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F!DB/M!NPC: Stalking, biding time

Date: 2014-02-03 04:47 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
Can I see one of the M!NPCs having an obsessive thing for the DB? Ever since he's met her, he's wanted her-- in a creepy, all consuming way that's not going to take no for an answer. But M!NPC knows that, in order to fully possess and love her, he's got to wait for the right moment. Depending on who the M!NPC is (Ulfric, Mercer, Ancano, Harkon, etc.), that moment might be something as simple as manipulating the DB or even attempting to imprison her.

Meanwhile, the F!DB is flailing along with her life, pissing off all of Skyrim (and likely all of Tamriel), oblivious to the M!NPC and his plotting. F!DB is the kind of person (or mer) that, should you place a giant red button in front of her with a sign saying DO NOT PRESS, will press the damn button because, damn it, she's going to see what all the fuss is about. She's the last person you'd imagine some broody villain having an obsession over; she's too incompetent at life to really garner that kind of attention.

Basically, I'm looking for some sort of dark comedy, with a sinister M!NPC moving in on an oblivious F!DB that manages, inadvertently, to botch all of the M!NPC's attempts to trap her. Until the end, that is.

Preference: Breton or Wood Elf DB, though I'd be fine with any other races, should the author prefer.
Also, if M!NPC were to be Mercer or Harkon, I would be even happier!
From: (Anonymous)
The first time he saw her was in Windhelm. She was chatting with some Dark Elves—interesting. Well, thought Mercer as he lounged in the shadow of a doorway, perhaps not that interesting. She was, after all, a Breton, not a Nord, so perhaps she lacked the innate prejudice of the city-dwellers. He could tell that from her size and coloring—pure Hammerfell, if he remembered correctly. Dark curls to the middle of her back, curvy figure barely contained by her leathers—and that voice.

He shifted, his hand stroking his cock through his leathers. He could imagine her bent over, that velvety voice cooing out moans and pants as he plundered her secrets like the thief he was. In his mind’s eye he saw her, pale and naked and completely at his whim—he swallowed the curse that threatened to spill from his lips as he continued to stroke himself, though how he’d managed to open his leathers without noticing was not something he was going to contemplate. Only a few more strokes and he tucked himself back, sated. The chill air of Windhelm brought him back to himself and he watched her hurry off, all swaying hips and bouncing breasts.

He would have her. He just had to figure out who she was.

Oddly, that part proved far easier than he expected. She was the Dragonborn. And seen by more than a few people as borrowing more trouble than she needed to. Interesting. The mercenaries she hired all came back far richer than they had left but with a trail of stories of the Dragonborn venturing into places no sane creature would just to satisfy her curiosity. It seemed if there was a chain that needed pulling or a button pushed, it was impossible to keep the woman from doing exactly that.
From: (Anonymous)
OP here!

Ahhh I'm so excited someone's decided to fill this! And so soon! :) I love what you've got, A!Anon. Mercer is perfect-- creepy and Mercer-like and just what I'd wanted. His POV was an awesome way to show how much of a creep his is.

I can't wait to see more of him and the DB. Especially their first interaction with one another!

Thanks again!
From: (Anonymous)
So glad to see this, There's never enough Mercer, never! I love that he undid his own pants without noticing.can't wait for more.
From: (Anonymous)
The Dragonborn paused mid-thought, glancing over her shoulder. She should be paying attention to what Viola Giordano was telling her—something about the recent murders, right? But she could swear she felt eyes heavy upon her, peeling away layers of leather and steel until she stood raw and naked.

“Dragonborn?”

The Dragonborn turned back to the city’s resident busy-body, offering an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Viola. I’ll look into it, if you like.”

Viola nodded, gratitude lighting her eyes. “That would be most appreciated, Dragonborn. I’m afraid that unless this madman runs himself through on a guard’s sword, the guard won’t catch him.”

The Dragonborn swallowed a chuckle. She’d noticed that the guards were, well, not that adept at guarding the citizens of Windhelm. There seemed to be good reason why the lanes and streets of the city were deserted after dark and the citizens shut up tight behind barred doors. “Well, I better start then. Can’t have some guard having all the fun.”

The Dragonborn watched the pale-haired Nord hurry on before once again glancing towards the lingering shadows of the alleyway. She could have sworn that she felt someone’s eyes on her. But every time she looked, there was no one there. Farkas was starting to get twitchy with how often she spun around, hoping to catch someone watching her. And she couldn’t tell the Companion that she was getting spooked by nothing. He’d think her crazier than she already was

Viola had hurried on, boots crunching on the snowy pavers before the Dragonborn’s companion said anything. “What’s wrong, Sister?”

The Dragonborn darted a quick glance at Farkas, glad to have brought the brawny Nord member with her. If only because Farkas in all his bluntness would tell her if she was going crazy. “I keep sensing…someone.”

Farkas’s pale blue eyes narrowed and he scanned their surroundings. “Someone? What kind of someone?”

The Dragonborn blew out an exasperated breath. “I don’t know. But someone is watching me. Undressing me. It’s…creepy,” she added with a shudder.

Farkas chuckled. “Sister, everyone watches you. Most men and some women undress you in their heads. You are the Dragonborn.”

And there was part of the problem. Farkas was right. So why did this feel different?

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