burns within him as he seriously starts to consider Lumen’s offer. An offer which becomes more enticing when she finally releases his neck and shifts so that she’s sitting on his thighs. Her hand trailing down his stomach and dipping beneath the furs to caress his cock.

The grin she flashes him is sharper than any blade he’s ever forged, and her fingers tease up and down the length of his rapidly hardening cock. He wants to shove her away from him, but the poison still lingering in his system weakens both his body and his resolve. It doesn’t help that it’s been so long, and it’s difficult to resist when there’s a willing female shoving his legs apart and settling between them.

Arnbjorn’s breath hitches when Lumen takes the tip of his cock into her mouth. Her eyes meet his, and he notices they are the color of warm honey. But there is nothing warm in her gaze. She has the cold, calculating stare of a killer. That concession doesn’t bother him. In fact, as loathe as he is to admit it - it makes things more interesting.

yesss +1000 for werewolves marking territory

Lumen locks him in an intense stare as she slides her mouth along his shaft. Her deadly hands are deceptively gentle as they massage his sac and the insides of his muscular thighs. The delicate scrape of her teeth against his tip draws a hiss of pleasure from him. Arnbjorn wants to grab her by the hair, to guide and control her movements, but he knows she would never allow it. Instead, he fists his hands in the furs beneath him, not daring to test Lumen’s limits while her mouth is around his cock.

She pulls away to fumble with a pouch at her hip, and Arnbjorn mourns the loss of her warm, wet mouth around his aching cock. “Finished already?” he asks, hoping to gall her.

“Hardly,” she says, pulling two small vials from the pouch. She tosses one to him and keeps the other for herself. “It’s the antidote. I want you at full strength for this.”

The antidote works almost instantly, the confusing haze clearing from his mind and his strength returning with each swallow of the sweet liquid. “What’s in the other?” he asks in a strangled voice as her mouth descends upon his cock once again. His answer comes in the form of an oil-slicked finger circling around his rear entrance, and after a moment she slowly nudges it inside. Arnbjorn grits his teeth at the strange intrusion, the elf now going where his wife never dared. “Gods,” he gasps, both loving and fearing this new sensation.

Arnbjorn clenches his jaw so hard it starts to hurt, but it is nothing compared to the delicious, throbbing ache between his legs. His heart is pounding and he can feel his cock pulse as she pushes him closer to the edge with her clever mouth and tongue. His body shuddering from the intense pressure building up behind the base of his cock thanks to her finger stroking him inside - in a place he never even considered, and certainly never thought he would enjoy - and just as he’s about to fall over the edge into a swelling tide of ecstasy -

- she pulls away.

“Fuck! I was almost-”

“Almost there?” she interrupts, “I know.” Lumen turns her attention to removing her shrouded armor. But she isn’t moving fast enough to him. Not with this desperate, clawing, need that she’s planted inside of him. Arnbjorn reaches for the buckles of her armor, and to his surprise, she allows him to help her undress. His hands move faster than hers, undoing every catch and buckle with practiced ease, intimately familiar with his own design.

With her armor gone, Arnbjorn’s battle-calloused hands run across her bare skin. Squeezing and caressing her supple curves before she roughly shoves him back down on the bed. She straddles him again, her sex hovering above his cock, and she guides his hand between her legs. His fingers glide between the folds of her sex, which are slick with desire.

“Beg me,” she says, her chin held high as she towers above him.

“What?” he blanches.

“You heard me, wolf. Surely that particular trick is in your repertoire?”

Arnbjorn does not beg. He’s never had to. But he is so desperate and nearly driven wild with lust that the shame of having to beg the elf to fuck him is almost bearable. “Please,” he rasps, his voice harsh and full of contempt.

Lumen throws her head back and laughs, “Oh, you can do better than that.”

He wants to argue. He wants to grab her, throw her down, and fuck her as hard as he can to show her who’s in charge, and he almost does. But her hands are on his hips and her sex lowering around the tip of his cock and she is so wet and warm that he finally gives in.

“Please, Lumen. Fuck me, take me, I don’t care- I need to be inside- please.”

A triumphant smile curls across her lips. “Ah, so you do know my name. I was starting to wonder,” she says, and she slowly lowers herself onto him. Taking him in, inch by agonizing inch, until he is fully hilted inside of her.

The sensation of being enveloped in her tight, wet, heat is almost too much, and Arnbjorn squeezes his eyes shut, grateful for Lumen’s stillness. She seems to be keenly aware of his limits. After all, it was she who pushed him so near the edge. After a few deep, calming breaths, Arnbjorn opens his eyes to see Lumen watching him curiously.

“If you come before I do, I swear I will dump your corpse in the harbor.” Her tone is calm and the smirk on her lips might even imply that she’s joking - but Arnbjorn knows better.

“What of the Tenets, Listener?” Arnbjorn’s voice is caustic as he bucks his hips, prompting the elf to rock hers. Both quickly falling into a mutual rhythm. He grips her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to bruise as he drives himself into her.

“Hah! Do not speak to me of the Tenets,” she says breathlessly.

Lumen grabs his hand and guides it to the apex of her thighs, and Arnbjorn pulls free of her grip with a snarl. He does follow her lead, however, and presses his thumb against her clit, drawing circles around the bud, his teeth bared in a feral grin when Lumen arches her back and gasps. She comes hard, her knees pressing into his sides, and her hips grinding into his.

Arnbjorn uses her distraction to his advantage, grabbing her by the waist and rolling her over so that he’s on top of her. She doesn’t seem to mind; the throes of an intense orgasm momentarily subduing the vicious Bosmer.

He gently slides his hands along her thighs, before roughly grabbing her behind the knees and forcing her legs open. Arnbjorn smirks at her confused expression, and bows to press his tongue between her folds. Lumen groans when he slides a finger inside, her sex still overly sensitive from her release.

He flattens his tongue against her clit, alternating between firm laps and feather-light flicks. Then latching onto the little bud with his lips and giving her a few steady sucks, feeling inordinately pleased at the squeaks he draws from her. Arnbjorn can hardly repress the shiver that runs through him at her whimpers; those soft, helpless sounds calling to his wolfish nature as strongly as the scent of blood would. It takes all his self-control not to use his teeth against her.

When her breathing falls out of rhythm, he knows she’s nearing her second release. He gives her clit one last teasing flick, and then he pulls away, her salty-sweet taste still lingering on his tongue.

“Arnbjorn you asshole,” she rasps, her voice strained in frustration as her orgasm ebbs away.

“Hey, I gave as good as I got, Tidbit,” he says, positioning himself between her legs and looming over her. Lumen opens her mouth to argue, but the only sound she’s able to make is a wordless cry when Arnbjorn enters her in a single, smooth thrust. He guides her legs around his waist, and Lumen hooks her ankles together, her heels digging painfully into the small of his back as he pounds into her.

“I know you can rut harder than this, sheepdog,” she murmurs, scraping her nails down his chest. Lumen’s eyes meet his in challenge - a challenge which Arnbjorn accepts - and he grits his teeth, ramming into her as hard and fast as he can. His muscles burn with effort, and every nerve ending alight as he nears his peak.

The sensation of his impending climax is almost as much of a reward as it is a relief. He’s so tightly wound, and he’s been hard and wanting for so long that it almost hurts.

It does not take long for Lumen to come again. Her legs tensing as her inner muscles clamp around him and milk his own release. Something inside of him, that wild primal part that is all wolf takes control. He lowers his head and bites her shoulder hard enough to pull a ragged scream from her. In turn, she digs her nails into his back as he spills inside of her, the force of his release tearing a vicious growl from him.

He doesn’t have time to bask in the afterglow, or even rest from his efforts. Lumen’s feet are pressing against his chest and pushing hard. Boneless from exertion, he falls away from her and right off the bed, landing gracelessly on the floor.

“What in the Void was that for?” he snarls. Naked, furious, and on all fours with his hair falling around his shoulders. Looking like the beast he always claims to be.

Lumen stretches languidly on the bed, as happy and relaxed as a Khajiit in a sunbeam. She grabs a cloth from the nightstand and tosses it to him. “Get cleaned up and go home to your wife - I’ll leave for Falkreath in the morning.”

Guilt hits him with all the force of an avalanche, and just as cold and bitter. It is true that he and Astrid have grown apart. But the thought of his wife sitting at home, waiting and worrying about him while he ruts another woman - a woman she trusted with his life - causes him no small amount of pain. Rising to his feet, he dresses quickly and in silence. Only turning to address Lumen when he reaches the door.

“Astrid-” he says, faltering at just the sound of her name, “she can’t know about this.”

Lumen’s lips twist into a sly, malicious smile. “Don’t worry, brother. I don’t plan to tell her.”

Arnbjorn leaves Dawnstar with his tail tucked between his legs. He’s never felt so wretchedly guilty in all his life. He much prefers the familiar refuge of anger, or the blessed emptiness of indifference. Why did Astrid have to send that scheming elf after him? Why not Nazir or Gabriella? Arnbjorn knows Lumen and that insufferable clown were close, and now he wonders if all this was simply a way to get back at Astrid for ordering her to kill Cicero.

Everything was fine before that witless fool and his pet corpse came to the sanctuary. He’s gone now, at least. But Arnbjorn swears he can still hear that clown’s maniacal cackling in the distance.

Damn that jester.

A/N: I hope the OP likes this! :D I am usually wary of using a previously established OC of mine for kmeme fills (I don’t want to confuse anyone) but I really couldn’t resist using my Bosmer character. Because this is totally something she would do.

Tags: char:arnbjorn, char:F!DB/Listener, race:nord, race:bosmer, kink:dub_con, kink:adultery, kink:anal_fingering, kink:oral, kink:hate_sex, kink:denial,

This had me in stitches! Such a fun little story, easily one of my faves. Wonderfully done, a!a!

Crack promp.
The DBis getting it on with his follower when, in the throes of passion, the other yells one of its standard phrases.
Ex:
Derkeethus: Hissssssss!
Marcurio: Show me what you've got!
Jenassa: I'll see you burn!
Cicero: Coming, Mother! (yup this one was bad)

Whoa, I was just blown over with inspiration. I'll have something up in a day or so :D

I just discovered this and I am loving it!! The way you keep Kressun's gender so vague is brilliant! Keep going, author!anon!!

OP here: If the problem is more of a setting for how said sexy bird-lady got stuffed then here is one to get you started (Should've put it in the original prompt, eh, too late)

During the Sanguine quest where you get smashed out your mind on Daedric spiked mead when you get around to marrying a Hagraven in a drunken bout of stupidity you actually ended up proposing to the Hagraven's daughter, and the Hagraven mother was only too happy to accept since it would give her daughter a husband and stop her from wasting her life doing whatever the hell she does. And by the Nine does she want you to consummate your love!

Or the Hagraven actually looks good and the Dragonborn decides to go ahead with the marriage and buys Ysolda (the person who wanted the ring that you gave to the Hagraven) another ring instead.

I confess, I squealed when I saw Lumen show up. Very well done! I loved how conflicted Arnbjorn was and how he just couldn't resist. Also loved the little touches of Lumen introducing him to something new - wonder if he'll try that with Astrid and that's how she realises he's been unfaithful (not to give you ideas or anything...)

And the guilt at the end, oh the guilt. I do feel a bit sorry for him. Caught between Astrid and Lumen, oh dear. Perhaps the imminent arrival of the Oculatus is a mercy...

"Mmm! Feels so good! Oh, Galmar, gods, more!" Rozenn bucked under her husband, legs wrapped around his waist, hells pressing against his backside, encouraging him.

"Gods, oh, gods, I - I - I'll mount your head on my wall!" Galmar roared and then slumped on top of her, not quite snoring, but definitely not awake.

"Husband? Galmar? My Bear, wake up!"

"Mmmf? Wha? Gods, Rozenn, that - you were amazing," Galmar murmured as he rolled to one side.

Rozenn tucked herself in against his side and chuckled sleepily. "I hope you intend mounting more than my head later on."

"What?" Galmar was suddenly wide awake.

"You heard me. You shouted your favourite battlecry as you came. And I made a pun based on it," Rozenn's eyes slid shut and she yawned mightily. "I still love you, though."

"Speak of this to anyone, and I'll carve you into pieces."

*Heels*

(Why spellcheck no like me?)

Balgruuf's such a neutral soul he got invited to both ;)

Would OP mind a crossover with another fandom?

I'm not gonna lie, I already have a plotline for a Thieves Guild do Thief: The Dark Project mission(s) roughly outlined in mind, but if that's not cool don't worry about it :)

I so look forward to your next installment. Just the right mixture of all things blonde and I really need that right now. Go blonde women of the world!

Give me a few days and I may get it done.

Didn't think I'd find myself attracted to Ancano, he seems a little too grumpy to me, but this fill is amazing!
Keep up the great work A!A

After doing that quest for several times and seeing that you could actual marry Camilla, I always wanted to see a threesome done between Faendal, FDB and Camilla. Can be dub-con or non-con, doesn't matter.

Galmar, Galmar just how? Why?
Also, "my bear" is the cutest pet name!

You know, it was Keerava that gave Rozenn the idea for that name :P
She just won't let it go!

This was just what I needed to break the writer's block, so thank you, OP!
~Rozenn!Anon

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