How Not To Fall in Love with a Dragonborn - Myfftol (2024)

Chapter 1: So I was crushed by an orc in a dungeon?!!??

Chapter Text

The orc was sipping mead at some inn out west where the snow piled up to her calves. Her helmet rested on one knee and her mace on the other, hanging just slightly, held to her body by a single metal clasp. The middle aged wood elf watched her admirably from his perch on the table just a foot away. His armor gleamed with magic and his bow was strung over his back.

Faendel had been travelling companion to this strange women for some months now. Mysterious and vague of a woman she was. She had simply approached him, a foot taller than him, draped in imperial rags, and speckled in old blood that may or may not have been her own. He had been so caught up in his own life problems that he had barely registered the question. Working at the mill, living a teenage drama in his forties, how did he even get here? Faendel felt hopelessly lost sometimes. Chopping wood, and hunting for rabbits paid for his meals, and his evenings were lively at the Sleeping Giant. But he ached somewhere deep inside for a friend. Not just an acquaintance like Alvor or Lucan, but someone that could reach right into his chest and make him feel something. He was sure that would be Camilla, he would have bet on it with his very life.

But then she was there. Once again, speckled in blood, a characteristic he’d grow familiar with over the coming months. She had offered him a bit of gold and a job, simply to follow her to the ends of Nirn. For some reason he accepted it. Something in her eyes made him do it, as if she had known he would say yes, as if she had known him more than he knew himself.

She caught him staring at her again over his drink. She set her own drink down and smiled. As far as he was aware he was the only person who could even get a smile out of her. She was mostly mute and often distracted. They would go for days without saying a word, but he didn’t feel they really needed to.

Fighting bandits was more exciting than he had expected. He, of course, was the best marksman in Riverwood but even he had never killed a person before. There was that troll once, he still has a scar on his right leg. But killing a real person wasn’t much different from killing a bear. They cursed your mothers name more often, they called him slurs, mocked his stature. As soon as they had an arrow through their skull they were far more quiet, he found.

She was much better at killing than he was. He watched her switch from long sword to axe to knife to scimitar. This week it was that infernal mace, she had fought some sort of priest for it, but at night when they lay together pretending to sleep he could hear it whisper. Horrible things. Sometimes he plugged his ears.

“Could you give me a few more archery lessons tomorrow?” She asked, out of the blue. Faendel looked at her. With her helmet off her orcish features were far more distinct, obviously. Her lower canines protruded from her face grotesquely, accented by the protrusion of her jaw. Her eyes were squinted and dark, pupils a blood red that revealed absolutely nothing about what was on her mind. Two lines of paint ran across her face and nose, a dark and muted indigo that barely brought out the blues of her skin. She was beautiful in every way. He had always thought so, from the first time he met her.

“Of course, I’ll teach you everything I know.” Faendel said, maybe a bit too excited at the prospects of getting to press his hand in the small of her back, run his finger over her jawline to point her gaze to the target, stand close to her, hear her breath in his ear, 9 divines. He was about to squirm in his seat. “Did you want me to pay for a room, too? It’s getting late.” Not that they often slept in inns. Usually, they were out the whole night fighting some bandits or Stormcloaks or daedric beasts, before finally collapsing in the woods and finding the nearest pile of leaves to soften their sleep.

She didn’t respond. Of course, he didn’t expect her to. She sipped her mead, he watched her lips purse to reach the cup, letting it past the barrier her fangs made to her mouth. Faendel did pay for a room, but she didn’t sleep in it. He slept alone, curled up on the few pelts the innkeeper had to spare. It was cold that night. When he awoke the next morning, he found her leaned back on that same spot on the bench. Staring at the ceiling, no longer nursing her now empty goblet of mead.

“Some mages are hiding out in a Fort an hour or two South of here.” She said. That was all she needed to say, he supposed. And it was all she said, for the whole morning. They travelled through the snow, they passed a giant, and a hunter suffering from vampirism. They crossed over the mountain, she nearly fell off a cliff, the clumsy fool.

Faendel shouted, reaching out to her and grabbing her arm. In fact, his help nearly killed her as he simply pulled off her gauntlet. She pulled herself up without him, giving him a strange look. He was so embarrassed as he passed it back to her. However, why did she look at him so? An emotion lit in her eyes, he saw it, he knew it was there. What did he say? Her name. He realized he had called her by name when he shouted. “Yagr!” He had said. He was so embarrassed. He felt a flush run up his face, which was still there even when they approached the fort.

It was disappointing really, just a handful of useless mages and their magic beasts that they summoned. So easy to kill, he heard his arrows hit them with a dull *thunk*. There was a time in his life where he would have been disgusted by the sound, but here he was judging sorcerers by their unimpressive lightning bolts that ran straight through his chest and out the other side, and bursts of fire that caused his armor to swelter, his brow dripping with sweat. They had been adventuring for a while now. These mages would need to conjure a Daedric prince in the flesh to stir him.

They entered the fort and fought a few mages inside. With a quick swing she chopped one’s head straight off, it flew onto the floor with a sickening gurgle of blood. He stood in the back always, shooting arrows while she ran the front line. He watched her chase one down the hall and corner him in a water closet.

Like being shaken to vivid reality the mans very life drained before Faendel’s eyes. Both of them watched him curiously as her armor, the ebony mail, devoured it straight out of him.

“Do you see that?” She said, her voice was a low rumble that sent a tremor down Faendel’s back. “This armor senses and feeds off weakness.” The mage tried to push her aside, to get free, his face was looking pale, he looked sick like he might vomit.

“You’re so weak,” she spat, pressing a foot on his robe to stop him from moving, “That my armor thinks you’re an easy kill. Like a rabbit.” She slid her razer out of it’s holster, its hilt was nearly as sharp as it’s blade, which was straight and deadly. The orc grabbed the trembling mage by his throat, pushing him against the wall above the toilet. She didn’t smile as she held him in place, keeping the knife against his neck. He died before she could even kill him. His body was succumbed in black smoke, same as she.

She chuckled lightly. Faendel wanted to kiss her.

Later that night they slept at the Nightgate inn again. He wished her goodnight and closed the door behind him, breathing heavily. He was so turned on he thought he might die, his erection pressed against his armor almost painfully. He ripped off his armor, desperate to get it away from him. His long silver hair was tightly bound in a ponytail near the top of his head. He let that free too, allowing his hair to spill over his shoulders, similar to how he let his naked body spill over his borrowed bed.

She’s right outside. He bit his lip. This wasn’t the first time he had gotten off in her proximity, but it was the first time he had gotten off with an image of her in his mind. He recalled how she had looked undressed, when she slipped on that infernal ring and its cursed magic spread over her leaving her bare. It was the only time he had heard her curse, her breasts peaked in the cold, her abs rippling as she bent down to grab her spilled armor on the ground. He quickly turned away to preserve her privacy, but snuck a quick glance at her ass, firm with muscle. He wanted to grab them. He imagined grabbing them now as he held his dick in his fist.

It was quick and uneventful. He moaned as softly as he could, one hand on his mouth, the other on his erection. He imagined it were her hand, then he imagined it were her lips. Softly kissing him all over and ending on his… he came too fast for his liking.

Faendel lay there disappointed. Watching the ceiling the way she had been watching it this morning. If it were her, would he have also org*smed that fast? He was glad it wasn’t, his body was already flushed enough, but he would have been infinitely more embarrassed with an audience.

He slept soundly through the night. The next morning, he found her in the same spot on the bench, pondering something, or maybe thinking of nothing at all.

“North of here there’s a Silver Hand refuge.” She mumbled through her drink.

He couldn’t wait. Something about her interaction with that mage yesterday had changed him thoroughly, watching her kill people that can’t be redeemed in any way was a sort of therapy for him. Watching her torture them, on the other hand, sparked something entirely different in his mind.

They travelled north past another mountain, only making one stop through a mineshaft to kill a few bandits. She already looked weary with travel, over encumbered with the loot they’ve gained since they’d last touched base in Heljarchen. Her husband was there too, of course. A strong man, a former blacksmith that now made weapons from home while raising their two Nord children. Looking at the two of them together made Faendel feel especially small. The man was made of muscle and was more than two feet taller than Faendel. He didn’t have to wonder what his companion saw in that man, it was hard to ignore the enormous size of his co*ck, even hidden away beneath his apron.

Faendel was mind numbingly horny when they arrived, he tried to shake it way but it remained in the back of his mind. He reached for his bow, but once more she hardly needed his help. A head flew past him, and he shot into some man’s back. Silver Hand’s, werewolf hunters. There was evidence of their profession strewed about the place, he couldn’t imagine how they felt satisfied living in a literal mausoleum of dripping, wolf heads on pikes. As they moved through the fort, looting, pillaging, and murdering, he saw many dead werewolfs. Some dead on the floor, some in cages hanging from the ceiling or prison cells in the walls.

It was awfully cold in the basem*nt, Faendel pulled a cloak over his armor. Ridiculous as it was, it helped. He shot one last man in the very last room. A torture room. A single dead werewolf lay on the floor, half transformed and sickening. It’s fur was matted with blood, evidence of where he was once imprisoned was pushed into a wall. A torture rack, Faendel walked over to it and picked out a clump of fur. Disgusting.

He felt warm hands press on either side of his body, and his Orc companion flipped him around to face her. She smiled at him, self-consciously, he smiled back. She pushed him backwards into the rack, easily fastening him into the very place that a man was tortured alive not hours ago.

“Wha- goodness!” He gasped, as she tightened the final strap. He couldn’t discern a single thing from her with her helmet on, “What are you doing?”

She laughed, brightly. He wanted to laugh too, and he would have if he wasn’t shaking in fear.

“I saw you last night, you know.” She began, taking off her gauntlets and setting them on the table. Her voice was rough, like an Orc’s but with the accent of a Nord. He knew she hadn’t grown up in a stronghold, but he had never gotten enough out of her to find out who she really was. “I was invisible in your room. Watching you.” She removed his helmet first, whacking his hairtye with her knife and letting his hair fall over his shoulders. “Don’t look at me like that,” She sighed, leaning in close, lips almost brushing his, “I haven’t even done anything yet.”

She saw him last night while he was masturbating. She must have been so disgusted, his was so small compared to her husbands. He could cry. He was the hardest he had ever been in his life.

She pulled his cloak off next, then his gauntlets and boots. It felt strange to have his feet bare in such a place. If he were let go, his feet would fall in a puddle of coagulated blood. If she left him like this, he would have to take the shoes of the dead man a few feet away to return home. She pressed the tips of her fingers into the palms of his hands, then started to slowly mash it with her thumb.

“So many callouses.” She mumbled, “But the rest is still long and pretty, like a women’s.” This may have been the most he’d heard out of her in weeks. Definitely the most insightful into her mind, more than a statement of a destination or target.

Removing his armor was more awkward for her, she had to individually undo each restraint to get it off and then redo them. He actually let out a snort of laughter as she tugged on his tight undershirt.

“I hate this thing.” She muttered, she ripped it open with her knife, exposing him almost entirely to the cold. “Mm,” she softly moaned at the sight of his chest. It was pale, he wasn’t nearly as brawny as she was. He held his own in a battle, but he blamed his genetics on his lack of defining muscle. Regardless, her moan was ingrained permanently into his memory. Something to remember the next time he was alone at Nightgate.

She reached forward to brush a hand against his chest, long fingernails raking against a nipple. A sound he had never made before came out of his mouth, even when he lost his virginity, and that one drunken night he had had with Camilla. She laughed again, the vibrations of it ran straight through his entire body.

Finally, she reached up to take off her helmet, setting it beside her gauntlets. Beneath her facepaint a blush was visible on her cheeks, her eyes were half lidded and taking in his entire body. The orc leaned forward slowly, her long tusks blocking her soft lips as she breathed on his bare chest. Then, she bit him, catching the other nipple between her incisors lightly. That sound came out again from him but louder.

“Augh-” He moaned, pulling at his restraints.

“Your body is so small. I want to crush it.” She whispered against him. Every cell of his body agreed with that sentiment.

With her helmet off he watched as her gaze fell to the lower part of his body. He didn’t blame her, in fact most of his attention was there as well. She bent down and pulled off his leggings, then his trousers. He was so cold, but it would have been worse if he wasn’t entirely aroused. His briefs were tented, but she ignored it for a second to kiss his hips and thighs. Faendel moaned as she worked, it was his imagination come to life. She gave him a firm lick straight down the navel, and he bucked his hips involuntarily.

“Please…” He mumbled, trying not to give in to thrashing.

“Alright, alright.” She smiled, rising to give him a kiss on his cheek. Then she kissed his neck, and beneath his ear, and the tip of his ear. He felt the Orcs long teeth with each kiss, but if he were being honest, it turned him on more. She held her mouth just outside his ear, and said: “If we go any farther, we need a word. Just between us.” He nearly fainted in excitement. A word, she wants a safeword, she’s going to…

“I don’t know…” He panted, “Uh- Riverwood.” It was the first thing that came to mind, and it seemed simple enough. Even incoherent he should remember the name of where he lives.

“Perrrfect” She purred, he shivered again. She nipped him on the way down, but finally rested her hands on his hips. She dug her claws under his briefs and pulled them down over where his pelvis bones jutted out. Then his co*ck sprang free, and she made a sound in appreciation.

He never needed to shave, hair barely grew anywhere on his body, especially not on his face or privates. Faendel made the mistake of looking down to see her opening her mouth, and nearly lost all feeling in his legs. Her hot breath engulfed him first before the rest of her did. His co*ck nearly reached the front of her throat, nearly.

“By the nine-” He groaned, she chuckled, which went through his entire length. He couldn’t reach her head, his arms were still tied to that rack, so he was just working on surviving. She sucked it all the way out and in, then hollowed her cheeks to give it a good squeeze. He was already nearly there, he gasped a warning and she pulled off fast. He didn’t come, he sat at the edge for a minute and she started on him again as soon as he felt put together. It went like that for a dozen minutes, licking and sucking, taking him right to the brink, then letting it go. She was teasing him, that horrible woman.

“Yagr, I’m gonna-” He moaned loudly at the last one, she didn’t pull off in time and got a good amount straight down her throat. She looked at him disapprovingly.

“You are so getting punished for that.” Even in his post org*smic state a shiver ran through him, he was so excited he could barely breath. She untied him from the rack, but didn’t let him touch the floor. Which was good because he didn’t really want to walk. She bent him over the table, pushing a number of random plates and goblets onto the floor.

The table was wood and cold, his ass was exposed and facing her, while she pressed his head into the table. “Stay like that.” She said, a strange tone in her voice. He didn’t hear her pull her hand back, but he did hear the slap. It was strong, she slapped him hard against one cheek, he flinched, turning his head back to look at her questioningly. Then he realized, the strange tone in her voice was because she was turned on too. Her pupils were dilated, she had a grin on her face like nothing he’d ever seen before.

She hit him again before realizing he was watching her. She leaned forward and gave him a light kiss on the lips. “Two more, baby.” The Orc pulled back and hit him on the other side, his skin was tingling painfully. It was a good pain though. The only time he had tested putting things up there, it was a broomstick handle and he realized quickly that it was far too large. It stretched him so horribly, and when he took it out he felt that stretch for the next few hours, all while longing to try it again.

“I can’t take it any more.” She growled, pulling something out of her pocket. It was that ring! She jammed it on her finger and instantly her clothes fell off as if her body were a mere puff of cloud. He had seen her naked before, of course, but that was when they were outside, and they had just fought a battle. Now, she was looking at him like she wanted to eat him. Her nipples were taught, and her legs were a little shaky. Her thighs were thick and beautiful, so was her ass, he wanted to spank her next, admittedly. Faendel’s erection reacted before he did, he was still raking his eyes up and down her when it grew again.

“I’ve never had sex with an elf before.” She admitted, stepping forward to lift him onto the table, facing her.

“I’ve never.. had sex with an Orc.” He was panting again with need. His ass burned wonderfully, and his skin was aching for physical contact. They didn’t need to talk anymore, she didn’t kiss him, she ravaged him. Her tongue was down his throat, it was scraping the sides of his mouth. She didn’t pepper kisses down his body, she bit him. She sucked on his pale skin leaving bruises everywhere her lips touched. He squirmed underneath her, especially as she avidly avoided the most painful place in his body right now.

“I can’t f*ck you on this table.” She shuddered, taking a second to breathe away from his hot skin. “It’ll break.” He kind of wanted it to, almost more than he cared about splinters. She pushed him against the wall, holding her hands on either side. Their height difference was glaringly obvious now, she towered over him. She really could kill him easily, crush him between her thighs. Then they both sank down in the easiest position they could think of. One of the animal furs he had in his bag would have to do. He pulled it underneath him, and she sat on top of him, desperate and crazed for sex.

His co*ck brushed between the folds of her wet c*nt, and she angled herself right to sink down onto him. They both groaned loudly. She was hot and absolutely dripping. They sat like that, gathering both of their positions before moving again. The Orc rose, he had his arms on her waist, and she was pressing down on his shoulders, then she sank down again.

“Mmmmm.” She moaned. They had a rhythm now, the sounds their bodies were making was utterly obscene. She was so much larger than him, her breasts were dangling in front of him, ripe for the taking. He grabbed one of her nipples with his teeth, and she gasped. He quickly let it go, however. He screamed as he came, his co*ck was fully enveloped in her c*nt as he came shots of white inside of her body. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him against her, tight. Then she came too, her puss* convulsed around him, nearly causing him to org*sm a second time.

A warmth spread through his whole body like never before. They were both naked, and in a freezing dungeon, and yet, everything was right in the world. This was where they were meant to be, her sitting on top of him, joined together with not a care in the world.

She laughed softly, the joy seemingly overwhelming her too. “This was meant to be kinky; I swear.” She pressed her long tusks to his cheek, then stretched her lips forward into a wet kiss. “I’ll do better next time.”

“Next time…” He mumbled, feeling so happy, he could die right then and there. “Next time, let’s do it in an inn, like normal people.” They both laughed.

Chapter 2: Phallic Inclinations (gone sexual)

Chapter Text

Faendel’s love had that look in her eyes that meant she was pondering a question, but still rationalizing how to phrase it. Yagr kept glancing at him and looking away in earnest, tongue sometimes slipping between her teeth in a way that caused his chest to seize, it was too adorable to bear. And yet he left her musings interrupted for the better part of a day as he knew she would lose them if he did.

They were clearing out a mine full of spiders north of Riften when she approached him, dripping with poison and arachnid parts, looking as beautiful as ever.

“Yes, my love?” He asked first. The staring would go on for quite a bit longer if he didn’t. Yagr’s eyebrows were furrowed, and her bottom lip pouted beneath her large tusks.

“I wish I had a penis. Do you wish I had a penis? I wish I had a penis.” He tried not to blink in surprise. As always, she spoke slowly and deliberately. So, regardless of how confused he was by her outburst, he held his tongue as he didn’t want to appear dismissive.

“You wish to be a man?” Faendel interpreted. “Should we visit the College of Winterhold, no doubt Urag gro-Shub has some texts on the endeavor.” The loud scuttling of 1000 legs erupted in the distance. They both turned towards a cave entrance that had previously been blocked by wooden boards but was suddenly torn open by an army of man-sized frostbite spiders. At that moment the largest spider he had ever seen flung itself from the ceiling between them, sending the conversation into battle mode.

Yagr sliced at the enormous creature, hacking two legs off with her efforts. Faendel stepped back and notched an arrow. With its release it struck into a smaller spiders flank, tossing it into a corner.

“I wouldn’t say so.” She cried, “Being a woman encompasses me. I only wish to make love to others in the manner of a man.” More spiders charged at them, some climbing up the walls, and the orc chugged a healing potion in anticipation.

“You love your vulva, what made you change your mind?” Faendel discarded his bow in favor of using a weapon that could hit more targets at once. A greatsword enchanted with the ability to set ones foes alight. The cave sparked to life as his enemies were now on fire as well as poisonous. He hissed his regrets.

“I do love it, so much. But Uthgerd the Unbroken voiced that she’d rather I were a man, as my stubby fingers weren’t guiding her to any pleasure.” The Orc tossed her helmet aside and filled her lungs with air. The powerful words visibly took shape on her tongue, and she shouted both the flame and the spiders to pieces, rendering the cave dark and full of dead monsters.

She grabbed him and spun him close, pulling him tight to her chest. Faendel gulped.

“Also. I want to f*ck you in the ass.”

He gazed at her with longing. But against his will, his eyes flicked down to her privates, causing him to gulp again. “Let me see what I can do.”

The pair sometimes travelled separately when quests demanded it of them, particularly they most often demanded her presence, alone. This quest was unusual in it’s onset however, as Faendel quickly took it upon himself as his only determination in the entire realm to find a penis for Yagr.

Faendel travelled to Riften first on the back of a wagon. One that bumped him down the road, while he consulted his notes. Magic made to transform one’s sex wasn’t outlawed, per se. It was highly considered to be impolite, bordering on demonic, as most gendered issues were in Tamriel. There were many Daedric princes or princesses, he read, that identified as both, or neither, or were hemaphrodites in their own right. But to transform a mortal into a hermaphrodite was unthinkable, if not, a little strange.

Save for the Argonian that is, which is where he was attempting to approach now. Wujeeta the addict resided in the Riften fishery, and the book he had borrowed on the Hist mentioned a sap that had the ability to change Argonian hormones.

“What do you want me to say, I haven’t been to Black Marsh in years.” Wujeeta said to him, her scratchy voice tickling his ears, slightly accented, but thick with old Skooma smoke. They both leaned over the banister. Salmon and bass swam in the basem*nt below, and she tossed some grain in that interrupted the scum resting on the waters surface.

“I read about this Hist, I know it’s sacred to your people. Does it really affect your gender?”

“Look, I’m really not sure. I appreciate what you did for me with the healing potions, but I can’t help you.” She didn’t meet his eyes, and he walked away disappointed. Maybe more disappointed than he really was. He pressed his hand on the door to exit. “Wait!” She ran over, and leaned in to rasp quietly in his ear, “I heard a rumor that a face changer found her way into town recently. If you really want this, try the Ragged Flagon.”

Though he had visited the Cistern frequently in his time with Yagr, he was hesitant to be on his own. As he descended the ladder he felt naked, as the entire guild turned to look at him. Niruin lowered his bow, and Faendel tried not to roll his eyes. He had seen better shooting from Frodnar.

“Excuse me.” Faendel muttered. He walked right through the small crowd as if he belonged there, but no one stopped him at least. With more foresight it would have been safer to take the Ratway, but it was too late now.

“No pardon me, lass.” Brynjolf spoke curiously. “No Dragonborn today?” He accentuated the r in dragon by rolling it on his tongue. Faendel nodded. He wasn’t nervous. He belonged here.

“She gave me an errand,” He reached into his pocket and dangled some poor noblewomans silver necklace between his gloved fingers.

“Carry on then.” The man went back to his work. Thieving and secrecy weren’t questioned in the guild, only loyalties. Faendel shoved the necklace back in his pocket and made his way to the Ragged Flagon a bit quicker than before. It smelled down here, and he didn’t want to stay for long. Especially with the hungry way Sapphire was looking at him.

The woman he was looking for sat on the dock, her face obscured under a red hood. However as he watched her speak he noticed a distinctly Altmeran chin. Alongside her snooty accent of course.

“I do not have all day, vagabond.” Galathil chided with a sniff, intently reading her book and turning the pages on queue.

“Is it true that you can change a person’s appearance? Do you only work on faces, or the rest of the body as well?”

She appraised him. “Certainly I can give you the façade of meat on your bones, however filling you out with muscles is something you must accomplish all on your own.”

“No, sorry, it’s my friend. Er-“ Faendel looked around him, realizing that his audience was rather larger than his modesty could handle. He spoke quieter, and sat on the bench next to her. “My lady is interested in… changing her sex. She wants a penis. Is that something you can do.” Lucky for him, the Altmer regarded him with demure rather than disdain.

“Fantasies… as such are not within my skillset, I regret. Have you met with the Stoneweaver at Kynesgrove? I’ve heard she’s the greatest of our craft in Skyrim, outside of Winterhold of course.” He thanked her, and the woman sniffed again going back to her reading. But when she thought he wasn’t looking, she touched her pelvis with one hand, as if considering something she had never considered before.

He found the Stoneweaver in Steamscorch mine staring at a vein of malachite as if it had insulted her. She was Dunmer, middle aged and covered in tattoos, with her mages robe partially wrapped around her waist exposing her shoulders and top. And yet she had that certain elegance to her that all elves carried (a self-serving sentiment.) It took him two days to travel all this way North, for some reason just the sight of non-Nord company was enough to bring him to tears.

“Excuse me, I didn’t meant to interrupt.” Faendel introduced himself politely, though he actually did have every intention of interrupting- whatever this was.

“Just a moment, young man. This mine is always on the verge of collapse, if I don’t calm these stones then they really will kill us both.” The Dunmer switched her spell from blood-red to sky-blue and closed her eyes, focusing on the rock surrounding them. Though he was originally skeptical of her impact, miraculously the solid packed dirt seemed to grow even more solid, settling neatly into walls, floors, and ceilings with her guidance.

“Now what was it you needed?” She turned to him.

“Impressive bit of spellcraft, where did you learn that?” He was momentarily distracted from his quest. Something about powerful women was enough to set his gears into override.

She sighed, “I learned it a long time ago. I used to be appreciated, you know? Now what am I? A glorified janitor?” She sighed, and flicked her eyes upwards at him with an attractive amount of world-weariness. “The names Dravynea.” Oh right, his quest.

“What else are you skilled in Dravynea?”

She laughed haughtily, “Who’s asking?”

He leaned against the wall instinctively, resting his head in one hand.

“My partner and I are looking for something to spice up our sex life. I was told that you’re skilled in alteration, even better than Riften’s face changer. How do you feel about body modification?”

She scoffed, noticing his body language. “Easy. Would you like to be as large as a bear, or as skinny as a Falmer? Though with your weight, I wouldn’t go much thinner, unless that’s what the great Dragonborn likes.”

“You recognize me?” Faendel was surprised. With his obscuring black helmet and negligible presence in fables about Yagr, he wasn’t sure people knew she had a consistent adventure companion. Dravynea waved away his doubts, however.

“We’ve met once before, briefly. You and your lady slayed a dragon that was rampaging our village. One less task for me.” Dravynea looked him up and down, much like the face changer did two days ago, but with a different eye. “I’ll do your favor if you do me one in return. I’ve been courting a town miner, Gemma, and yet whenever we have time alone together her sister, Ganna, always breaks in and interrupts us. The girl’s straight as a whistle as well, which is unfortunate for me.” She quirked her lips and pressed her hands together in a praying gesture. “Can you get us a few hours alone tonight? I will do anything you ask, especially for her ladyship.”

Faendel didn’t need to be asked twice. He had his tongue in Ganna’s throat behind the inn later that night. Ganna was small and brunette, with a hardened face and calloused hands from spending her days mining and chopping wood. After approaching her at the bar, he only threw out a few pickup lines before she was giggling and squirming on his lap. He had never slept with an imperial woman before, but when he led her outside, she climbed him like a tree. With her legs wrapped around his waist and her hands tugging his hair he almost forgot the real meaning of this task.

“Do you-“ He started, breathily. She shushed him with another kiss.

“No, no speaking.” Ganna panted. “Just stay here with me.”

They were both fully clothed and yet the indecency of their position was increasingly erotic. She was grinding her hips against his, rubbing purely for her own carnal rhythm. Not that he wasn’t aroused as well, she bit his lip so hard it drew blood and he gasped, moaning into the pain. At her request, he pulled her skirts up over her hips and bore down into her body.

The initial contact was incredibly arousing, and he felt closer to the brink than he had felt with any woman other than Yagr. But just the thought of his love was enough to redirect his stimulation. Having the image of this imperial woman, this stranger, in his mind while he f*cked her wasn’t enough to bring him to org*sm. He almost lost his erection even. For a good few seconds he floundered, trying to go back to that rhythm, that sensation that had him moaning like a whor* just a minute before. However, it was only thoughts of his quest that turned him on again.

Yagr bending him over a table. Yagr kissing and prodding him. Yagr removing her own clothes to reveal his gift to her. And then slowly pushing it inside. Making love to him.

He came with her name on his lips into a body that wasn’t hers. Ganna didn’t seem to mind either as she cried a name of her own.

“Roggi, yes, f*ck me!” She gasped, her core spasming around him.

They split with little more than a thanks and a smile.

When Faendel met with Dravynea the next day she had an apologetic look on her face, one that told him everything before she even said it.

"I tried it last night with Gemma, what you were asking. I did everything I could, for several hours even,” She added with a blush, “I even tried it on myself. But no matter what spells I used I couldn’t make a penis grow out of a vulva. I’m sorry, love.” Faendel couldn’t help but pout a little. He was officially out of ideas.

As he walked home to Heljarchen he trudged his feet in despair.

He had travelled to the ends of Tamriel looking for a spell that would give his partner what she asked for. Yagr never asked anything of him, and he hated that he had failed the only thing he could fail, the only worthwhile thing he could offer her.

Dating the Dragonborn was difficult for such a simple man. Everyday he had to face her glory, face her magnificence, and understand that she is far too good for him. He thought with this one little quest he could pay back the excitement that she gifts him every day. And yet here he was, returning to her empty handed, with only one penis between them.

Moth gro-Bagol was working behind the property, chopping wood for that evenings fire. He was a strong, honorable man worthy of wielding the Dragonborn’s last name. Faendel dragged his feet as he approached the Orc, hoping his misery didn’t reach his face. And yet the man had a sixth sense, because he immediately set down his axe and pulled Faendel into a hug of welcoming.

“No luck, huh?” Moth said, putting the small elf back on the ground.

“No. Not a single soul in Skyrim knows how to magic a penis onto a vulva.”

A funny look struck Moth’s face, and he blinked at Faendel three times before belting out a hearty laugh. The elf smiled despite himself. The situation was funny, admittedly.

“Is that why you’ve been gone! Yagr’s been acting like you died, moping around the place, and I told her that you’d return any day now. But you were gone looking for a penis?” He laughed again, slapping the elf on the back.

“It’s what she asked for!” Faendel defended himself, “And she could have come find me if she was so upset. Even so, I’ve returned with nothing. I failed.”

"A penis you say?” Moth commented, still giggling, “I can get you one of those.”

“Not yours! One for Yagr.” The orc nodded, wiping a tear from his eye.

“My beautiful wife had asked me for one before she asked you, and so I made one. I intended to give it to her for Heart’s day. But if you need it so badly, I can give it to you now. It would be too small for me to use, anyways.”

The pair snuck past the house to the carriage Yagr had hired, which was sitting out front. The carriage driver was somewhere else breaking bread with Uthgerd and the bard, and so Moth lifted one of the carriages benches and pulled out a small bag he had stowed there. Inside was a perfectly crafted, wooden phallus, equipped with a leather harness so that she can wear it.

They were both cracking up when they entered the house arm in arm, bag safely in Faendel’s back pocket. The girls were asleep upstairs, Moth said, and the other three houseguests were away on one of their “activities.” Breaking bread. The blushing bride was sitting alone at the table in the center of the house, mulling over some stew with the veracity of a depressed draugr. When she caught sight of him it was as if he struck her. Her eyes were as round as dinner plates and she scrambled to her feet. If you were blind you might assume the woman was poor at expressing herself, but she didn’t need to say it out loud when she missed him. Rather, Yagr threw herself at him, rubbing her chin into his shoulder and squeezing him breathless.

“I- missed you- too.” He choked out, patting her on the back. “I have a surprise for you.” Faendel could finally say when she released him. Once again her emotions were plain on her face.

“Alright.” She dredged, and he led her downstairs where no one would hear them.

As soon as the cellar hatch shut, she was on him like a house on fire. She lifted him off the ground and pulled him into the next room where the heat of the forge made up for the chill of the cobble wall, which she was currently pressing him against. Yagr’s long tusks brushed against his cheeks, and he wound her dreads around his fingers.

“Wait!” He groaned, “The surprise.” He had to stop her now, her hands were weaving dangerously lower and lower down his chest. She set him down, apologetically, so that he could reach for the bag. As he pulled out her gift, 7 whole elegant inches of walnut wood, her eyes lit up with wonder.

“Moth made it for you.” He explained, “He said we could use it.”

The giggle she let out was real, and it made his legs weak. “That’s hilarious.” She said, pulling it out and admiring it.

He helped her remove her clothes, but she put the phallus on herself as if by reflex. The strap fit perfectly, and the leather was treated so that it wouldn’t chafe. That orc was sickeningly thoughtful, Faendel wanted to kiss him. Another day. He thought.

With it fully on, she swung it around, laughing, as was custom. Faendel immediately fell to his knees, also laughing, but truly the heat of his desire was burning him inside out. He leaned forward and kissed the tip of the shaft, causing her to laugh again. Being on his knees in front of her, he felt as if he were worshipping her, he kissed the insides of her thighs, turning his head to look at the penis he had worked so hard to find. Only to realize it had been home this whole time.

“We need lube.” Yagr grunted. He looked up at her, and her eyes were half lidded, her mouth slightly open watching him. He moved to stand, but she pushed him back down, gesturing that he should allow her. She climbed up the ladder and lifted the hatch, calling quietly for her husband in the dark. Moth appeared, climbing down the ladder with her and whistling at Faendel, who sat naked on the floor where she left him.

“You called?” He asked, pulling out lubricant from his apron.

“That’s for people, I hope, not machines?” Faendel asked, inching closer to the forge as the floor was sapping his warmth. Moth rubbed his hands together, and he and his wife encroached Faendel like hunting wolves.

Faendel reflected on an earlier time where two orcs towering over him might have filled him with terror. Now, he whimpered, rock hard and leaking on the cold stones.

Just as he imagined it, Yagr bent him over a chest in the corner, propping his torso on a pillow which was conveniently stuffed in a nearby barrel. She had her lips on him first, kissing his left cheek and licking a line down his center. Faendel couldn’t see from where he was sitting, but the wet sounds she was making were obscene, and did he imagine a second tongue, making love to that place beside her? The elf gave a loud moan at the thought, wriggling slightly and hoping for even more friction.

Fingers came next. Faendel adjusted himself so that he were fully bent over the chest, head to wooden surface. Rough hands, larger than Yagr’s, wrapped around his hips pulling them up for a better position. Yagr was f*cking him with one, two, three fingers. Slowly. She pulled them out and he heard her spit on them before pushing them back in, deeper and steadier this time. Faendel’s brain short circuited as the hands on his hips rubbed circles into his skin, and the fingers in his ass reached places he never knew were just waiting to be touched.

“I think he’s ready.” A low male voice growled behind him. He felt Yagr stand and press her hips to his waist. She shifted the thick phallus behind him and slapped it against his wet behind, lightly giggling, and kissing the man who stood beside her, assisting in their love making.

“What’s our word.” She whispered, lips brushing his pointed ear.

“Uh-“ Thinking was hard, “Riverwood. Wait can I get a new one, that one f*cking sucks.” He was dawdling, lightly humping himself against her to put pressure on that spot that was so well worked. “Arrow.” He moaned and a second later she plunged in.

Breeding. That was the only word for it. Surely after this he would be pregnant, because she didn’t peg him, or have sex with him or any other word, the only way it could be described was that she was f*cking him. The wooden co*ck was cold in the beginning but it quickly warmed to his body temperature inside him, and was sliding easily in and out. He was wanton beneath her, shuddering and coaxing her with words that he wouldn’t be able to recall later. Dirty words that only existed between the three of them. Her long fingernails dug into his sides, leaving small marks of broken skin that would stay for the next few days.

Finally, she reached a spot that caused him to scream, instead of moan, his rotten vocal chords unable to comprehend the reality of his pleasure. His hands were bunched in front of him, clasping the wooden surface as one would a life preserver. All the while he was acutely aware of her husband, Moth gro-Bagol beside her, giving her tips and pressing one hand to Faendel’s waist.

His org*sm hit like a fireball to the back, coursing through him and causing his muscles to contract around her like a heartbeat. It went on for longer than any he had before, and he was still org*sming as she pulled out of him and jumped Moth. The next round of sex would have to be without him. He was a floor person now. Sprawled out on the ground completely naked, and deliriously happy.

Several minutes later the two were kissing him and tickling him, both crouched beside him on the floor. It was everything he wanted and more.

Aometimes when Faendel was feeling especially self-deprecating, watching his charge defeat dead gods, and fulfill ancient prophecies, he thought that he had drawn a sorry lot in life. That somehow he had cheated his way into her presence, as if she hadn’t chosen him. But with the Dragonborn laying next to him stark naked, devoted eyes on him and giddily teasing his hair. And with her husband on the other side laying on his back, allowing Faendel to use his arm as a pillow. He knew that he was the luckiest Elf in Tamriel.

Chapter 3: I (33M) fell in love with my girlfriend's (46F) husband (47M)

Chapter Text

Faendel marched after her fully aware that they had been walking for days at that point, looking for some sort of target that stretched halfway across the country. He wasn’t a complainer, he believed, but this was just growing excessive.

“Yagr,” He groaned, “Couldn’t we have hired a wagon!” She gave a long-suffering sigh.

“I told you to sit this one out.”

“But I hate to leave you alone. What if that awful Daedric prince gets hold of you again. Last time I couldn’t find you for two whole weeks.”

She didn’t respond to that one. In fact he was surprised she even responded at all. It wasn’t really her style, after all, it was one of the things that he loved about her. Their silences were never uncomfortable, even when she would give up on a conversation right in the middle. Once, when she stopped speaking out of the blue, he had questioned it. She had simply responded that when she felt further dialogue unnecessary she also no longer had the desire to speak. With others, like her husband, they might insist, but he much liked her take on the world at large.

Though this particular take at the moment was more than annoying. She had decided some weeks ago that wagons were overly expensive for their service and that using them had made her grow weak and lazy. Walking everywhere was more exhausting than he had anticipated. Breaking his own personal rules, he reached forwards and tugged at her wrist. She quickly yanked her arm away, but paused in her walking when she realized his tug was on purpose.

Standing in the center of the road, she folded her arms, watching him with those beady, red eyes. Her hair was messier than usual, giving her quite the bedhead. Thinking of her in bed almost distracted him.

]“I need a rest. Heljarchen is just over the hill, why don’t we return home and continue this adventure tomorrow?”

"No. Go yourself.”

He sighed. She turned and walked away, leaving him on the road. Being surprised about her social ineptitude was also a waste of time. And so he ran to catch up with her, handing her the rest of the food her husband had packed them days ago so he could turn back for home. She gave him a quick farewell kiss, and they separated. She’ll return in a day or two for him. It wasn’t as if his presence was always absolutely necessary. From what he could gather she was in some organized crime groups that required discretion, so he always left her for their meetings. And it wasn’t as if her home were uncomfortable without her. It still frustrated him, however, and he allowed himself the time between when they split ways and when he returned home to grumble over it.

He brushed his gloved hand down the mane of Yagr’s horse on the way in, ignoring the fresh pile of bodies hidden behind the shed. Being a famous dragonborn meant that your name was passed around criminal circles, evidently. Her private guard was more than just decoration, of course.

“Faendel!” Yagr’s daughter cried upon spotting him walking up the path. He took off his helmet while she ran to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, almost knocking him over with her joy.

“Hey kiddo,” He hugged her back and rubbed her head. He bent down to her level and pulled her facing him, “Goodness! Look at your tooth, that happened recently?”

“Uh-huh!” Sofia’s front tooth missing, and she held it out to him now, bloody root and all. “It fell out during dinner!” She dragged the fully armored mercenary up her front steps, “And Gracie ate a mushroom and she almost died! And we had to talk to Farengar and he said Momma’s a really good wizard, and he gave Gracie a potion and I smelled it and it smelled really gross.” She skipped through the front door, and Yagr’s steward greeted him.

There were many hired staff that roamed his companions many properties but Uthgerd must be his least favorite. With her gruff voice and constant invitations to fight, he merely tolerated her presence. Yagr seemed to love her, however, and they sparred regularly, so he held his tongue.

Her husband, on the other hand, was a different story. Moth gro-Bagol was dancing in the center room with that bard they hired simply to spread merriment about the dreary place. It did help, in actuality. The brunette Nord was youthful and sweet, in fact she reminded him of Camilla in more way than one. The thought of his former lover sent a cringe down his entire body.

"Faendel, well met!” Moth gro-Bagol called from across the room, a grin spread wide over his toothy face. “And where is my darling wife?” A rather sentimental description.

“Out questing. As always, she has greater stamina than I.” Faendel crossed the way and allowed himself to be spun around the table. He laughed, he hadn’t even taken his armor off and yet his body might as well have been a feather for Moth.

“You owe yourself more credit my friend! A sleep a day is below average for my culture.” They danced for some time, the Orc leading him in all the moves he couldn’t remember. As the bard finished her song the two men faced eachother in a bow. The girls clapped from where they were sitting in the railing, a single butterfly balanced itself on Gracie’s nose.

Faendel didn’t have a room in the house to store his armor and bow, rather he kept his things beside Yagr’s in the basem*nt where even the fish had a place to sleep. Usually, he slept in bed with Moth while Yagr was away. Not a problem for him, but it did send a fine blush across his cheeks to lie in bed with a married man. A well endowed one at that. Privacy was spent in this house like Yagr spent sleep, practically non-existent, so he was very well aware of the exact shape and dimensions of her husbands body. A marvel he filed away in his mind for those nights without her.

Was he upset that he didn’t have a room? It was a strange thought, being as close as he was to this great family. One would look at their situation and consider many different possibilities about their living arrangements. Were he an affair partner? A boyfriend, or a third? If the one in this hypothetical were named Faendel, they might be wondering if he were a sort of concubine. She expended him as such. He felt rather more like a possession than a boyfriend, or hired help. If she came home she might lift him by the armpits and hang him from the weapon rack beside his bow, it was only proper.

He climbed back up the ladder and loitered in the kitchen. The smells that Moth could create were as sensational as his body. (An odd thought for a person to have as often as he did, he was well aware.)

"You left her the home cooked meals I prepared for you both, I presume?” The Orc asked, bent over the furnace, a steaming jazbay crostata in hand.

“I did, but my presumption is that both of our efforts were in vain. Wheedle would tremble at the feet of her self-maintenance habits.” Faendel rested with his arms folded across his chest. His armor was safely put away, and he was dressed in a simple green tunic with his favorite pair of trousers, the ones that bunched around his boots and slipped off easily on hot nights. Moth chuckled low in his throat, and set the pie down on a table to cool.

“And she’s treating you well?” He asked, which was not such a surprising question from him.

Faendel thought of his response with a slight quirk to his lips. “Yes, if you overlook how when she’s done with me, I squirm when I sit.” At that Moth gave a full belly laugh and clapped Faendel on the shoulder.

“She’ll do that to ya!” He laughed again but this time Faendel joined in his laughter. Together they cleared the dinner dishes and reset the table for the pies and pastries Moth had been baking. The rest of the evening was spent eating sweet treats while drinking, dancing, and sharing dirty jokes when the children couldn’t hear.

As he predicted, he slept in bed with Moth.

The man was easily 300 pounds. He towered over everyone he had ever met, which usually sent a thrill through Faendel. Before Faendel met the dragonborn, when he still believed himself to be attracted to the petiteness of Nord and Elven women, he would have found lying in bed with an Orc to be more terrifying than death. Even extending his attraction to Yagr, who was a large Orc herself, this man was ostensibly large. Of course, Faendel’s love for her was unimaginably obvious in retrospect. Which was why now he lay like a man in death, but rather in anticipation.

Anticipation was a strong word, he decided after some time. The room stunk of spirits and wine, a taste which burned in Faendel’s mouth and stomach as well as his mind. His thoughts moved at a snails pace even if they were singularly focused.

It was the witching hour, and the house was completely silent except for the groaning of the wind on the mountainside. He felt the floors creak in his bones and privately wished it were the bed creaking instead. Most of the wine went to his dick, actually. It was standing at full mast beneath the sheets, and blood pounded in his ears as he struggled to not do the thing he so badly wanted to do. Soft breaths puffed from just an inch away from him. The orc’s large, impressive body was curled in the same sheets as he, and his breathing was slow in sleep, his warmth was hot, hot, hot against Faendel’s side. Nearly as hot as his length. f*ck, he needs to stop giving it any mind.

With resignation Faendel scrambled out of bed. If anyone asked, like the 3 staff that slept in various places around the house, he was going to relieve himself outside. And not relieve himself relieve himself, but to relieve his bladder and or other body parts. Once again, he was grateful for those baggy pants. As he tiptoed past the open doorway towards the stairs, he attempted to adjust his erection so that it lay flat against his stomach.

Oh, why did he drink all that wine! He didn’t so much as walk down the stairs as fall down them, crashing to the floor, sh*t. He knocked over some sort of bottle as well, possibly a bottle of wine, and the sticky substance was all over his pant leg.

"Sofie is that you?” Uthgerd yawned, leaned back in a chair by the fire like some sort of Daedra without need for soft places to rest.

"Apologies Steward, it is only me, Faendel. I meant to go outside, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

"Ah. Safe travels, Bosmer.” She mumbled, slumbering once more.

He cursed his clumsiness again while stepping out into the cold. Oh, how he wished his lover would return, she would take care of him so quick and easy. He shut himself into the stable stall, a wall separating him from any sleeping animals, so that he may take care of his erection on his own. The building smelled of hay, horse sh*t, and coagulated blood. Doing his best to ignore the circ*mstances, he grasped himself, pulling his length out from his pants and mercilessly rubbing it through his fist. His own touch was like lightning. Goosebumps erupted over his entire body as he worked his way through it, but even as he pushed against that edge he knew it wouldn’t work.

"f*ck.” His bottom lip were between his front teeth, and he tugged his pants down further so that he may feel himself even further. He pressed his fingers against his entrance, and realizing it wasn’t enough, he spat in his hand and began to rub that tight sphincter. But his appreciation of the darkness that surrounded him on all sides was overcome by the rigid fear that gripped his chest. If even a simple bandit were to approach him at this moment, he would be completely vulnerable to attack. He wasn’t so used to being afraid and horny at the same time, it was making him dizzy, on top of his drunkenness.

He couldn’t release, no matter how many fingers he reached into his core. He was a shameful mess when he finally gave up, pulling his baggy pants over his pre-ejacul*te and spit covered lower body. If she would just come home to him. He chewed his lip again.

In his mind, there was something that would relieve him within only a few dozen meters of himself. He was so hard he would have taken a sexy looking rock at this moment in time, but a warm body sounded even better.

It wasn’t a spoken rule that he mustn’t touch her husband, only an unspoken one. Of course, Moth had touched him in the past. But Faendel and Yagr didn’t speak of their relationship at all, similar to how they didn’t speak of much anything else in the realm. It were only fair, his muddled mind came up with. If she were to leave him alone, ridiculously horny and drunk and without anything to f*ck, he would have to ask someone else.

Faendel tiptoed back into the house, up the stairs past the sleeping Nord, and onto that large, creaky bed. He was breathing heavily, but he tried to not get ahead of himself. Even now there where were boundaries he was unwilling to broach. Even with his experience slaying a myriad of sentient and penitent creatures over the years he had known Yagr. Violating a person in their sleep was egregious, and so he hesitated.

“’re you okay? I heard you fall.” The great lump grumbled from his side of the bed, and Faendel nearly gave a big sigh in relief.

"I need to ask you something.” Faendel stuttered out, sitting up and shuffling his legs close to his body. The man turned over to look at him in the dark.

"Is that potion on your pants?” Moth asked, a little more awake than before. Faendel had somehow forgotten the accident on the stairs, but the bottle he had knocked over was indeed some sort of health potion. When he looked, he saw it had soaked through to his leg, and sent a tingling sensation over his calf. Suddenly, to Faendels surprise the man reached over and tugged at the pants! He pulled them off satisfyingly easily and sat up, wiping what was left of the potion on Faendels body with the discarded clothing.

"Hate the smell of that stuff, don’t know how Yagr drinks it like she does. What did you want to ask, friend?” Oh, great Meridia, why was he not wearing any underthings. His erection was on full display with his pants off, and it was far too late to hastily pull the blanket over his shame.

"I-“ Faendel stammered over his words, turning as pink as a peach. “Usually, she helps me with it. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it to happen like this.” The great man must have realized what he was seeing in the dark. He was looking at Faendel lower body with wonder, taking in all of him, which was not very much actually. His hard co*ck was now bobbing against his shivering midsection, he felt so awkward he could die. He really should get that blanket on now, the cold was an excuse enough to forget all this. Especially as the man raked his eyes down Faendel’s hips.

"I can help, if it’s okay.” The Orc spoke, his voice thick and warm. They were facing each other on the bed. One in a shirt and no pants, and the other in pants with no shirt, a turn of events that would be funny if it weren’t so full of lust. Moth reached for Faendel, gently wrapping both hands around his waist. He pulled the Elf closer to him.

For a second Moth looked at his co*ck nervously, as if he hadn’t faced one before. Faendel wondered if he really hadn’t, he had been married to Yagr for so long now, he may only be familiar with her body and nothing else. A predicament not unfamiliar to Faendel. But soon the man found his courage and touched him, one hand still on his waist but his other hand around his… Oh that was exactly what his body was looking for. Faendel bit back a moan and leaned forward against Moth’s bare chest. When Faendel’s eyes fluttered open again a second later he realized he wasn’t the only one completely erect.

"We can help each other. If it’s okay” He whispered. The man nodded, allowing Faendel to finger the edge of Moth’s trousers and dip his fingers down the mans hips. Moth hissed between his teeth when Faendel slid the pants over his ass. A beautiful ass it was, as well. Very full, he’d have to get a proper look at it when he can later. Moth helped him pull the pants down his legs, and then they were both sitting there on the bed, bottom halves completely naked.

Faendel decided to take control of the situation because the man was taking too long to react for his liking. He seemed content to stare and stare and stare as Faendel only grew harder. Faendel leaned back against the headboard so that his back was to the bed and the Orc was in the perfect place. On top of him, nearly crushing him.

"Okay. If we press them together like this, and you move, then it will feel good. I do this with Yagr sometimes during her monthly bleeds.” If it were strange to mention making love to another mans wife while masturbating with him, Faendel tried to pretend it weren’t. Yagr’s favorite position was with him inside and beneath her, buried fully to the hilt and trembling from lovingly given pain, but she wasn’t here right now.

Moth grunted in understanding, and then started to move. It was nearly perfect. The pressure was just right, the movement was amazing, having a man’s naked body on himself was turning him on so much that a younger him might have clutched his pearls in fear. One thing was missing, though, and the feeling of it was growing greater and greater second by second.

Being half f*cked was nice enough, he could admit. He felt Moth’s hot breath and sultry eyes raving over his face. Even better, the mans dick was pressing against his own, and with every thrust he was getting closer and closer to that edge he was nearly at in the shed. But still not quite there. Faendel tested the words on his tongue before he released them.

"I need… you… inside me….” He panted. The root of the problem was that his core was horribly, and painfully empty. He felt hollow, like one of those ghosts that ravaged the halls of the dead, moaning out for release with no end. Moth adjusted beneath him, and he felt his dick pressing against his lower parts, closer to where he needed them but still not close enough. “Mmmm.” He groaned, “Please… I want you.” Faendel reached forward and wrapped his arms around the mans neck, pulling them as close as they can be without being swallowed.

"I can’t find it.” Moth grunted softly, Faendel felt a giggle rising in him, “Help me.” The Orc’s voice was almost desperate, the sound of it turned Faendel on so perilously he may have came right then and there. But, and it was all Yagr’s fault, he needed another person inside him for sweet release now. A curse and a blessing all piled into one.

He reached down under them both, accidentally grazing Moth’s ballsack with his long fingernails, causing the man to hiss a curse into Faendels lips. Faendel felt for that long, and thick co*ck, which was so large he was already imagining the pain it would bring him the next day, agonizing and hopeful. The head was between his fingers, and he pushed it against his hole.

“There.” He whispered, peppering sweet kisses over the mans upper lip, “Push in, don’t worry about hurting me.”

He did push in. With a delicate pop the head was in and Faendel writhed under his heavy, hot body. Moth pushed in even more and he nearly fainted, it felt so good. Faendel had never had anything quite this thick inside him and he may have accidentally ruined himself. The more seconds that went by he knew that this was something he would never recover from. The Orc was pushing into him so, so sweetly, whispering promises all along the way. He was becoming addicted to this man and his co*ck, an addiction that already extended to his wife. Faendel was a full fledged convert now, he was ready to be this couples possession and soul and body, as long as it meant having Moth’s enormous co*ck in his ass or Yagr’s tight c*nt around his dick.

He came immediately. In every other sense of the word it was disappointing if only that he wanted to be f*cked for hours, days even, and he was already exhausted after the first minute. He writhed forever, however. Endorphins flooded every inch of his body and he trembled violently, cursing and showering blessings on the gro-Bagol family line with every breath. And Moth was talking to him through it the whole time, kissing him and running his hands over Faendels hips, not even f*cking him any longer, only giving him everything he needed to release and more. Moth came only a second after Faendel’s org*sm was finished, flooding his body with sticky, white sem*n.

They were both breathing heavily, and held onto eachother for a long time afterwards until their breaths turned into soft sighs. At some point, Moth had flipped Faendel over so he were laying on his chest, but his body were still small in Moth’s arms so that there was no strain on either end. They didn’t have to say a word to eachother. It was as easy as he had imagined, and so he fell asleep on his new lover, ear on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

Chapter 4: this just in: local author brags about use of dragon language in her videogame smut

Chapter Text

Yagr was sitting by the fire picking her teeth with the sharp end of her knife. Faendel was watching her with hearts in his eyes.

They had been lovers for nearly two seasons and yet he still hadn’t learned more about her than her fighting style, and her sexual preferences. Without a doubt he knew more than most about the infamous Dragonborn. Tales were widespread of her valor, her efforts in the civil war, even her more notorious acts in Riften and Solitude spread to the farthest reaches of Tamriel. Though if they knew that she cleared the draugr from the resting place of their grandfathers, they did not yet know that she cleared the draugr from their grandfathers father’s tomb, and that person’s father before him. Faendel knew.

He knew that she would rather walk through fire than use a potion that protected against it, as she claimed the tingles it left on her skin were more unpleasant than burns. He knew that she killed far more dragons than he knew. More than the scholars of Skyrim may even know, ones that had no time to rise from their graves before their bones lay, smoking on the ground. He knew that she liked Goat cheese most of all, Eidar cheese being a not so close second. Evidently he didn’t know much at all, which is why she was on his mind nearly all of the time.

The Orc took a large bite of skeever that she had been roasting on the fire, then nibbled on some of the cheese she had been saving for this meal. Savoring every bite.

“Tell me about where you came from.” Faendel interrupted. The dark that surrounded them paled to the safety he felt under her gaze. The stars above wished to be as bright as his love for her.

“Strange little elf.” She spoke with her mouth full, her gaze was fire on his skin. Yagr wiped her gauntlet across her mouth and watched him, looking for clarification.

He obliged. “You weren’t raised in a stronghold?”

“No.” She grunted, satisfied. “I was raised by Nords.”

He reached for a bite of cheese, and she eyed his movement, nose twitching.

“Were they quiet folk, they raised you in like?”

“No. Lively, loud, as all Nords are.”

Faendel nodded in agreement. He spent the past few years in a Nord village, so he was aware of their species’ inclinations. “I would love to meet them.” He said, leaning back with his prize in hand. The chill was potent and spread through his armor, but the fire, and her presence was welcome.

“I wish you could have as well.” She chewed thoughtfully; a cricket chirped behind them in the bush. “They’re dead.”

They shared the moment of silence together. One that wasn’t uncomfortable, at this point he was acquainted with her manner of speaking. He was briefly saddened by the untold story, however. Though, if she wasn’t sharing then he doubted she would.

Faendel breached the quiet anyways. “You were a fastidious child, I imagine.”

“…Quite.”

It was growing late. She worked on putting away their dinner while Faendel set up furs for the pair to sleep on. Rest was a rare and necessary resource, so they didn’t spend as much time in each other’s arms this night as the ones previous. Her heavily built body, warm and close, was a wall between him and any creatures that intended to harm them in the night.

In the morning he was disappointed to find he was no longer enveloped under her weight. She was eating Skeever again, and examining her map. Yagr looked around at the snow peaked mountains, and Faendel gave a great yawn.

“There’s a dragon just beyond the pass guarding a word of power.” She informed him between chews, “Gather yourself. We will slay the dragon and move on to Ivarstead.”

He yawned again, blinking dreams of her lips out of his mind. To his surprise, as if she had cast a spell into his mind she reached out and pulled him into a kiss. He leaned into it, smiling, and then kissed her cheek, and then her neck, before she could pull him off.

“Later.” She reminded. He helped her pack.

They had to battle bandits in the ruins of Helgen before they reached the dragons lair. He hadn’t the privilege of witnessing the small town in its prime. Now drenched in both the blood of the innocent, and the blood of violent squatters, Helgen’s ashes melded their remains into a past that would soon be distantly forgotten.

"Bandits confuse me.” He admitted. “Is there really such profit to robbing and murdering? I don’t often see their dirt encrusted faces visiting Whiterun or Solitude, where do they spend their riches? Where do they make their beds?”

"They sleep together of course. Mating like voles.” Yagr said, nose wrinkled as she kicked a limp body outside the Helgen gate. “Don’t you think?”

Faendel mocked a gag and shoved her while she laughed. They continued their banter up the mountain, where they heard the dragon before they saw it.

This was his favorite part, in all honesty. Wind whipped their small frames as the mountain pass broke to blue sky, and a 50 feet tall, 5 ton beast beat its wings violently, facing them in the thin air. Faendel’s arrow was nocked faster than his mind registered the necessity of it, but Yagr, the f*cking animal, interrupted his bearings with a shout.

“JOOR ZAH FRUL” The ancient word erupted from her chest like thunder and enveloped the hissing dragon with wild green magic, that lassoed the creature to the ground. “Stay here!” She called back to him.

Adrenaline rushed through his chest. He shot at the dragon a few dozen times, stepping closer with each action. All while doing so his beautiful Orc companion was fighting it valiantly. She was only a foot away from it. His heart was in his throat, he moved even closer, as if his presence might shield her from whatever happens next.

The women wrapped her arms around the beast’s scaly neck like it was just another Morndas. Using momentum from her grip, she threw herself onto it’s back so that she may strike it on its belly without being trampled under its weight. Faendel shot one, two, three arrows at it, before the dragon tossed Yagr aside just an arm’s length from him and again ascended into the sky.

“You’re in the way!” She panted, getting to her feet, “I don’t need you here, go further away.” She pointed in a general direction and took off the opposite way to the beast. Faendel looked around him. If he went to where she gestured, she would be left bearing the brunt of the dragons attacks, while he was safe to shoot at it. But in all honesty, he was taking too long to think.

It breathed hot ice in his vicinity, freezing the ground into white crystals that tugged at his boots. He ducked behind a pillar. But the dragon was roaring again, sucking in breath and filling its belly with even more of its tempestuous magic, not giving him a moment to readjust his position before it was dousing him in the stuff. He was frozen solid where he stood, his helmet blew off and a thousand little knives ripped at his skin all at once.

Faendel was only semi-conscious for the next few minutes before he defrosted.

“Get off the f*cking platform!” Yagr was shouting at him, all while surrounding the both with warm yellow healing magic. “Go back to the mountain!” His mind tried to comprehend her words and he fell to his hands and knees, shivering. She pulled him up and pushed him towards his path, “Go to the mountains!” She said again, catching the dragons foot as it swooped down, and allowing herself to get pulled up with it.

Damnit. If he hesitated it was simply mortal error. Faendel rose to his feet, still shaky, and tried to run to the mountains. To his credit he made it halfway there before the infernal thing was freezing him again. This time, he blacked out.

When he was conscious again, her rage was so palpable he could taste it in the air. She was trembling with anger when he opened his eyes. Mortification hit him before the fear did. He saw the dragons’ bones scattered across the ground. She killed it without him. Large scratches marred her armor, and blood dripped down her face.

Soon she was grabbing him by the arms and shaking him. “You expect me to save you? You expect me to keep one eye on you and the other on our enemies in battle?” Yagr threw him to the ground once more, but in disgust now, spitting on the stone.

“No. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His voice trembled with the effort of revival. She ran her hands through her hair, then turned to glare at him.

“I am not your babysitter, why didn’t you listen to me?”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He repeated, mumbling the words like a prayer. Her face twisted in fury while she looked at him. He stayed close to the ground, sure that if he stood his dizziness would overwhelm him. Finally, she lost the fight in her. She was obviously tired and gave a big resolute sigh.

“You are clumsy, careless, I can stand it no longer.” She bit her lip but looked away at the last second. “Go home to your village, elf. You have no place by my side.”

His heart shattered into a thousand or a million pieces. Sobs racked through his body, but he continued to shiver, his skin painfully cold. “Please.” He cried through breaths, “I love you. Please.”

She didn’t say another word to him, simply leaving him lying there on the ground.

The dragon’s bones, a cart’s length away, steamed in the morning air. Faendel’s gaze hovered on the blue, blue sky. Clouds drifted by carelessly. When he caught his wits he reached around him and quickly realized that his bow had shattered during the fight. It seemed impossible but the dragon’s breath must have crystallized it’s resilient ebony, he let the beautiful black shards fall through his blue, blue fingers. That could have been him, that could have been his body. That horrible ogre of a woman had left him here, heartbroken, helpless, and half dead when she should have killed him. She did kill him. She revived him and then killed him again. That bitch.

The walk of shame back to Riverwood took three quarters of a day. Walking through those front gates, he knew people would look at him, he knew they would talk about him, but he had nothing to say.

His bed was warm, softer than the cold ground but not as nice as the inns and houses he had been staying in. Yagr’s houses. With staff, maids and butlers that fluffed one’s pillows and tidied ones discarded clothes on the floor.

His room was small. The fire didn’t warm him the way it used to.

And so it went for the next few despairing weeks. Eventually he even returned to the mill, chopping wood for bread. Once a week Gerdur would invite him over for a meal, and he would teach Frodnar how to handle a bow. His experience being far more valuable than his company, he was grateful to her and her family for their hospitality. Even in the state he was in.

Faendel wiped the sweat off his brow and turned his sharp nose to the sky, for a second he thought he might see a dragon fly over. Riverwood wasn’t stranger to dragons, however each time they struck he hoped against all odds that he’d see her riding it’s back. He shook his head and went back to work. Better off not thinking about that. Somehow, he had returned to his old life, the life he thought was long over, and he was meant to find happiness again in mediocrity.

He spent his nights drinking away his thoughts at the Sleeping Giant. He even made company with Sven of whom he had previously hoped he might never see again. Their old rivalry was a drop of water in a bucket now. Each night he surpassed his previous limit in ale, which still wasn’t much comparatively. The Nords of the village would tease the flush that touched the tips of his ears, and the openness of his eyes when he was hammered. They’d pull his secrets from him like entrails even, if they weren’t also drunk beyond reason he might have been right to fear the next day’s consequences.

Sven staggered over to where he sat against the wall, clasping an arm over his shoulder, and leaning on his lute.

“Faendel, my old pal. Ralof over there and I were discussing conventions, and he is utterly convinced that you Bosmer are smaller than a pinky finger. Is this true, my friend?” He sloshed his drink as he spoke, and Ralof burst into hearty laughter from his vantage point.

Faendel sniffed, the world spinning around him. “Is it true that you Nords have testicl*s larger than your fists, and that your women use them as pillows?” More laughter from the peanuts. Embry toasted to that.

How he ended up with Sven’s co*ck in his mouth was beyond him. They stood behind the inn in the dead of night, the larger man’s hands were fisted in Faendel’s hair while the elf swallowed him down on his knees. His balls were appropriately sized he had found out, but his shaft was certainly a marvel, something worthy to gag on. Men all smell, he generally found, however Sven smelled sweeter than most. Like pine with a hint of musk. Faendel swallowed in pleasure, causing the other man to grunt out, feeling the edge of his org*sm.

And another grunt was only the warning he was going to get as Sven released deep in the recesses of his throat. Faendel leaned back on his calves, spitting the ejacul*tion into the bushes, and coughing. He readjusted his position so that he was sitting, back to the stones of the inns foundation. Sven staggered off with a simple nod in appreciation, stumbling his way to his cabin in the dark.

Vision still spinning, Faendel watched the night sky, attempting to keep himself from vomiting all that expensive ale onto the ground. The stars were infinitely bright this far away from Whiterun. The three stars that made up the brow of the Ritual constellation streaked across the sky. He didn’t think he appreciated it enough back then. But on the mountain’s peak, the Throat of the World, the heavens were impossibly numerous, and stars glittered evenly against a pitch-black horizon.

Tears settled on his lashes. Which is how Camilla found him, crying gently, and heaving fiery drink from his guts. She pulled his hair back from his face, patting him gently on the back while he vomited the last of it. If he was crying from the pain of being so drunk, or the pain of being so confused about his life trajectory, or the pain of lost love and empty gestures, he wasn’t sure. But Camilla’s soft voice spoke forgotten affirmations to him in that state, pulling him into a tight hug, and holding him there for a long, long time.

Faendel awoke on an unfamiliar bed. When he shifted his head, two large deer heads towered over him and he jolted completely awake. He still smelled of ale, however he was fully clothed, and alone. Maybe he hadn’t spent the night with anyone this time. His head was pounding, and his stomach felt as if someone took a bat to it. Camilla poked her head up the stairs and he realized he was in the Riverwood trader.

“Morning sleepy, you were a whole mess last night so I just let you sleep in my bed. Sorry to scare you.” She stepped fully up the stairs and offered him a cup of hot tea. He received it eagerly and swallowed in little bursts in order to sooth his aching stomach.

“Hey, last night we didn’t… uh-“ He spoke carefully, cup an inch from his lips.

“No! No that would be awful, I wouldn’t. I mean not awful because of you. Sorry, I mean. Awful because you were so drunk.” She sat at the edge of the bed, “Besides, my brother sleeps just over there… if we would have I wouldn’t have brought you here, that’s all.”

Camilla looked at him with those little doe’s eyes, worrying about her lip with her teeth. A soft pink rested on her cheeks, which were healthy and plump. She had a beautiful body, one he used to imagine undressing during long hours at the mill. Softness in places where it was needed, her hips and thighs, her breasts were full, something to look at. And yet her waist was small, if he wrapped his hands around it, they might touch on either side.

Without warning (these Nords were quite forceful-) she placed a kiss on his mouth. It was quick and sweet, he was so surprised he couldn’t move.

“For the record, I would have chosen you.” Camilla breathed, leaning in closer, and taking the cup from his hands to throw aside. She kissed him again, and he allowed it. “If you had only asked.” She added, breathless. They kissed and kissed, her tongue grazed the pointed ends of his canines, and his hands were around her little waist, rubbing circles on her hips. But as he kissed her, a person kept pressing on his mind. So that when he finally opened his eyes, and realized it wasn’t her he was kissing, it sent a horrible chill through his body.

“What is it?” She asked, bewildered. He had paused for too long, he realized he had been staring at her in increasing horror.

“I-“ He bit his lip, “Sorry. I just went through a bad breakup. It’s just.” Faendel sighed and laid back on the bed, eyes on the wooden rafters, instead of her. “Before Yagr, you were all I wanted. And I thought that when I returned, I could just go back to the way things were. But it was wrong of me. I’m not the same person that had fallen in love with you.” He rose enough to meet her gaze, realizing that he was crying again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” But it wasn’t. When he left her house she gave him a hug goodbye, and he returned to his house to get ready for work.

And his words rang true even after a long days reflection. Faendel needed to leave this place. He no longer found comfort in mundane, in mediocrity, in a peaceful life shooting bows during his free time and chopping wood for bread. He was still lost in thought as he crossed the plank bridge towards the blacksmith when a familiar roar filled the afternoon air.

A dragon touched down the center of the village, taller than a house, and even stronger than the average dragon he’d fought. It was an Elder Dragon. Returned from the grave, and intent on burning Riverwood to the ground. Like Helgen, he shuddered, and drew his bow.

The guards of Riverwood were by his side, but after months away as an adventurer, the men looked to him to take charge.

“Guide it to the stone bridge!” He shouted, gesturing to the men around him. Those that had bows continued shooting it while those with swords ran to the outskirts of the village, where the dragon could target them away from flammable houses. His plan didn’t protect flammable people however. Faendel was shooting furiously, arrows hitting his target consistently, and yet it wasn’t enough.

Certainly as an act of suicide, the elf drew his blade and threw his arms around the dragons neck, twisting himself onto it’s back. It worked like a dream at first, and he managed to wiggle his blade between it’s scales enough to inflict some real damage. But his luck didn’t last long as the creature took off into the air with him still on it’s back.

Faendel didn’t scream, rather he held onto the dragon with a strength that he would never be able to conjure again. They were 100, 200 feet in the air, and arrows had stopped raining down as the people below realized his life is now at stake. Faendel did the only thing he could think to do which was keep stabbing. He pulled his body back and slammed his knife down into the creatures flank until it was hilted into it’s flesh, which he repeated a few dozen more times. The dragon only screeched in rage, and twisted in the air in discomfort, nearly knocking him off.

There were no more solutions. He was going to die. Was there still a way to save the village?

A roar, a different roar, punctuated the air and he swung around to face it. A second dragon, but this one also had a rider.

Yagr triumphantly rode the back of Odahviing who flew fast beneath Faendel and his Elder dragon.

“Hop on!” She cried. He did, he leapt from the beasts back and she in her infinite dexterity was able to catch him, and pull him close to her front. “We can’t fight this f*cker in the air, we have to land!” Yagr yelled to Odahviing, who heeded her words and quickly sank to the ground. They were past the bridge now close to the hills, and the Elder dragon landed to greet them.

“Drem yol lok, greetings traitor, tahrodiis. You shame yourself, Dov aar wah jul, a dragon slave to mankind.” It said, words a deep rumble in its bleeding chest.

Odahviing breathed smoke through his nostrils, “Peace is our priority, zeymah.” Then he released scorching flame. The battle began, but with Yagr by his side once more, Faendel was no longer afraid.

It was slayed at his feet soon after, as the dozens of dragons before it, and the many dragons that will come. Odahviing took off into the sky without so much of a goodbye. He smiled at his departing figure, when cold dread gripped his chest. He turned to her. Was she going to leave too?

The look she gave him wasn’t as he had imagined it might be. Sheepish, cold, this is how he thought their reunion would be in his mind's eye. Rather, the intensity in which she held his gaze was enough to make him blush. She approached him, he tried to occupy himself with sheathing his weapons, but it was hard to pretend as if she wasn’t there.

“I have a confession.”

He shut his eyes, squeezing them together in pain. It was rather unlike her to initiate conversation. He recalled long hours where she spent simply listening to him speak, not having anything to add at all. This was enough to scare him, he knew exactly what she was going to say. But it was his turn to listen now, he owed her that much.

She continued. “I don’t know what fastidious means.”

“What?” He exclaimed dropping his knife. “Where did that come from?”

“I-“ She stumbled on her words, “When you- speak to me I worry sometimes. You have so much. In your head that is, big words like fastidious, and big ideas about love and society, and I just don’t have all of that. And I worry, that you’ll be upset with me, because of what I am.” Yagr breathed a little. “This is all that I am.” She gestured to herself.

Faendel shook his head, “I don’t understand, I’m sorry-“

“Don’t apologize! It should be me who apologizes because.” She sighed, then breathed again, trying to gain the confidence to say what comes next. “When we fight together, I fear for your safety. When we sleep together, I fear that I am taking advantage of you. When we speak together, I fear that everything that I can offer you only pales to the things that you deserve in life. I sent you away because I am afraid. And I don’t know how to make it stop.” The silence was deafening. He gaped trying to gather his words, and she interrupted him one more time. “If this is what you want, Riverwood, Camilla, the mill, I don’t want to take it away from you.”

“No! You have it all wrong!” Faendel exclaimed, pulling her hands in his, guiding her full attention. “When I met you, you changed my life. Everything I wanted, everything that I thought was true changed because of you. You’re detailed, hence the word fastidious, attentive, and kind. But you are also strong, powerful, and courageous. And I love it, I love you. Yagr, you have to understand, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” His lip was trembling, and she let go of his hand to brush hers against his face, stilling him.

“Life with me will never be normal.” She warned.

“Never again! I never want to be normal ever again. I want to learn everything about you, inside and out. Nothing you can do will change my mind.”

They both laughed, and she lifted him, pulling him tight as she kissed him breathless. She pulled back, looking at him with hardened, red eyes.

“Follow me.”