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It's still July somewhere in the world! This one was suggested by the lovely HoneyBelly on my update for June/July post, and I was only too
It's still July somewhere in the world! This one was suggested by the lovely HoneyBelly on my update for June/July post, and I was only too happy to take the inspiration and run with it! It got a bit out of hand, sitting at nearly 10k words, but I hope you like it!
Prompt was: I'd love to see a story about a shy, blind naga who's touch-starved and touchy. Maybe he can only "see" through heat signatures.
Content: some light self-esteem issues with the reader if you squint (comparing themselves to non-humans in terms of looks/being interesting), touchstarved male naga who's academically confident but otherwise very shy, the usual cast of supportive and sassy best friends, and the setting of Old Trollbridge (which is basically a fantasy Cambridge, UK).
NSFW content: reader receives oral in a private reading room at the Archives... implied coming untouched from naga (2 cocks, as per all my cis naga lads).
Wordcount: 9646
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 âReader wanted to assist a professor of Third and Fourth Era Literature with visual impairment. Knowledge of the period is not necessary but an active interest in history is preferred, and a familiarity with archival material and historical documents would be greatly beneficial. Role is part time, with relatively flexible hours to suit your schedule; happy to negotiate at interview. Please enquire at the Department of Middle Era History at the University of Old Trollbridge with a short CV and two references. Email listed below.â
Well, if youâd ever seen a job advert that could have been written specifically for you, it was that one. With a history degree, though admittedly not from Old Trollbridge University itself, and a familiarity with the old and often spidery handwriting of Middle Era codices that had come from a two year role in the University Archives, you knew youâd be the perfect person for it. And it couldnât have come at a better time; you'd literally spotted it on your last day at work in the Archives.Â
After searching the Department of Middle Era Historyâs page for âprofessor of Third and Fourth Era Literatureâ, you soon found an entry for one Professor Dorian Glimmerscale. There were no photos attached to any of the staff biographies, but you knew vaguely that the Glimmerscale family name was an old one, and, as the name suggested, that they were nagas.Â
So, with your application email sent off last thing that afternoon, you headed out to the pub and met your friends from the Archives for a farewell drinks night.Â
The Selkieâs Song was a cranky old pub in the heart of the ancient university town, sitting on the riverfront with a terrace out the back, and dark, time-aged wooden beams inside that were low enough for minotaurs and centaurs to have to duck and stoop as they headed for the bar. You squeezed past a shire centaur who looked like a Goliath next to one of the support beams decorated with old centaur-brasses, and headed towards the bar, where your three closest friends were already waiting.Â
âYouâre never fucking on time,â Lyle laughed as he turned on his thick, satyrâs hooves and shook his head.Â
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Read the whole thing here (plus the other monthly story from July(!) and the exclusive first look at the promised Dragon Priest x Deathlord x f. character, plus another bonus story chapter with a Deaf werewolf dirtbiker from the Willow Creek Werewolves Universe!) over on Patreon right now!
The Heart of the Temple - Chapter One (WIP) by Monsters & Maw on Patreon. Join Monsters & Maw's community for exclusive content and updates
Hello friends! I've been working on this story for quite some time, and while it's definitely not anywhere near finished, I wanted to share this massive Chapter One as a kind of 'preview' to gauge interest and see what you think of it...
It's the m. Dragon Priest x m. Deathlord x f. scholar story I teased a long time ago, and while it is set in Skryim, about ten years after the end of the game itself, you don't need to know anything about the game or the world to enjoy the story. It's just a cool, fantasy sandbox for me to play in and borrow some lore and language.
Backstory/context/wiki page for those interested (it will be covered in the story, so you don't need to know this really)
The premise of The Heart of the Temple is this:
Senna, a mage in her twenties and recent graduate of the College of Winterhold, is convinced that artefacts from the Late Merethic Era (some four thousand years before her day) are worth studying for their unique magic and enchantments, the exact weaving of which has been lost to time. Armed with nothing but her own extensive studies, a working knowledge of the now-dead Dragon Tongue, and an unhealthy amount of conviction, she parts ways with her ex-boyfriend, Nilandir, in the city of Riften and heads into the nearby mountains to find the lost tomb complex of Shearcliff Temple.
There, she completes the Trials and gains access to the inner sanctum, only to find that the temple's inhabitants are not long-dead and sleeping the peaceful slumber of death, but are in fact very much awake. While some of them are welcoming of this seeker of knowledge, others are wary and distrustful, if not outright hostile.
Invited to stay by the Dragon Priest himself, Senna begins a kind of apprenticeship down in the dark, secret chambers of the tomb, and slowly, undead hearts begin to beat once more under the lively influence she brings with her. She wins over the affable Dragon Priest, Vokunaak, easily enough, but his bodyguard and eternal soulmate, Deinmaar, is harder to crack.
And then there are the rest of the Deathlords and Draugr Wights within the wider temple beneath the mountain: Zahkrii, the aggressive and arrogant Captain, Kodaav, a warrior as big as the bear for which he was named, Ronaan, the lithe and cheeky archer who's hard of hearing and his best friend, Norok, who fights with her twin blades. Ahraan, the scarred alchemist growing potent herbs in a secret courtyard, Ruvaak, the keeper of ravens, and Kiraan, an assassin from another complex who found himself trapped there when Alduin, the great dragon they all worshipped, was first vanquished four thousand years ago and the curse of undeath descended upon them all.
While learning all she can from Vokunaak, Senna works to win them over, but her time in the temple complex is limited, and there are plenty of things that could go horribly wrong for her, even with the growing affection of the Dragon Priest himself and the protection of his loyal guard...
It will be NSFW in places, which means future chapters will be behind a paywall due to Patreon's 18+ policies, and while they're undead, they're not rotting zombies, I promise! That's not my kind of undead.
If that all sounds like your cup of tea, here's the first chapter for you. I've included a few screenshots from the game for the vibes, but they're not entirely accurate, since Shearcliff Temple is made up for this story. I hope they don't get in the way for you. It won't be a feature in future chapters anyway.
Content/warnings: cis female mage works against academic prejudice and a lack of support from her ex (but on friendly-ish terms) high-elven (Altmer) boyfriend to uncover the secrets of the past. Brief but genuine threat to life (no blood/injury), and some sentences of Dovah-zul (Dragon Tongue) with translations within the text (from Thuum.org).
Wordcount: 7927(!)
Read the whole chapter here for free right now! (Free members and up)
First off, thank you so much for your immense kindness and understanding in the comments of my post explaining why I failed to produce a sto
Monthly story - m. satyr x gn reader (nsfw) (delayed from June)
First off, thank you so much for your immense kindness and understanding in the comments of my post explaining why I failed to produce a story for you in June. You really are the best patrons any creator could hope for, thank you.
To make up for it, here's the first of two stories I'm posting to the Little Ghosties tier in July.
Contents: cis male satyr with an unspecified disability that requires him to use crutches, a gender and body neutral reader, childhood best friends to out of touch as adults, then back in contact by a chance return to Starfall Springs at the same time.
Warnings/contents: Reader works in the wine industry and there's passing mention of alcohol/drinking (but does not get drunk).
Nsfw: satyr is slightly more dominant than the reader in bed, reader's body/genitals not mentioned but they receive oral as part of preparation for penetration (up to you exactly where you imagine this), reader gives satyr a hand job first, unprotected sex is agreed on and determined as safe for both parties, satyr is well endowed and the reader is on the receiving end of penetrative sex (again, 'where' is not specified...).
Wordcount: 7404
(the tiefling owner of the Inglenook Inn in Starfall Springs has his own m/m story here, and artwork/character bio can be found here)
I've also got a question about the Willow Creek Werewolf universe for you at the end of this post, so don't miss that if you're a fan of Ben & Tanner's wolfy universe.
Monthly story (Mermay) - m. alligataur x gn reader (v. light nsfw) by Monsters & Maw on Patreon. Join Monsters & Maw's community for exclusi
Hi friends! I hope you're enjoying all the Mermay offerings the internet is providing this May! Here's my contribution - a chunky alligator taur (I went with alligataur as I kind of had to! I don't know if there's a specific term for them though).
Featuring: childhood best friends reunited and becoming lovers, very brief/passing mention of parental death on the reader's side, happy childhood memories of summer camp and a small misunderstanding that is cleared up when they're reunited.
Hope you enjoy! It's set in my Starfall Springs universe, so it'll go under the tag, but it's a new location, with a few new side characters as well.
Wordcount: 5706
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The trees were bigger.Â
Of course the trees were bigger than they had been when youâd been fifteen years old, but honestly, returning to Half Moon Lake as a grown adult, it felt like youâd been away for hundreds of years. Perhaps it just felt that way though since spring was in full ardour, and everything was lush and green after the grey drudgery of the city. It also probably didnât help that your time there had been the happiest days of your entire life.Â
Meandering along the quaint high street of the town of Half Moon itself, following the natural curve of the lake from which the place drew its name, you passed by a constant stream of unfamiliar faces, and wondered if there was anyone left from when your parents had brought you there for the summer holidays.Â
The holiday camp where your father had worked over the summer was still running, but you hadnât gone to that end of town yet, instead you walked past the familiar haunts of Berry Refreshing â the ice cream and sorbet parlour run by a hummingbird aarakocra and his mothfolk partner â Mrs. Periwinkleâs Tea Room, and Sylas Farneâs Antique and Curio Emporium. The owner of the last, a pale, slender naga covered in tattoos and with an eye patch that was rumoured to cover a magical prosthetic eye, had terrified you as a child, and you skirted around his shop doorway with the same trepidation that made you leave fairy circles alone in the woods. You never knew what would happen if you crossed that threshold.Â
After making a pit stop at Berry Refreshing for a hibiscus nectar and pomegranate sorbet that was so tasty it nearly transported you to the fae realm on its own anyway, you turned and headed west towards the glittering waters of Half Moon Lake itself.Â
Sitting about sixty miles inland from Starfall Springs, the place was well known as a holiday retreat for non-humans, and it was no surprise to find yourself among the only human on the wide promenade that ran along the length of the inner curve of the crescent moon lake.Â
There, pursued by some kind of reptilian pet on the sandy beach, a triton child ran giggling into the water, sending up a spray of water that flashed like diamonds, and you paused to watch the pair of them splash tighter in the water for a moment, remembering summers spent doing just that with Oleander. Your heart gave a twist at the memory of the alligator merman who had been your best friend from the age of six until your last visit as a fifteen year old, before your family had moved too far away from Half Moon to return for the holidays anymore.Â
You glanced up and down the shore, half hoping to see the familiar, low-slung body of an alligataur, with his wild, green and black hair and olive skin, and those marble-green eyes flecked with pyrite gold, but you had no such luck. Heâd probably stopped coming here long ago too. You wondered vaguely what he was up to these days, but couldnât picture him anywhere but there, swimming in the lake and building tree-forts with you on the shore.Â
Monthly Story - nb alien x gn reader (nsfw) by Monsters & Maw on Patreon. Join Monsters & Maw's community for exclusive content and updates.
Monthly Story is up on Patreon! Nb alien x gn reader (nsfw)
I can now apparently make them available for individual purchase, so if you want to access just one post, you can do that.
I'm not sure if that applies retroactively, or if it's just new posts from here-on in, but if there's a past monthly story you're wanting access to, lemme know and I'll see if I can edit it to make it purchasable.
My Patreon Masterlist is free to access and browse, so you can see what's up there.
Mermay is coming up next month, so there will be merfolk up on Patreon for you! And I'm really hoping to work on that last chapter of the not-yautja reverse harem Yautja story that's been waiting for its conclusion for ages...
Monthly Patreon Exclusive Story - Male Lord of Hell (draconic) x gn reader (nsfw)
He looked down at you and you felt his wings flex wide just before he sprang upwards into the air like a bolt from a crossbow. You gasped and shrank inwards towards the bulwark of his chest before laughing as he beat his wings hard, climbing fast through the haze of heat above the lake.Â
âDo you trust me?â he asked, and you laughed again.Â
âYes, I trust you,â you said. âYouâve got a contract to uphold, and a realm to keep safe.â
He growled low, lip curling. âForget about that. Do you trust me?â
You thought back to the evenings where heâd talked philosophy with you, discussed music, art, literature, and listened as youâd told him about all the things that mattered to you and which, in hindsight, must have seemed terribly, painfully ordinary to an immortal demon lord like him. And yet, heâd sat there and listened as though you were telling him the history of the universe itself.
âYes, Bariel, I trust you.â
With a smile, he said, âHold on then,â and at the apex of his climb, he tucked his wings in tight, and began to dive.
Plus an additional poll for the option to sponsor a chapter of a story of mine that may have fallen by the wayside and bring it back to life.
The first monthly story of the year is up on Patreon! Big submissive naga lad for you.
Well, even though it's nearer the end of the month now than I'd like, I still want to wish you all a Happy New Year. I know that's kind of optimistic, the world being in its current state, but a ghost can hope all the same, right? I'd also like to thank you for your support - whether you're a new patron or have been with me for a long time - I'm so so grateful, and none of these stories would be possible without you.
I hope those of you following Ben & Tanner's story enjoyed its conclusion. In case you missed it - if it wasn't your cup of tea and you didn't click on the story - I'm going to give the werewolves a break for now (unless I hear otherwise?), as I suspect many of you are suffering from a bit of werewolf fatigue. A number of you seemed pretty keen for the poly liches/draugar x f. mage idea I posited in a poll the other day though, so I'll work on that, as well as the final chapter for the not-yautja lads and Laces for a Lady... both long overdue.
Anyway, here's January's story for you, posted in the middle of an absolutely wild rainstorm that's currently lashing down outside and also streaming in through our windows and soaking the carpet. Joyđ đŹ! I see things are getting horrendous in a meteorological sense (as well as everything else you're dealing with) across the pond this weekend, so I hope you all stay safe and warm. Take good care of yourselves in these truly dreadful times.
Content: established relationship, secret relationship (due to work/positions), the danger of being discovered, mention of mating/bonding (main characters, and, separately, two side characters).
Nsfw content: big, male naga has two cocks and is described as 'squirting' from his sheath during fingering and heightened arousal, and is (mostly) submissive during sex, reader is body and gender neutral, no body parts named other than 'entrance', reader receives oral and penetrative sex. Sex in marginally unconventional places (library study room, storeroom, and things get steamy but non-penetrative for the reader in the bath). Non-sexual intimacy/bathing also turns into sex.
Wordcount: 8528
(Naga's name is pronounced 'sigh-LEETH') and the story opens immediately with nsfw content. It's quite an nsfw heavy story for me.
Read it here on Patreon and gain access to my entire backlog of stories, as well as joining our chilled out Discord.
My hand slipped. TW for near death experience/should-be-fatal injury, blood. Gn and body neutral, witchy/magical reader x demon.
âDon't care what sort of sacrifice you prepared,â came that oh-so-familiar, deep, rolling purr through the cloud of red smoke billowing up into the foetid alleyway. Gods, he always sounded so good when he was being cocky and full of himself, the sanctimonious bastard. âI explicitly told you to never summon me, did I not?â
âYeah,â you choked, collapsed on the ground at the centre of a really poorly drawn runic array. It was a miracle it had summoned anything at all, let alone the one demon you actually wanted more than anything in the world right then. But look, if your bloody finger painting was a little wonky, you could hardly be blamed. Youâd just had half your throat torn out by a feral vampire whoâd then discarded you like an apple core and fled into the night. At least the evidence of your terrible summoning circle would soon be eclipsed by the rapidly spreading tide of blood. No need for the College masters to see that. Theyâd revoke your licence if they witnessed it. No matter that you'd be dead anyway.Â
âYeah, you did.â
A second later, Gharrontianâs massive form blurred through the dissipating mist, looming out of the darkness that was starting to press in on you from all sides now, and you smiled dazedly up at him. Gods, he was gorgeous: just shy of eight feet tall, broad as a city block across the shoulder, with muscles rippling in his tattooed arms and a soft belly that had just been made for lying on. His skin was a deep, ruby red, and his hair was still shaved close above his pointed ears in an undercut while the rest spilled down his back in decadently thick, black waves. As usual, the demon wore nothing on his top half, and only loose, black trousers that ended in neat cuffs at his knees, leaving the rest of his goatâs legs exposed. The fur there was red too, speckled with white here and there, and behind him lashed a long oxâs tail, tipped with black fur.Â
As his massive, black, cloven hoof landed in the pool of blood beside your head, and he crashed down beside you, he murmured your name and slid his enormous hand under your head. âHey,â he said quietly in that lovely, rock-slide bass. âHey, what the fuck happened?â
âV-VampireâŚâ you stammered, blood filling your mouth as your eyelids fluttered. âWanted to⌠to see you⌠one lastâŚâ Your breath faltered in your lungs and burbled wetly in your ruined gullet.Â
âNo, no, no,â he muttered, and began chanting. The familiar buzz of the demonâs magic suffused the air all around you, pressing against your own and reaching for you even as he worked some spell around you.Â
Your hearing warped, but it was so nice to be held by him again. To be in his arms. To have him with you. At the end.Â
âDonât you fucking dare,â he growled around clenched canines, forcing his magic into you. âDonât you dare fucking die on me.â
The ancient language rolled around you like music in a chantry, and you let your eyes close and your muscles go heavy. âAlways loved you, you know?â you slurred. âAlwaysâŚâ
The pain faded, along with everything else, and you tipped back into his big hands with a sigh, and expected never to feel anything again.Â
So it came as one hell of surprise to you when you blinked awake and found yourself staring at a very familiar crack in the white ceiling above you.Â
âThe fuck?â you whispered, floundering upright in your own bed. The room blurred and spun around you and you groaned, clapping a hand to your temple and ramming your eyes shut against the weak daylight filtering in through the grubby net curtains on your right.Â
A chair scraped on the tired, hardwood floor beside your bed and you startled, letting your hands fall away from your face and looking up to seeâŚÂ
âGharron?â
âHey sweetheart,â he smiled, looming over the bed.Â
With a jolt, you realised there were tears in his gold eyes. âGharron?â
âScared the shit out of me.â
You swallowed and looked down at your hands in your lap, then, as flashes of the previous night came back to you like scenes from a bad horror flick, your fingers rose to your neck. Expecting to find wounds or at least scars, you were surprised to find nothing out of the ordinary at all. âHowâŚ?â you asked, frowning at him. âI didn't make a bargain with you, did I?â
He shook his head and sank gingerly down to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under his enormous form, his tail rather adorably squashed beneath his big thighs. Gods, those thighs⌠You nearly bit your lip at the memory of them, and something dormant ached in you once again.Â
âBut I thought⌠I thought your magic needed a bargainâŚ?â
Again, Gharrontian shook his head. His long hair trailed all the way down his naked, tattooed back to the waistband of his black trousers in glorious waves, and your hand reached out for it on instinct, or muscle memory. You let it play through your fingers like ink, then met his golden gaze as he spoke. âNever needed a bargain,â he admitted. âI just⌠wasnât ready to let you see it. See meâŚâ
âOh.â
Your heart beat funny in your chest for a second or two.Â
âYou didn't change the wards,â he said.Â
âWhat?â
âThe wards on your apartment. You didn't change them.â When you frowned, he turned a little more towards you from where he was sitting, and took your hands up in his. Somehow they looked even smaller now, where they rested on his palms. âThe wards to keep demons out⌠You didnât change them to keep me out after weâŚâ
You blinked âNo.â
âOh.â
Gharron hung his head and squeezed your fingers gently. âWe really fucked up, huh?â he said.
âYeah.â
âYou want to try again?â the demon asked.Â
You nodded and he let out a little huff of relief, closing his eyes.Â
âFor the record,â he said with a soft smile in that deep, familiar voice, âIâm glad you summoned me.â
âEven though you told me never to summon you again?â
âWell, you never were any good at following ordersâŚâ
You grinned. âYou, on the other handâŚâÂ
His scarlet skin darkened across his cheeks and the big demon shook his head, laughing quietly.Â
Happy New Year, friends! I sincerely hope 2026 is kinder to all of us than 2025, but the world doesn't seem to be off to a great start, eh?
This chapter is full of action and drama and a bit of angst, as we finally get to face the hunters who kept Mac captive, and things come to a head. It's sfw from a sexy point of view, but do check the warnings if you're sensitive to violence, blood, and death. Slight spoilers in the warnings, but nothing too explicit...
The final chapter is written too, so that'll be up in a few days for you, once I've given it a final edit. After that, it'll be Caleb's turn in the spotlight, and like this one, it'll be 3rd person, but written from Caleb's POV this time. His story is m/f.
In the meantime, I'm working on January's monthly exclusive for you, which should be up nearer the end of the month. I've also got a Skyrim story (poly m. dragon priest (lich) x m. draugr x f. mage/scholar which has reached over 31k words now, but I'm not sure if there's interest in that on here? Lemme know. It's multi-chapter, has some nice not-quite-enemies to lovers vibes, a splash of angst, some tooth-rotting fluff, and some consensual possession and sex on a sarcophagus, if that's enticing in any way đ .
Anyway, back to Willow Creek and this chapter's content/warnings: (slight spoilers)
protective mates, mention of off-screen torture and imprisonment and threat to mate (Mac & Junie), PTSD symptoms and past trauma rising to the surface (Tanner & Ben), sniper, gunfire, blood, off-screen decapitation (!), threat to life at gunpoint, gunshots, and a medical-related cliffhanger...
wordcount: 5673
Preview:
âAlright,â the woman said slowly. âMy name is Caroline, and this is Lynley. Weâre hunters, yes, but weâre not here to hurt you.â
From somewhere nearby, Ben heard a soft, âLike you could hurt us if you triedâŚâ but he didn't know whoâd said it.
âGet to the fucking point then,â Shane snarled at her.Â
At first glance, he looked relaxed, but there was a tension in his spine and shoulders that spoke of a readiness to charge into action, and it set the hairs on Benâs neck prickling. Heâd been afraid around werewolves before, but his was a different display of power entirely: the power of an alpha wolf. There was an echo of it in Tanner at times, on the rare occasion he got assertive or, more likely, protective, but heâd never grown into his full potential as an alpha wolf. After leading the Raven Tree Pack for decades, Shane most certainly had, and it even affected the very human Ben as he stood behind him.Â
Nico â still human â shifted his weight a little behind his father, and white-coated Caleb lifted a lip in solidarity, hackles rising, silver muzzle quivering and twitching. They were all ready now, poised like loaded crossbows just waiting for a signal to strike.Â
âWeâre tracking three rogue hunters,â she said, seemingly unfazed by the array of teeth and glinting eyes in the dark that surrounded them. Behind the huntersâ SUV, Ben could make out a few pairs of eyes blinking slowly from the bushes. They truly were surrounded. âHumans,â she went on. âThey captured and tortured a lone wolf a couple of months ago, hoping he would lead them to more of his kind.â
âMac,â Ben breathed, and Tanner nudged him with a shoulder, either to show support or to get him to shut up. Both worked.
Caroline continued, âThese bastards hunt your kind for sport, provoke them into shifting, and then take your pelts or even your heads as trophies. Theyâre disgusting and they need to be stopped.â
Read the whole story over on Patreon right here. Final chapter will be up in a few days too, and available from the lowest tier up.
Werewolf Companion (Farkas) x male Dunmer elf (Skyrim). Nsfw.
So after swearing off posting on this platform again, here I am with nearly 13k words of werewolf porn with plot. Enjoy!?
AO3 link for those who prefer that platform.
AO3 tags for humour and clarification purposes: he's not actually the dragonborn though, it's just easier for tagging, he's just a dunmer member of the thieves' guild, and a sassy twink, Fantasy Racism, Canon Typical Violence, Draugr, frostbite spiders (brief), Werewolves, Silver Hand, let the sassy dunmer twink get railed by his werewolf boyfriend after narrowly escaping death, and then again under jorrvaskr
Wordcount: 12,995
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The two of them almost tripped over Dustmanâs Cairn where it was set into the grass of the plains like just another rock among so many others.Â
The only thing that marked it out on the rolling crests and troughs of the landscape were a few, narrow standing stones, sticking up like fangs from the earth, and as they arrived â amid a steadily worsening rainfall that had been gathering on the horizon all day â a clap of thunder resounded off the nearby mountain range, and Naethir flinched.Â
âFuckinâ hell,â the Dunmer swore, jumping as a flash of bright lightning danced from one iron-bellied cloud to the next.Â
âBetter get inside,â his companion â in two senses of the word â muttered warily.Â
Farkas had cast his eyes upwards as well, as if tracing the after-image of the lightning, and his pale grey irises caught the light for a moment like burnished silver. Then he looked back down at Naethir from his bulky, six-foot-something height and grinned lopsidedly.Â
âAfter you,â he said with a wave at the tomb below.Â
âCheers,â Naethir mumbled, and set his supple, brown leather boot to the first rung of the precarious stone staircase leading down into the cylindrical drum of the old, Nordic burial tombâs entrance, hoping he wouldnât slip on the slick skin of algae that coated every step. No need to end up on his ass on his first significant task for the guild, especially not in front of Farkas. Well, not in that sense anyway. The man was exactly the type whom the Dunmer wouldnât mind tipping him on his ass, but he had no idea if Farkas was with anyone already, or even interested in elves. He was human, and a Companion, after allâŚÂ
For the most part, Naethirâs âcompanionâ had been pretty quiet all the way from Whiterun, jogging stoically along at his side like some kind of trained war hound. Little did he know just how apt that comparison had been at the time, but as he paused outside the Nordic tombâs huge, carved doors and glanced back over his shoulder at the big warrior, Naethir puffed out a little nervous breath and the man smiled at him kindly.Â
âDonât get him killedâ. Skjal had said as much to him as he was leaving the mead hall at Jorrvaskr, and Farkasâ twin brother had growled almost the same thing at him when heâd paused to pass the time of day on the way out. For all that the Companions teased him about being kind of dumb, Farkas was deeply loved by all of his mismatched family, and Naethir could easily see why.Â
Fair, good-natured, and easy going, the man hadnât complained at all on their way to Dustmanâs Cairn, and heâd even added gold from his own pouch to what Naethir had given a couple of haggard-looking farmers on the road, whose livelihood had been obliterated into ashes by a dragon. It hadnât been any kind of âoneupmanshipâ either. Farkas had just seen what Naethir was doing, nodded, and added his own coin to the small pot for them, then carried on about their day afterwards.Â
After the constant whistling wind through the grasses, the stillness of the tombâs interior echoed through him as the doors closed with a resonant boom behind them, and Naethir took a moment just to steady his breathing.Â
âYou good?â Farkas asked in a low rumble right in his ear, and he felt the long, tapering shape of it twitch slightly at the brush of warm breath across his pierced earlobe.Â
Turning once more to look up â and up â at the warrior, he nodded. âLetâs go get this weapon fragment.â
The short, downward-sloping entrance corridor led to a wider chamber with a table and a chest in the middle, and a sarcophagus with a desiccated corpse on their left that had spilled out onto the floor at some point. While Naethir stuck his lockpicks to the chest out of reflex, Farkas made a low almost-growl of discomfort in the back of his throat from somewhere behind him.Â
âWhat is it?â Naethir asked as he heard the tumbler click a moment later and the lock fell open for him with the same ease his last loverâs legs had fallen open. Inside though was a rather disappointing stash of two potions and a couple of coins. He left the potions but scooped the gold up and added it to his pocket before looking over at his companion.Â
âLooks like someoneâs been digging here,â Farkas said, silver eyes narrowed as he flashed his gaze around the chamber. âAnd recently.â His nostrils flared, as if he was inhaling the scent of someone whoâd just walked past, and Naethir hoped it wasnât a ghost. Bad enough that these places were usually haunted by the shambling, Nordic undead.
âLetâs keep going then, mn?â
âYeah.â
As they made their way further into the tomb, Naethir couldnât help but notice the new tension in Farkas's massive shoulders though, or the way his right hand twitched as if he wanted to draw his truly colossal two-hander off its little cradle on the back of his armour. He did unhook it as they entered a veritable labyrinth of mortuary shelves, and no sooner had Farkas growled, âI donât want to haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back,â than the harsh bark of a draugrâs cough sounded from just around the corner, and Naethir dropped into an instinctive roll, coming up with his bow already in his hand and an arrow nocked as a draugr wight swung an ancient sword at the spot where his head had been only a heartbeat before.Â
The arrow went through one of its burning blue eyes, and the light guttered as the felled corpse toppled to the stonework, but as the ripple of their living presence spread through the tombs, more draugr came lumbering out of the shadows and mortuary niches until he and Farkas were dancing through a veritable horde of the fuckers.Â
Breathing hard in the aftermath, Naethir found himself backed into a niche that had excellent sight lines down two approaching corridors, and aside from a few decapitated corpses felled by Farkas's huge sword, most of them were made dead â truly dead this time â by his ebony arrows through their eyes and hearts.Â
âNice work,â Farkas grunted as he straightened and shook the corpse dust off the length of his two-handed blade.Â
Naethir smiled at him and he watched the light of it kindle in Farkasâ moonlight eyes and catch until he was smiling too, showing off those thick canines of his that gave him an air of something altogether more feral and dangerous than just his meek persona conjured alone.Â
âA lot of you Nords seem to think a bow is a cowardâs weapon,â Naethir said as he lifted a stunning gold and diamond necklace off the collarbones of the nearest draugr and slipped it into one of his many, many pockets.Â
âBullshit,â Farkas countered, now frowning. âTakes a lot of skill to hit a target at all, let alone with that kind of accuracy under pressure,â he said, nudging the nearest corpse with his steel-capped toe for emphasis. The shaft of the arrow glinted where it was embedded right between the creatureâs now-dull eyes. âBesides,â he went on, âIâd like to see someone say that to Aela and live to tell about it.â
Naethir laughed, and the two moved on, brushing through shrouds of cobwebs until they reached an echoing chamber whose domed roof was so high it was wreathed in shadow despite the ever-burning torches and braziers dotted about the room.Â
Three openings greeted them on the far side of the rounded chamber, and in the centre stood a low, empty plinth. On the left was an enchanting table, its energy pulsing gently against Naethirâs meagre magic, and a couple of thrones that made him think that the plinth was some kind of stage for judgement. He gave a shudder as he skirted round it.Â
The doorway on the right ahead of them was closed off by an iron portcullis, the central one had collapsed in on itself, and the third looked to be some kind of storage alcove with a couple of sets of wooden shelves at the back of it. Each of the three archways was wide enough to stable a horse comfortably with room to spare, and on the shelves inside the alcove on the left, Naethirâs magpie eye was drawn to the glint of gold and torchlight on glass. It wasnât unusual for torches to be burning in sconces in a Nordic tomb; the restless draugr maintained the place, and intricate spells kept the torches and candles from being consumed by the fire. At least, thatâs what Onmund at the College of Winterhold had told him during his brief study there.Â
Set between the pair of sideboards was a huge, iron lever, and, assuming that it would release the portcullis covering the door on the other side of the room, Naethir yanked it.Â
Immediately, he knew heâd made a mistake. The ring and rattle of a descending portcullis right behind him told him exactly what that lever did â though why on earth the builders of the tomb would have made it so that it sealed someone in, he had no idea.Â
âAhh⌠shit,â he hissed through clenched teeth, heading to the bars and preparing to face the man who was supposed to be assessing his worth as a potential Companion.Â
He probably wouldnât think much of the scrawny dark elf for getting himself stuck in the first five minutes of the test, but perhaps Naethir could bat his long eyelashes at him and get him to go easy on him. A Dunmer could hope.Â
As it happened, Farkas was chuckling warmly as he approached the portcullis. The sound reminded Naethir of the big, dark warhorse that lived in the stables at Whiterun, who always nodded her head and accepted a carrot from him when he passed. The ritual had begun when heâd first caught the carriage from Whiterun to Falkreath and had waited in the lea of the stable in an absolute pisser of a rainstorm for the coach driver to haul his ass down from the Drunken Huntsman in the town above. Naethir hadnât been overly fond of horses before meeting Allie, but sheâd won him over with her velvety muzzle and her big, kind eyes. Even the stable master had remarked that the war horse, named for Queen Alfsigr, was unusually calm and placid around him. Maybe sheâd known her name meant âvictory of elvesâ.Â
âMaybe when Iâve got an actual home for you,â heâd promised her, rubbing the dark whorl between her eyes with his knuckles. âTil then, you can live in luxury here, Your Majesty.â
 As Farkas halted at the bars, he grinned at Naethir. âNow look what youâve gotten yourself into,â he laughed. âNo worries. Just sit tight. Iâll find the release.â
âThanks,â Naethir mumbled, feeling sheepish and trying not to look sullen.Â
He never got the chance to mope any longer though, because Farkas frowned. âWhat was that?â he asked, voice low and urgent.
Before Naethir could do so much as shrug and tell him heâd heard nothing, five warriors streamed in through the recently-opened other doorway, all clad in studded and fur armour, wielding swords whose blades had a strange sheen to them.Â
âFarkas, behind you!â he yelled, pointing, and the lone Companion wheeled around, loosening his sword from its holster on his back in the same, graceful movement and stalking in a predatory stance onto the platform in the centre of the space. Naethir was reminded horribly of descriptions of gladiators in a fighting pit, outnumbered and fighting for their lives while a baying crowd watched on. His fingers gripped the bars as if he could somehow pry them open or slip through, but while he was lean, he wasnât that skinny.Â
âItâs time to die, dog!â one of the assailants spat in Farkasâ direction as they circled him like so many hunting hounds snapping at a dangerous, wild animal.Â
Farkas ignored them, left hand moving off the hilt of his sword to fiddle with something at his shoulder out of Naethirâs line of sight. All he could see was Farkasâ broad back, and five people pacing around him and jeering.
âWe knew youâd be coming here,â an orc chortled, hefting his greatsword like it weighed no more than his grandmotherâs silver letter opener.Â
A third, stepping around on Farkasâ left side sneered, âYour mistake, Companion.â
All the while, Farkas stayed quiet and composed, though the fingers of his left hand were still fiddling with the straps and buckles on his armour.Â
Naethir frowned, initial surprise fading into growing confusion. âWhat the fuck is going on?â he murmured with his bow now in his hand and an arrow trained on the big, brutish Nord who had last spoken.Â
âWhich one is that?â a woman in the group asked the orc.
âIt doesn't matter,â he replied grimly. âHe wears that armour, he dies.â
Naethirâs heart slipped sideways in his chest and his fingers loosed the bow string on instinct. The dark, ebony-shafted arrow flew through the tombâs dank air and struck the big, blond Nord on Farkasâ left, sailing right through his windpipe and sparking off the stonework behind him. The man was dead before heâd even realised it, but the others were still closing in on Farkas, backing him up against the portcullis, ready to overwhelm him with their sheer numbers. These werenât like the horde of dumb, mindless draugr though. These were living people, who were clearly trained fighters and used to working as a cohesive unit against their opponents. Â
But despite the fact that Farkas was in real danger, he didnât seem overly bothered. He cracked his neck out and exhaled roughly, as though bracing for a punch to the gut.Â
âKilling you will make for an excellent story,â the woman crooned, taking another step towards him with her short sword flashing in the torchlight. They were only just out of reach of Farkasâ greatsword now.Â
Then to Naethirâs surprise and horror, Farkasâ shoulders gave a heave like he was going to be sick, but when he spoke, his voice was grim and almost smug. âNone of you will be alive to tell it.â
Naethir realised that while theyâd been taunting him from a safe distance, Farkas had â inexplicably â been working loose all the ties and catches of his armour, and suddenly, his chest plate fell to the floor with a clang while he kicked off his boots. He dropped his massive sword, ripped his linen shirt off over his head, and a second later his armoured trousers pooled on the floor around his ankles. Somehow he was out of all of his armour in the blink of an eye, standing there in just his underthings.Â
The broad expanse of his back was littered with scars and claw marks, his tanned skin proudly showing all the badges of his past skirmishes, but Naethir didnât have the time or the presence of mind to appreciate his truly heroic stature.Â
âQuick!â one of the would-be attackers yelped as they closed on him at last, but it was too late.Â
Naethir had seen someone transform into a werewolf only once before, and it had been pretty harrowing at the time for both parties involved.Â
Now though, Farkasâ body pitched forwards with almost serpentine grace, and before his hands â paw-like already and tipped with curved claws five inches long â had even touched the stone floor, he was an eight foot tall predator with dark, rippling fur, claws long enough to double as daggers, and a bristling tail that was oddly cute, all things considered. With a bellowing snarl like a sabre cat, he swung his head around, jaws snapping, tongue lashing at his huge fangs, taunting the warriors to dare come at him.Â
With war cries of âfor the Silver Handâ and âdeath to werewolves!â, they did.Â
Like a farmer scything wheat though, Farkas swiped his great paw-like hands back and forth in front of him with a roaring snarl that made the hairs on the back of Naethirâs neck stand up on end. To their credit, the warriors didnât flinch, and the woman swung her strange, shimmering blade at him, catching him in the arm. Bright blood fountained up in a spray, but Farkas didnât give her time to gloat. He closed his jaws around her throat and crushed her entire head like an over-ripe fruit, ripping it clean off and spitting it out like a bitter peach pit a moment later. Â
The rest of the warriors didnât even get the chance to swing at him a second time before they were falling, throats and guts torn out by a single swipe of his massive paws, their lifeblood spurting into the cracks in the masonry and their swords lying like so many scattered silver needles around them.Â
In the aftermath, with the dead assailants lying on the ground where theyâd fallen, the orc gargling out his last around his thick tusks, Farkas stood for a moment, breathing heavily, and Naethir stared, his bow completely forgotten in his hands.Â
The power and presence of a werewolf was impossible to understate, and even after knowing a werewolf for a time â hells, heâd even slept with Aerolf a week after heâd found out what he was â part of him was glad for the bars separating them.Â
The wheezing in-and-exhale of Farkasâ breath in his barrel chest sounded like a blacksmithâs bellows in the suddenly still air of the tomb, and as he slowly swung his eyes around to stare at Naethir, the elf found himself pinned to the spot and his bowels felt a little weak for just a moment. That was until Farkasâ big, triangular ears swivelled back to lie flat against his furry head and he gave a low whine, and all the tension bled from his massive body.Â
He dipped his great head, licked his bloody teeth, and then swung his attention around to the newly-opened doorway, snatching up his cuirass and trousers as he went. His armour dangled almost nonchalantly from his hooked claws as he stalked off with surprisingly soft footfalls, and as his tail disappeared around the corner, Naethir wondered how much of his sanity he kept when he shifted. Some folks lost their mind completely to Hircineâs âmadnessâ, while others remained entirely themselves within their new body.Â
Naethir got his answer a few moments later, when the portcullis in front of him abruptly withdrew up into the channel overhead in the wall, and he stepped quickly out of it in case its rusty old mechanism failed and it came back down again for good. He stepped lightly on thiefâs feet around the bloody carnage that Farkas had left in his wake, and wandered tentatively into the wider chamber beyond.Â
âFarkas?â he called, the name echoing on the rough-hewn stone walls all around him. âYou good?â
A brief snarl, followed by a much more human gasp and a few grunts of effort drifted out of the tunnel in front of him, and a couple of minutes later later, Farkas staggered through the doorway, fixing the buckle of his chest plate at the shoulder with hands that trembled visibly even at that distance.Â
âYou ok?â Naethir asked as he approached the platform in the centre of the room. âHere, let meâŚâ he said, lifting Farkasâ knuckly, shaking fingers out of the way. The werewolf just stood there meekly and let Naethir help him while he caught his breath again. When the buckles were all secure, Naethir took a step back and regarded him carefully. âThat was⌠unexpected.â
âYeah,â Farkas rasped. âI hope I didnât scare you,â he added.Â
âWhat was that?â Naethir asked, though he already knew.Â
âItâs a blessing given to some of us,â Farkas explained, still sounding a bit winded. âWe can be like wild beasts⌠Fearsome.â
âThatâs one way of putting it,â Naethir chuckled, scratching the back of his head and then running his hand through his shaggy, black mohawk. Really, it was more of a mullet these days, and he needed to take a razor to the black hair above his long ears, but heâd just not found the time to sit down in front of a mirror and sort himself out. âYou gonna make me a werewolf?â he asked, tongue running ahead of his thoughts as usual.Â
âOh no,â Farkas said with a shake of his head. His own, dark, shoulder-length hair brushed against the steel of his cuirass and Naethir noticed he had a mat of blood in it. âOnly the Circle have the beast blood. Prove your honour to be a CompanionâŚâ he said, and then, as if he was quoting something, he added, âEyes on the prey, not the horizon.â Whatever that meant. With a sigh though, Farkas said, âWe should keep moving. Still the draugr to worry about.â
âYeah,â Naethir mumbled. âSure.â
And fuck, were there a lot of draugr in Dustmanâs Cairn.Â
But it wasnât just the undead they had to contend with.Â
Working in perfect synchrony, they took out some more of the faction that Farkas growled were called the âSilver Handâ â werewolf hunters, evidently â and when they came to a corner that smelled strongly of what Naethir assumed to be rat piss, Farkas scrunched up his face and hissed, âSkeever den.â
The little â actually big as dogs â biting, flea-ridden rodents skittered about and launched themselves at the pair of them, but Naethir managed to avoid picking up fleas or mange or any other withering disease, so he chalked it up as a victory and studiously avoided dwelling on the actual, high-pitched scream he let out when the first one had flung itself at him from the darkness. Farkas, to Naethirâs surprise, hadnât laughed at him for it, but had just jutted his head down the passageway in a âletâs keep goingâ kind of gesture and smiled softly.Â
His kindness was repaid a second or two later when the Nord sucked in a horrified breath as a colossal frostbite spider descended from the cavern roof and he let out a whimper of pure distress. Naethir stilled the creature a second later with two arrows through its head, and when a second reared up from behind some sticky cobwebs, mandibles chittering and venom dripping from them to hiss and foam on the floor, Farkas seemed rooted to the spot before he forcibly kicked his body into action and swung at it. As its mandibles clacked open again, Naethir sank another arrow deep into its head and it collapsed with a thud to the floor.Â
Farkasâ whole body shuddered so hard it was almost a spasm, and the hearty Nord looked like he might throw up.Â
âYou good?â Naethir asked him as they pressed on.Â
Grimly he nodded, but he muttered, âItâs the legs on âemâŚâ
They didn't have long to dwell on the spiders though, because yet more draugr milled about in the corridor ahead. If heâd thought there were a lot of them roaming the halls of the complex though, it was nothing compared to what they found after they raided the altar at the heart of the tomb. No sooner had the shard of that infernal, elf-killing axe hit the bottom of his pocket than the whole bloody room erupted into chaos.Â
Draugr fucking everywhere.Â
âIâm sick of these wrinkly fucks!â Naethir yelled as Farkas hewed the legs out from under one that had been pelting full tilt at Naethir and, in the backstroke of the same swing, cleaved the head off another. âAre they coming out of the fucking walls? Why are there so many of them?!â
âLess yakking, more hacking!â Farkas shot at him, and Naethir barked out a laugh even as he sought out a better vantage point. Finding one, he vaulted up onto the wide, stone table below the curved altar wall and began firing off arrows with the regular precision of a dwarven mechanism.Â
Eventually, what felt like hundreds of shrivelled corpses in ancient, crusty leather armour lay littering the stone floor of the long burial chamber, and he and Farkas stood there in the middle of the carnage, chests heaving, eyes wide, and muscles cramping with adrenaline.Â
âFuck me,â Naethir whispered into the sudden stillness as he lowered his bow. âYou put all the new recruits through this?â
âUh, no,â Farkas admitted sheepishly as he stowed his sword back on its hanger on his armour and turned to look at him. âNormally Kodlak comes up with a task to fetch an artefact from somewhere in Skyrim but it doesnât usually go like this. I had to bring back this big old urn from a tomb near Dawnstar â I think the old man just wanted to see if I could carry something made of pottery without dropping it or crushing it to be honest.â He let out a little chuckle and shook his head. âShould have seen the look on his face when I put it down on his desk without so much as a chip in it.â He looked so proud, Naethir wanted to pat him on the head.Â
Instead, the Dunmer flashed him a grin and holstered his bow over his shoulder. âSo these âSilver Handâ folksâŚâ
Farkas gave the kind of growl that, until then, Naethir had only heard from wild animals right before they lunged at him, and he blinked. It took the werewolf a while to stop, and he seemed to be struggling to remember how to form words instead of just growling. Eventually he took a breath and closed his eyes. âSorry,â he said. âTheyâre bad people. The wolf really doesnât like âem.â
âThe wolf?â
âMy wolf,â he clarified. âMy wolf spirit; the beast blood. Whatever you want to call it. We donât like being hunted, and the Silver Hand hunt, and torture, werewolves.â
âShit. Are they a big problem for you guys? I mean, are there lots of them? Iâve never heard of them beforeâŚâÂ
âThey havenât been much of a problem so far, but Kodlak might know more. Vilkas got all the smarts in the womb out of the two of us, so Kodlak doesnât really talk to me about whatâs going on. Just points me at stuff he doesnât like and tells me to hit it as hard as I can.â He shot Naethir a lopsided, toothy grin. âIâm good at that, at least.â
The self-deprecating humour didnât land with Naethir though, and he stepped in close, noting the way his rough hands still trembled a bit in the aftermath of the most strenuous fight heâd had in years. He spent most of his time nowadays slinking along roof lines and slipping in through windows to crack safes and disappear into the night like smoke. If he saw any kind of fight, it meant heâd fucked up big time. The most action he and his bow usually saw together was a regular, friendly wager with Niruin at the archery targets in the Ragged Flagonâs echoing, underground cistern. Neither of them needed the gold, but the two Thieves Guild members shot for the bullseye like they were penniless all the same.Â
He clasped Farkasâ bare upper arm, bow-callused fingers soaking up the heat of his skin even in that brief gesture. âDonât sell yourself short, wolfman.â
Farkasâ grin widened until it lit up his whole, rugged, handsome face, and he clapped Naethir on the shoulder so hard he staggered and had to grip hold of Farkasâ arm again just to keep himself from toppling sideways into one of the many, now-open sarcophagi. âI said it before, elf, but I really hope we keep you.â
The âelfâ appellation didnât come over as an insult from this Nord, so Naethir smiled. âIâm not much of a one for being âkeptâ, Farkas, but I hope you let me stick around all the same. For all the Companionsâ distant history of slaughtering elves, the current bunch seems like pretty good people.â
âYeah,â Farkas grimaced, having the grace to look uncomfortable.
It wasnât exactly a secret that their founding champion, Ysgramor, and his original Five Hundred Companions had come back to Skyrim to avenge their fallen Nord brothers, and had then begun a sweeping campaign of genocide that had ended, one way or another, with the Snow Elvesâ complete extinction. Even now, as a dark elf in Skyrim, Naethir had faced more than his fair share of racism from the resident Nords, and Farkasâ own twin brother had been openly hostile to the idea of letting âhis kindâ into the Companions in the first place. To his credit, Farkas had never once treated him any differently, and the only thing heâd ever called him other than the neutrally-delivered âelfâ was ânew bloodâ.Â
 âWeâve already got one dark elf in the family thoughâŚ?â Farkas said with a naive kind of hope in his voice. âAthis is damned quick with those little blades he likes so much.â
Naethir smiled as the Nord glanced down at the small, ebony dagger dangling from Naethirâs belt. âCanât beat a big fuck-off sword though,â the elf smirked.Â
Farkas inclined his head and his grin was positively wolfish, though Naethir wasnât sure if the innuendo had landed.
Their ascent out of the tomb after that was slow, as Naethirâs muscles began feeling sluggish and his limbs clumsy and heavy. When they discovered that the narrow passage they were in was actually connected to the first chamber of the whole complex though, he brightened. âGods, I thought we were going to have to slog all the way back the way weâd come,â he said.Â
The air felt colder and lighter in that first chamber than the stale fustiness of the lower levels, but as he set his bare hands to the cold stone of the door and shoved, it wouldnât budge. A pang of raw fear shot through him before Farkas added his shoulder to it and shoved, and the pair of them spilled out into the now-pouring rain beyond.Â
âUgh, fuck. Weâre gonna get soaked.â
âCould always stay here and wait for it to pass if youâre worried about dissolving like the sugar on a sweetroll,â Farkas smirked at him.Â
Naethir punched him on the arm but did more damage to his own knuckles than to Farkas, and the werewolfâs chuckle turned into a full, deep, belly-laugh.Â
âShut up, or Iâll make a wet dog joke.â
âWonât be something I havenât heard a thousand times already,â Farkas shrugged. âItâs getting dark too,â he added, eyes drifting upwards. âBe nightfall soon. If you donât want to camp in the tomb though, we could find somewhere in the cliffs nearby to shelter?â
Theyâd brought thin bedrolls with them, lashed to the bottom of their lightweight packs, and while Naethir wasnât exactly used to sleeping outdoors, heâd had at least had his own sleeping-roll already and hadnât had to borrow one from the Companions before they left Jorrvaskr.Â
âYou wouldnât mind? Iâm fucking exhausted,â he said. âThat last fight was⌠a lot.â
âYeah,â Farkas agreed, to Naethirâs surprise. When he caught the way the Dunmerâs sharp, dark eyebrows rose above his ruby red eyes, Farkas added, âI like a good scrap as much as the next wolf, but that was a lot of fighting for one day. And,â he went on, cricking out his neck with an audible pop, âShifting back and forth like that so quickly hurts.â
Shame coiled briefly in Naethirâs stomach. Here he was crabbing about a few stiff muscles while Farkas had literally shifted from human to werewolf to protect himself. âIâd forgotten about that,â he said. âYeah, letâs find somewhere to rest up and catch our breath. It should only take us, what, three hours or so to get back to Whiterun, right? We can set off in the morning when itâs light again.â
âIf I was a wolf, I could run it in an hour,â he grinned. âEven in the dark.â
âYeah, but youâd be shot on sight by the guards and turned into a hearth rug if you did that,â Naethir countered, and Farkas pouted his pretty lips.Â
âAch, you got a point, elf. Câmon. I got water running down my neck standing here yakking with you in the rain, and youâre starting to shake like a little rabbit.â
It was true. Naethirâs supple leathers were already soaking up the water, and as the adrenaline of the fight in the tomb had dissolved into his bloodstream, it had left his muscles cold and stiff in a way that walking through torrential, freezing rain wasnât going to fix. So they headed north from the tomb, skirting around another ancient cemetery shrouded in purple nightshade and built into the shelter of the cliffs, and instead tracked east into the foothills of the mountains a little way.Â
Before Naethir could process what was happening though, Farkas had grabbed him quite literally by the scruff of his shirt collar and hauled him backwards, flinging the limp and surprised Dunmer behind him like a wet dishcloth without so much as a warning, and with a wordless bellow that made Naethirâs ears ring, heâd unhooked his sword and was swinging it through the air.Â
âWhat the â?â Naethir began from where heâd only just caught himself from falling onto his ass on the muddy ground, but a second later, the rounded shape heâd taken for just another boulder amid every other boulder-shaped boulder in the area reared upwards out of the deepening twilight.Â
With a gravelly roar, it revealed itself to be, in fact, the largest bear Naethir had ever seen in his entire, thirty five years of existence.Â
Farkas lopped the thingâs head off with an astonishing show of strength, especially after the draining fight in the tomb not half an hour earlier, while Naethir just stood there with his mohawk melting in the rain, staring at Farkas with his jaw slack. The man hadnât even hesitated. Heâd just hoiked Naethir out the way and flung himself at the creature.Â
âFuck me,â Naethir exhaled softly as Farkas turned, steel sword running red in the rain.Â
âThat an invitation?â he panted, a wild light glinting in his eyes that was probably more to do with the fact that heâd just felled a bear the size of a mountain in a single swing rather than anything Naethir had said, but still, the fact that heâd stepped between them without a momentâs thought was⌠arousing to say the least.Â
With a nervous laugh, Naethir cleared his throat and muttered, âMake sure your sword is clean.â
Farkas definitely missed the innuendo that time, and set to cleaning his blade on the thick fur of the dead bear before following Naethir up the slope and into the maze of rocks. About fifty yards further up the mountain, they found a sheltered overhang in the lea of the rocks and under the protection of some bristling pine trees.
Naethir shimmied out of his pack and said, âThis do alright?âÂ
âYeah.â
The pines had shed a deep, fragrant carpet of bronze needles all around their roots, and with the thickness of a sheepskin bedroll to mitigate any prickling needlepoints, and the shelf of rock above to act as a porch to keep off the rain, it formed a nearly perfect campsite.Â
The rain was lighter under the branches, though fat drops still plummeted down every now and again and made the pine needles bounce on impact, and while Naethir pulled off some of the spindly, lower branches to form a little stack of kindling that was ripe with flammable pine resin, Farkas ventured further afield in search of more branches to burn. Naethir was just using a sputtering spark of magic to kindle the twigs when a ripping, splintering sound echoed off the rocks and he looked up, hand twitching to his dagger hilt. A moment later though, Farkas emerged through the dark with his thick arms laden with small logs and a smug expression on his ruggedly handsome face.Â
âPulled these off a fallen tree nearby,â he said. âTheyâre not seasoned firewood, but theyâll burn better than green timber.â
âGood job,â Naethir smiled amusedly, and he could have sworn he saw the ghost of a big tail wag back and forth behind him.Â
Still smiling, he told Farkas to set them down around the small but fierce blaze heâd created in a sheltering circle of some gathered stones for protection, and the big man followed the order without question. Â
Farkas laid a solid fire, and in no time, warmth and dancing light were radiating out into their little campsite and reflecting off the curved rock shelter behind them while the night began to press in on them from beyond the guarding trees. It still wasnât enough to reach Naethirâs chilled bones though, and after heâd hung up his leather jerkin on a little spur of rock inside the almost-cave, just near enough to the fire to catch some heat to help it dry, he shivered violently and drew his knees in close to his chest where he sat on his bedroll, boots also drying near the campfire.
Farkas frowned. âYouâre too cold.â
âT-Tell me about it,â he stammered, teeth chattering and muscles spasming. âM-Maybe Iâm not c-cut out for the l-life of an ad-adventurer after allâŚâ
âCâmere,â Farkas grunted, shucking out of his breastplate once again and leaving him in his loose, sweat-stained linen shirt.Â
âYou gonna sh-shift and let me sn-snuggle up?â Naethir blurted then laughed at himself for it. âS-Sorry.â
But Farkas shrugged as if heâd not considered that. âCan do if you want, but I wonât be able to shift back so quick this time.â
âIt t-takes a l-lot out of you, I g-guess?â
âYeah,â he nodded. âSo⌠you want that⌠or⌠you just gonna⌠uh⌠share my bedroll for a bit?âÂ
That last idea was mightily tempting in its own right, and not just from a survival point of view.Â
Naethir bit his lip though when he considered the strain that it would undoubtedly put on Farkasâ already tired body to shift, and he shook his head. âNah, youâre g-good, bud. But thank you. Iâll t-take you up on the shared warmth all the same though. If you d-donât mind.â
âWouldnât have offered if I did,â Farkas said simply, and stood to get the armoured trousers off as well. It was only when he had undone the laces and looked down that he remembered he had shredded his underwear while shifting back at the tomb. He stopped with his thumbs behind the waistband and flushed hot in the face. âUh⌠maybe best I leave these on. The metal will be cold thoughâŚâ
Naethir burst out laughing despite how miserably cold he was, and nodded. âMy leggings are k-kinda damp t-too though, so you pr-probably wouldnât want that up against your b-bare skin either.â
The pair shared a laugh and Farkas, still chuckling, shook his head and eyed Naethirâs skin-tight leggings, âYou look like those were painted on you, elf. Iâm surprised you can even get into them.â
âIt is harder to g-get them on and off when the l-leatherâs damp, not g-gonna lie,â he snorted. âC-Come on. Lemme in.â
Farkas undid the single toggle that held his big bedroll loosely together and, with his boots off, he held it open for Naethir to slide in first so that heâd be snug against the sealed side. It essentially trapped him in there like a draugr in a shroud, but at least it was fleece-lined and he wouldn't have a draft on his back. He doubted the roll would close properly with him in it as well as Farkasâ broad shoulders.Â
Wearing his shirt and damp buckskin leggings, with his thick, woollen socks still on too, he burrowed into the bedroll and tried not to tense as Farkas climbed in behind him. Seemingly without even thinking about it, the big man looped his thick arm around Naethirâs lean middle and, with his huge hand pressed flat to Naethirâs lower belly, pulled him in tight against the heat of his chest. Even through the linen of his shirt, Naethir could feel the heat washing out of him, and he moaned and pushed back against him with a sigh.Â
âFuck, you really are frozen,â Farkas scowled, sliding his right arm under Naethirâs head so he was pillowed comfortably on his huge bicep, and nuzzling his cheek briefly against Naethirâs sensitive ear and neck. The elf shivered, but it blended so easily with the constant, all-over shaking from the cold that he was able to disguise it.Â
Fuck though, Farkas was big. Conceptually, heâd known the man was big â most humans were bigger than Dunmer in general anyway â but with him crowding in behind like that, it felt very different. In truth, it felt wonderful. His muscles soon relaxed as the heat from the werewolf slowly seeped into him, and he let out a long sigh and felt his body go completely slack.Â
Well. Almost all of him.Â
His cock seemed to have other ideas, and it started to stiffen in his tight leathers, which was hardly the most comfortable of sensations. He exhaled and tried to distract himself by asking Farkas a question.Â
âYou⌠You said it was Circle business, so I donât know if Iâm allowed to ask about the⌠beast blood, butâŚ?â
âSure,â he replied, a soft smile evident in his voice, even if Naethir couldnât see it from where he was currently lying on his right hand side, with Farkasâ nose now buried in the soft mane of hair at the back of his head.Â
âAlright⌠uh⌠How⌠How long have youâŚ?â
âBeen a werewolf? Since I was 16, so, like, twelve years now. Fuck. I feel old.â
Naethir laughs. âIâm older than you, Farkas.â
âYeah?â he blurted, glancing up sharply. Naethir could feel the scrutiny of the man as his eyes raked over what he could see of him from his position tucked against his back. âFuck, you look⌠like⌠like youâre barely even twenty. Is that an elf thing?â
âYeah,â he sighed. âPlus, I have an excellent diet. Lots of plants and mushrooms,â he deadpanned, leaning into the (completely untrue) stereotype.Â
Farkas laughed loudly, his whole body shaking with it, and he pulled Naethir even closer to him with a seemingly inadvertent twitch of his left hand which was still pressed against his lower belly.Â
Naethir had always had a vain and prideful streak to him, and he was rightfully proud of his physique. Heâd never be bulky the way Farkas was, but he was lean and hard and honed after a tough upbringing in the Riften Ratway. And after years of competitive archery with Niruin, his whole upper torso was as taut as a bowstring itself these days, so when Farkasâ fingers began idly tracing the ridges of his defined abdominal muscles in appreciative circles, he nearly came in his pants. He was sure heâd start leaking soon.Â
Fuck.Â
âWhatâs it like?â he asked after a too-long pause with only the crackling fire and driving rain on the rocks around them to mask his increasingly shallow breath and thudding heartbeat.Â
âBeing a werewolf?â Farkasâ deep voice rumbled right in his ear.Â
fuckfuckfuck
âI mean, when you shiftâŚâ
âOh. Itâs⌠It's a lot,â Farkas said. âYou can hear and feel and taste everything until itâs over. Then⌠Then itâs so much⌠more. Youâre so powerful⌠as a wolf. Hircineâs power is⌠I donât know how to describe it. My brotherâs the one whoâs good with words. But⌠as a wolf, youâre a predator and a hunter, and youâre so strong and fast⌠You can see and hear and⌠smell⌠everything so much betterâŚâ He laughed quietly and exhaled another sigh that sent goosebumps prickling over Naethirâs neck. âSorry thatâs not very helpfulâŚâ
Naethirâs mind supplied him with the image of Farkas swinging his sword with enough force to cut through the sinew and bone of a bearâs thick neck, and he couldnât stop himself shuddering.Â
âYou still cold?â Farkas asked, splaying his fingers wide over the fabric of Naethirâs thin shirt. âYou donât feel as coldâŚâ
âItâs⌠uh⌠itâs⌠yeahâŚâ he slurred, eyes rolling back into his head. âFuck.â
Farkas inhaled deeply, and Naethir realised he was completely fucked. The man had literally just said that werewolves had heightened senses, after all, and Naethirâs cock was definitely leaking into his underwear.Â
For answer, Farkas shifted his hips against Naethirâs backside and grunted softly.Â
âYouâd probably be more comfortable if you took those steel-plated trousers off,â Naethir laughed nervously.Â
âYeah, but then Iâd have a different problem.â
And if that didnât ignite the tinder in Naethir like a fireball spell⌠âOh?âÂ
Farkas paused, then pressed his nose decisively against Naethirâs neck, right below his earlobe. He let out a winded grunt and then sighed. âYou smell so good,â he moaned. âIâm sorry. I⌠Itâs been a while.â
Half shuffling and instantly questioning everything when it made Farkas give another of those broken moans, Naethir asked tentatively, âCanât you smell what being this close to you is doing to me?âÂ
âYeah,â Farkas admitted. âBut people smell turned on all the time. Doesnât mean they want to do anything about it⌠It just happens.â
âAnd if I said I did want to do something about it, how would you feel about that?âÂ
Farkas blinked. âIâd like that. I didnât think Nords were your type though.â
âWhy?â he asked, a little too sharply. âCos Iâm an elf? You think weâre all haughty pricks who wonât deign to fuck a human?â
Farkas went still. âNo,â he said, his voice surprisingly small for such a big man, and Naethir instantly regretted his acerbic tone. âNo, thatâs not⌠thatâs not what I meant at all. Iâm sorry. Iâm not good at saying what I actually want to say. I just meant⌠after what you said about that Nord back in the tomb earlierâŚâ
Naethir frowned, struggling to remember.Â
âYou called him a big ugly bastard,â Farkas prompted.Â
âOh,â Naethir exclaimed, âThat one,â and then he began to laugh. âI mean, he was trying to kill you, Farkas. Iâm not likely to be attracted to someone who wants to hurt my friends, now am I?â
âOh.â
âBut for the record, he was ugly anyway. But luckily for you, not all big Nords look the same, and youâre definitely not ugly. And as you can no doubt smell by now, Iâm one-hundred percent, completely, and very much turned on by you.â
âOh.â
âAndâŚâ
âMn?â
â⌠Just so weâre absolutely clear, Iâd very much like you to fuck me. Or to fuck you. Whatever you prefer. Iâm not fussy. At least, not in bed anyway. Donât get me started on the quality of sweetrolls from Skyrimâs various bakeries though. I really do have opinions on that.â
âOh.â
Naethir smiled and shuffled a little further so that he was flat lying on his back, with Farkasâ right arm still trapped under his head and the manâs heavy left arm still draped over the flat plane of his stomach, just above his narrow hips. He cast him a sidelong look. âDid I break you?â
Farkas blinked, his silver eyes catching the light like a predatorâs in the dark. âA bit?âÂ
It was Naethirâs turn to smile wolfishly then, and he rolled onto his left hip, facing Farkas now, and nudged his knee between the manâs big thighs.Â
The top of the bedroll slid off Farkasâ shoulders then, and he rocked over onto his back, half off the damned thing, but he didnât seem to notice or to mind the bare rock of the shelter under his linen-clad shoulders.Â
Naethir slid his fingers over Farkasâ warm paunch of a belly, tracing the line of hair that ran down it from his chest to his groin, and the werewolfâs silver eyes rolled back for a moment. His head clunked against the stone behind him, lips parted and jaw slack.Â
âTake these off for me?â Naethir asked, sliding his fingers under the waistband of his armoured trousers.Â
Breathing harder now, Farkas rolled away from him and finished undoing the laces before staggering to his feet and sliding them down his legs to reveal muscular thighs covered in just the right amount of dark hair. From where he was still half-sprawled on the bedroll beneath him, Naethir got a glimpse of his balls and the root of his hard cock beneath the hem of the long linen shirt before it was revealed to him as Farkas stripped off completely and left his clothes in a heap beside the bedroll.Â
âYou too, or are they really painted on?â Farkas grinned down at him.Â
With a laugh, Naethir exchanged places with Farkas and peeled out of his own buckskin leggings and shirt, adding them to the pile while the werewolf watched him hungrily. He seemed to completely disregard his own arousal, resting back on his arms with his hard cock erect and exposed in the chilly night air while he stared at Naethir like he was a fresh haunch of venison. Unlike Farkas, Naethir had still had his underwear on, and where the wolfâs had been simple linen, his were an expensive pair of dark, garnet-red, silk briefs.Â
âFancy,â Farkas smirked, but his pupils dilated at the sight of the wide, dark spot where Naethirâs cock was leaking into the silk. âFuck, that for me?â he asked in a rough, deep voice, and Naethir nodded.Â
âYeah.â
âCould smell it,â Farkas said, reaching for Naethirâs slender thigh and drawing him closer until he could press his nose against the line of his cock in the silk. His eyes fluttered closed and he mouthed at Naethir through the fabric, pressing a kiss to the head of his cock and then letting his tongue nudge wetly against it with a deep, resonant groan. He was tasting him, Naethir realised. Tasting him through his underwear.Â
âFuck, thatâs hot,â Naethir gasped, grabbing Farkasâ long, black hair in both hands and pulling him closer onto his cock.Â
The big Nord didnât object in the slightest, and Naethir got the impression he would have happily stayed there, suckling at his cock through his briefs all night without any further input from its owner.Â
âWait a minute,â Naethir whispered, tugging a little harder on his hair, and when Farkas drew back to gaze up at him, he had a dazed, slack-jawed look that made his cock twitch and weep against the cooling silk still encasing it. âFuck, youâre so lovely, Farkas. Look so good for me like that.â
âYeah?â
âYeah. What do you want though?â
âYou?â
Naethir laughed kindly and crouched down, meeting Farkasâ beautiful, moon-silver eyes. Now though, they were more like a new moon, all big and dark and full of lust as he stared openly at Naethir. âHow do you want me, you sweet wolf?â
Farkas groaned around a smile at the endearment. âDonât mind. I like⌠both, so⌠whatever⌠whatever you want⌠just tell me what you want and Iâll do it, I promiseâŚâ
âOh youâre a good boy,â he said without meaning to utter it aloud, but it had the most wonderful effect on Farkas.Â
The man let out a few heaving breaths and hissed, âFor you. Iâll be good for you. Just tell me what you want.â
âAlright, let me get some oil from my pack. I use it for alchemy, so itâs high grade and completely inert. Not like the fucking sword oil I bet you Nords use in a pinch.â
Farkas managed a smirk but he was still gasping softly for breath as Naethir stalked the few paces over to his pack and fished out the tiny, reinforced glass bottle of neutral oil that was really intended for high grade concoctions, not a quick fuck on the plains of Whiterun, but he was wealthy enough to replace it without missing the coin.Â
âIâm going to ride you, wolf,â he purred. âLie back and help me prep a bit. Itâs been a while. and as much as I want that gorgeous cock of yours inside me, I want to enjoy it too. You look like you might split me open if Iâm not careful.â
Farkas nodded seriously and blinked, seeming to rise out of his submissive daze for a moment. âI donât want to hurt you,â he said, and the earnest fervour in his tone struck Naethir so deeply it brought tears to his ruby red eyes.Â
âYou wonât, gorgeous,â he promised. âI can take you,â he said, reaching out and stroking an oiled hand up the length of Farkasâ thick, flushed cock, twisting his hand at the top. As the pleasure of the gesture hit Farkas in the gut, his mighty arms gave way and he collapsed back onto the bedroll behind him, fucking his hips upwards into Naethirâs tight grip.
âOh fuck,â he cursed, shuddering violently. âFuck that feels so good. You feel so good.â
âJust wait til youâre inside me,â Naethir whispered, leaning in and kissing his ear, then moving down the thick column of his neck to nip at his collarbones. The werewolf growled at him, but it didnât sound like a threat, so he did it again and Farkasâ whole torso heaved, nearly dislodging him.Â
Naethir left the little bottle nearby, safely out of reach of any flailing limbs, and decided to straddle Farkas straight away. The werewolfâs eyes shot open as his slender weight landed on his groin and he rolled his hips against Farkasâ, grinding into him in a slow, decadent motion.Â
Farkasâ big hands grabbed his sharp hips and he raised his shoulders a little off the bedroll, curling inward with pleasure and groaning loudly. âFuck,â he said again, though it was barely audible.Â
As Naethir slid one oiled finger into himself, he paused, leaning forwards over Farkasâ torso and bracing his other hand on the manâs bulky shoulder.Â
âKeep steady,â he said, and the man took the command seriously. So seriously, in fact, that he started to tremble and twitch while he forced himself to remain perfectly still beneath Naethir, while the elf rocked back and forth with his back arched like a bow at full draw, sliding a second and then a third finger past his clenching ring of muscle until it no longer burned, and he knew he needed more. He needed the length and girth of the hard cock that was leaking pre-come all over Farkasâ dark trail of hair and the swell of his strong paunch beneath him.Â
Farkasâ scarred chest heaved like bellows again, his nipples hard in the cold air, and he gasped for breath as he looked up at Naethir. There were going to be plum-dark bruises on Naethirâs slate grey skin come the morning, he was sure of it, but he wouldnât have asked Farkas to let go of his hips for all the gold in Tamriel.Â
âYou good?â Naethir asked him, his already harsh voice sounding completely wrecked from just his own fingers inside himself.Â
âGot me panting like a dog,â Farkas hissed, looking up at Naethir with eyes blown black. âWant you. Gods, I want you. Can I have you? Please?â
âYou can have me,â he said, carelessly wiping the oil on his hip in passing as he brought his hand to grip Farkasâ poor, trapped cock.Â
His own had been leaking a steady stream of pre-come down onto Farkas too, creating a big mess on the manâs lower belly, and for a moment, he took both of them as best he could in one hand and squeezed, working his hand up their slick lengths and pressing his thumb into Farkasâ weeping slit until he grunted and half sat up again. The abrupt movement nearly dislodged Naethir, but he tightened his thighs around Farkasâ hips and rode the buck the way heâd ride a young, green horse.Â
âYou really need it, donât you?â he crooned.Â
âYeah, please⌠please let me have youâŚâ
Smiling, Naethir leaned forwards and guided the head of Farkas wet cock into him, sinking slowly down onto it until he was halfway inside. Then, while Farkas was still letting out a long, punched-out groan of pure pleasure, Naethir sat back a little more and let his hips settle against Farkasâ, taking him inside to the hilt.Â
For a moment, he just sat there and breathed hard, pleasure radiating out from deep inside him at the stretch and fullness of it. âFuck, youâre a big boy,â he grunted, head tipping back so that his shaggy hair brushed the top of his spine. âYou good?â he added a beat later when Farkas seemed to have fallen quiet beneath him.Â
He cracked an eye open and found Farkas breathing fast and shallow, jaw clenched, eyes rammed shut.Â
âHey,â he murmured, reaching his clean hand for the manâs bearded jaw despite the way he was angled back. âLook at me?â
When his words didnât seem to have filtered through the haze in Farkasâ expression, he spread his fingers and caressed his cheek, then thumbed a line downwards across the centre of his lips.Â
âFarkas, sweetheart, look at me? Open your eyes.â
Barely snatching a breath in before panting it out, Farkas cracked his eyes open and blinked. A tendon in his neck thrummed like a shipâs rope in a gale, and he gritted his teeth and snarled deep in his chest.Â
âYouâre okâŚâ Naethir said gently. âYouâre doing so well for me. You feel so good, Farkas. Youâre doing so well.â
âShh, just take a moment,â he smiled. âItâs alright if you come, but I think you can wait for me, canât you? Can you do that for me, Farkas?â
âIâll try,â he hedged, shaking and twitching under him.Â
âThatâs good,â Naethir replied, and then he rolled his hips again.Â
As he clenched around Farkas, the wolf in him surged visibly. His canines lengthened and thickened and his eyes reflected like one of the moons lurking hidden behind the thick blanket of cloud above them. âFuck,â he grunted. âFuck, you feel so good.â
Naethir rose and sank down again, and when Farkas didnât immediately spill inside him, he repeated the motion, rising on strong thighs in a shallow, curving motion to prolong the clenching sensation along Farkasâ hard cock before sinking back down and starting again.Â
As his rhythm built, he felt his own orgasm stoking, and he took hold of his cock and started to work it in time with the movement of his hips as he angled them just-so to catch his prostate every time he sat all the way down. âIâm gonna come too, Farkas,â he managed to hiss. âFuck, you feel so good. So big⌠So much⌠Just there. Just a little ââ
Farkas began to thrust upwards too, meeting him with every downward motion, until the two were working in perfect synchrony to get each other off.Â
Farkas went first, his hips reaching a kind of fever pitch as he arched his back off the floor, pelvis lifting Naethir right off the ground as he started to come beneath him. Farkas gave into it as it crashed over him, yelling wordlessly and gripping Naethirâs hips so tightly he thought he might really hurt him. As it was, it added the perfect, grounding harmony to the onslaught of sensations deep inside him, and as he stripped his own cock, relentlessly chasing his release while Farkasâ cock was still pulsing and spilling inside him, his balls drew up and he spilled all over his hand and Farkasâ belly in thick ropes.Â
Hunched forwards, he caught himself again on Farkasâ shoulder with his free hand, and continued to spasm and clench around Farkasâ cock while the werewolf was still coming. His mouth was set in a rictus of pleasure, lips pulled back to show his wolfâs canines, though his silver eyes were closed.Â
âFuck, youâre beautiful,â Naethir whispered reverently as his whole body started to go slack, his cock still dribbling and spurting into his hand. The occasional aftershock rippled through him where he was still sitting on Farkasâ cock, and the Nord gave a whimper and finally let out a long breath before slumping back onto the bedroll behind him.Â
His hands fell away from Naethirâs sides and he lay there, spent and sated, until Naethir shifted and began to get off him.Â
His hands flew back to Naethirâs hips and he slurred, âNo, pleaseâŚâ and opened his eyes just a sliver. âPlease⌠not yetâŚ?â
Naethir clenched his muscles around Farkasâ slowly-softening cock and trailed a finger through the mess heâd left all over his belly. His other hand was still gripping his own cock, and it was even messier still. âBeen a while since Iâve come like that, Farkas,â he admitted, rocking slowly back and forth to help bring the man down gently.Â
He was just starting to get over-sensitive when Farkas blinked and managed to focus properly on his face for the first time in a long while.Â
âI hope you stay,â he said, his consonants all blurring together still. âGods, I hope you stay.â
âMe too, big guy,â he laughed, and finally slid off him to start the process of cleaning up.Â
Back at Jorrvaskr, the first thing Naethir wanted after presenting an uncomfortably-knowing Kodlak with the success of his Trial , was a long, searing bath, hot enough to boil a mudcrab to Oblivion.Â
What he actually got instead was a strangely-intense initiation ceremony out in the freezing cold, led by the elderly Harbinger, Kodlak, and the rest of the Circle; namely Aela the Huntress, who fixed him with a wry smirk the moment she got within sniffing distance of him and exchanged a knowing look with Skjor, the older man standing just a mite too close to her for their relationship to be casual, and Farkasâ twin Vilkas, who glared at him like heâd brought a muddy pet skeever into the mead hall. Farkas made up the last of the Circle to welcome him into the Companions, and the sincerity in his silver eyes as he repeated the formal words asked of him by Kodlak moved Naethir almost to tears again.Â
âBrothers and sisters of the Circle,â Kodlak intoned in the training yard behind the mead hall, âToday we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. This man has endured, has challenged, and has shown his valour. Who will speak for him?"
Farkas stepped forward from the crescent of witnesses and met his gaze with a smile. âI stand witness to the courage of the soul before us.â
Naethirâs lips quirked into a smile and he tried not to shuffle on the spot. Vilkasâ glare intensified.Â
âWould you raise your shield in his defence?â Kodlak asked Farkas.Â
âI would stand at his back, that the world might never overtake us.â
Gods, why did that sound more like a wedding vow than a welcome into a brotherhood?
Kodlak continued, oblivious to Naethirâs inner turmoil. âAnd would you raise your sword in his honour?â
Naethir nearly snorted after all the innuendos about swords heâd cracked around Farkas, but he kept it together. Just.
âIt stands ready to meet the blood of his foes.â
Donât think about Farkasâ sword standing ready. Donât think about Farkasâ sword standing ready. Donât think about â
âAnd would you raise a mug in his name?â
The sincerity again wiped Naethirâs dirty mind clean as Farkas responded with the rehearsed phrase. âI would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall revelled in his stories.â
Naethir thought of wolves howling at the sky and was suddenly humbled at the idea of a song being raised in his name by these rough, hearty people.Â
Kodlak nodded. âThen the judgement of this Circle is complete. His heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call.â
The members of the Circle all bowed their heads and intoned, âIt shall be so,â together.Â
With that done, Vilkas turned on the spot and left, but Aela lingered just long enough to pat him on the shoulder and call him âbrotherâ before leaving in lock-step with Skjor, already reminiscing about her own joining ceremony.Â
Kodlak chuckled in a grandfatherly way and looked down at Naethir from the good few inches he had on him, despite his age. âWelcome, Naethir,â he said. âYou are truly one of us now.âÂ
Naethir shot Farkas a look, but bowed his head and handed over the fragment of Wuuthrad. âHere,â he said. âAnd for the record, that was a lot of draugr.â
âI look forward to the full tale over roast venison and tankards full of ale and mead tonight at the feast. For now, make yourself comfortable andâŚâ he paused just long enough for Naethir to get suspicious again, âPerhaps avail yourself of a bath. Both of you.â
âWill do,â he said, struggling to keep the dirty smirk off his traitorous lips.Â
When they were alone in the training yard with only the straw dummies behind him, Naethir looked to Farkas. âWhat now?â he asked.Â
âNow? We each have a bath and get changed before the feast tonight.â
âI meant⌠usâŚâ he said awkwardly. âWas that just⌠âsomething that happenedâ? A way to let off steam after a fight, orâŚ?â
Farkas took a step closer to him as understanding dawned, and his hands went slowly to Naethirâs hips again, closing almost perfectly over the deep bruises heâd left imprinted seemingly on Naethirâs very bones the previous night. âIt doesnât have to be,â he said carefully. âWhat do you want?â
âYou,â Naethir breathed back as Farkas leaned in close and paused with his lips hovering mere inches from Naethirâs own. Naethir closed the distance and watched Farkasâ eyes roll back as he inhaled deeply though his nose and dragged the elf closer to him until their hips were pressed together and Naethir had to bend backwards to accommodate their marked difference in height.Â
âGonna give me a bad back, you big fuck,â he laughed, drawing off him.Â
âLetâs run you a bath then, old man,â he fired back at him, guiding him into the hall with a warm hand on the small of his back and an equally warm chuckle in his ear.Â
No one seemed willing or brave enough to comment on the fact that they sat next to each other at the feast in front of the long, crackling, central hearth, nor that Farkasâ left hand stayed mostly on Naethirâs right thigh even as he recounted the tale of the fifty-thousand draugr that had come pouring out of every sarcophagus in the hold to attack them the moment they picked up the fragment of Wuuthrad. People laughed, and shared anecdotes of their own Trials, and by the time the conversation and attention had moved away from the ânew bloodâ, Naethir found himself pleasantly buzzed and with his belly just nicely full.Â
He glanced up at Farkas and found him already looking down at him. âWhat?â
âYou wanna get out of here?â he asked quietly.Â
Naethir raised an eyebrow. âWonât they say something?â
âProbably, but itâs nothing they havenât said before.â
An uncharacteristic little wave of insecurity twisted through his gut. âTo⌠you?âÂ
Farkasâ hand closed on his thigh again, strong fingers tightening. âNo, not to me. They wonât have a leg to stand on though. They think my teeth arenât sharp enough to bite back at them, but I promise you, I will.â
â ââŚready to meet the blood of my foesâ?â he quoted.Â
âTaste it,â Farkas corrected, and damn, if that wasnât an attractive idea.Â
âAlright,â he chuckled. âWait for a good moment, then weâll slip away. No need to draw the attention of the entire room.â
âHalf of them are werewolves,â he pointed out. âTheyâll notice anyway. But alright.â
They waited until a few others had wandered off, Torvar in particular weaving from side to side until Athis groaned and shoved back from the table to prop him up. In the wake of their departure, Farkas leaned down again and murmured in Naethirâs sensitive ear, âI canât sit here any longer. Either you leave with me now, or I leave alone and go to my room anyway.â
âPerks of being a Circle member,â Naethir quipped, even as he stood and used Farkasâ massive shoulder for leverage as he stepped away from the bench. âGet your own private roomâŚ.â
âWalls are made of stone too,â Farkas rumbled.Â
âFuck.â
âThatâs the idea,â he said bluntly as he got to his feet too and looked down at Naethir.Â
âFuck, youâre handsome,â Naethir blurted, laughing as he cupped Farkasâ bearded cheeks in both his hands. âKiss me.â
âWhat about⌠everyone?â he asked, glancing around.Â
But no one was really looking at them. Aela did give a harsh bark of laughter, but Skjor leaned over and hissed something in her ear that quickly shut her up with a surprisingly virulent blush for a woman as brash as she was, and Farkas and Naethir instead made their way unhampered down the stairs and into the basement living quarters under the hall of the Companions.Â
Naethir slipped his hand into Farkasâ as the werewolf strode down the barrel-vaulted central hallway of Jorrvaskrâs lower level, but when heâd unlocked a door on the right of the wide corridor, Farkas snatched Naethir up around the waist and hoisted him into the room like he was about to run off somewhere else.Â
He found himself shoved roughly against the still-open door, and Farkasâ lips pressed briefly against his pulse point before he was mouthing and nipping down his neck, exhaling roughly across his dark grey skin and rutting his hips up against him like a teenager. âFuck, I need you,â he gasped.Â
âOil?â Naethir asked.Â
âTop drawer, over there,â Farkas grunted, and picked him up by the hips so that Naethir had no choice but to loop his thighs around Farkasâ waist and let himself be carried and deposited on the wooden bar that dissected the manâs room like it was an underground tavern. âUsed to be a store and taproom,â he explained, âBut I moved into it when I was fourteen. Couldnât stand Vilkasâ snoring anymore.â
âDivines be praised for a snoring brother,â Naethir exhaled, kicking his heels against the bar and absently palming his hard cock through his loose trousers while Farkas shut the door behind them.Â
Naethir was wearing a tight, sleeveless shirt that showed off his toned, lean, dark grey arms, but his trousers were baggy and cuffed at the ankle, and he wore only supple, leather slippers on his feet now that he wasnât traipsing through endless piles of skeever shit and draugr bones.Â
Farkas returned to him with a squat, ceramic pot of oil and set it the wooden counter top beside him before working open the laces of Naethirâs trousers and kneading the heel of his palm carefully but firmly up the length of Naethirâs hard cock.Â
âFuuuuuck,â the elf crowed, arching backwards and bracing his slender weight on his callused hands. âFuck, thatâs good, Farkas.â
âYeah? Wanna make you feel good,â he murmured against his skin, still kissing and raking his teeth across the curve of Naethirâs neck. âYou smell so good,â he added. âMakes my wolf want to play with you too.â
âNext time?â Naethir asked. âWanna take your knot though. Bet its big. Bet it feels so good.â
âFuck, you know about⌠that?â
âYouâre not the first wolf Iâve been with, Farkas,â he said, stupid with lust, and the werewolf actually growled at him, snapping his teeth even as his canines lengthened and his eyes flashed silver.Â
âNever,â he snarled, âSay that to me. Again.â
âYouâre my wolf, baby,â Naethir whined, rutting his hips against Farkasâ where he was standing right in front of him and looping his thighs around Farkasâ hips to drag him closer. âYouâre my wolf. Come on, baby, pleaseâŚâ
âFuck!â he cried, rutting helplessly again, desperate for some release. âFuck, Naethir, pleaseâŚâ
âCome on then, undress me,â he said, and let Farkas start to fumble with the tie at the top of his loose trousers. âThatâs it, baby. Undress me.â
âCall me âbabyâ one more time and Iâll come,â Farkas warned while he was still fussing with Naethirâs trousers. Finally he yanked them down his legs, and undid his own laces, though he didnât even get his trousers halfway down his thick thighs before heâd reached a shaking hand for the oil. âYou loose enough to take me still? Or you need working open?â
âWork me open a bit,â Naethir admitted, leaning back on his hands, shifting his hips forwards on the edge of the smooth wooden bar, and setting his heels on Farkasâ massive shoulders. The man was wearing a dark blue shirt that set his eyes off something wicked, and as Naethir crossed his ankles behind his head, he drew Farkas in close enough to kiss. Even while the man was pressing his lips against Naethirâs, his finger dipped into the oil and he sank it deep inside him in a single, careful movement.Â
Crooking his finger a moment later, he watched Naethirâs expression carefully as his mouth formed a silent âoâ and he arched backwards.Â
âThatâs it,â Farkas murmured. âThatâs it.â
âFuck, fuck thatâs so good,â he blurted as Farkasâ fingertip found his prostate and began to massage it already. It sent slow, searing jolts of ecstasy out through his core like ripples in lava and he started to shake. âEnough,â he gasped some time later, clutching for Farkasâ shoulders again but missing entirely and finding his elbows instead. âFuck, please⌠please baby, I need you⌠I need you inside me again.â
âAnything,â Farkas exhaled, withdrawing his hand and wiping his fingers on his shirt before dipping them into the oil again and coating his thick cock from tip to root. He yanked Naethir forward so that he was dangling perilously off the wooden bar, and lined his cock up perfectly. In a single stroke, he seated himself inside Naethir, and the elf sucked in a breath and clutched at Farkas with a curse.Â
âFuck, thatâs so good. Just there, baby, just thereâŚâ he moaned, rolling his hips to help get the angle just right.Â
A moment later, Farkas started pistoning his hips back and forth, desperately rutting up into him with the kind of determination only a werewolf could maintain for a long time. Naethir bounced on his cock, his entire body lifting up off the polished wood of the bar with each stroke, only to slap his ass back down as Farkas withdrew just enough to keep his momentum going. Before too long though, even that wasnât enough, and he clung to Farkasâ shoulders so that the werewolf could nail him in the prostate on every upward thrust while completely supporting his weight with his arms. Â
âFuck!â Naethir cried out, looping his arms around Farkasâ neck so that the man was literally hoisting him into the air, fucking upwards without any kind of support whatsoever.Â
âYou're mine,â he growled, biting at his neck hard enough that it almost hurt.Â
âMâyours,â the elf slurred, dizzy with desire and the mounting pressure of his orgasm. âMâgonna come, baby,â he mumbled a moment later, his mouth pressed against Farkasâ collarbone as the man rutted up into him over and over until he saw stars and started coming all over Farkasâ soft belly where his cock was trapped against him.Â
He wailed helplessly, pinned on Farkasâ cock while the werewolf continued to fuck into him until finally his hips stuttered and he dragged Naethir down onto him as he emptied inside him with another senseless roar. Farkasâ hips rocked and spasmed against his own, driving him somehow further onto his cock so that he felt almost split open by it, and even while he was still coming, Farkasâ release dripped down Naethirâs thighs and onto the floor.Â
Farkas cradled the back of his head with one hand, and the other he held around his waist until the full force of his orgasm had abated and he staggered, letting Naethir settle his ass back down on the bar for a moment.Â
While he came down from the high of it, Farkas nuzzled gently and moaned repeatedly against his earlobe and the curve of his neck, murmuring sweet somethings into his flushed skin, all the while subtly rocking his hips and grinding his softening cock inside Naethir in lazy, idle circles.Â
Eventually though, he pulled out, his release leaving obscene spatters on the flagstone floor, and he picked Naethir up under his knees and arms to carry him to the rustic bed pushed against the wall opposite.Â
âEasy, love,â he murmured, pulling Naethirâs squashed and sweat-damp mullet back off his face. From a wash basin in the corner of the room, he fetched a damp cloth and cleaned what he could reach of Naethirâs naked, come-streaked body off before tending to his own needs.Â
Naethir drifted on dazed, dreamy currents while Farkasâ big hands took care of him, and when the warrior lifted the sheets and the heavy furs back and climbed in behind him, he smiled soppily and hummed a contented sigh.Â
âCâmere, wolf,â he mumbled, and Farkas curled obligingly around him with a fond chuckle. âLove this,â Naethir added as he drifted off into the deepest sleep heâd experienced in years.Â
âNow and always,â Farkas promised against the nape of his neck. âMy mate.â
_
Hope you enjoyed it! This is what Skyrim werewolves look like, for those unfamiliar with the game, and apart from the Van Helsing (2004) film, are the best depiction of werewolves I've ever seen.
17.5k word male kelpie x male Black Dog shifter x gn reader (nsfw) Now up on Patreon!
We made it to December folks! Thank you so much for your incredible support throughout a year that has proven to be one of the hardest and most turbulent I've experienced so far...
I've written you something close to 101k words, though there are a few more additional and abandoned chapters and entire story re-writes that I didn't count in that! (And that's only the monthly stories - it doesn't include the extra stories like the Willow Creek series). I want to thank you so much for inspiring me and supporting me. It means the world to me, and none of what I've shared on Patreon would be possible without your support and encouragement and engagement.
In keeping with that epic wordcount, and following your feedback on what monsters you wanted more of, here's 17k words of kelpie lad and a (another) submissive canine/shapeshifter lad for you. This story features folklore from Devon, England (the 'Black Dog' being one of the posited inspirations for the Hound of the Baskervilles story/legend, among other sightings), and it features childhood friends to lovers, via a misunderstanding...
Content/warnings: endgame poly romance. Minor injury (not to reader) and passing description of blood, some feelings of inadequacy in the reader compared to the Fae, off-screen mention of death of reader's elderly grandmother, implied overbearing and unhealthily-overprotective parent for one of the Fae lads, mention of loss/death of mate, non-sexual nudity/different values around nudity. Soulmates, bonding, knotting, shapeshifting, shifted sex (not kelpie), reader's body remains gender neutral throughout but in the nsfw bit they're on the receiving end of fingering and oral. Body parts and genitalia not named/specified though. One of the Fae is sexually very submissive, and there's control exercised in the form of their True Name used (consensually) for compulsion and orgasm denial.
Wordcount: 17,546(!)
Enjoy!
Extended preview:
That first summer on Dartmoor nearly turned you feral. Â
Eight years old, and raised in the hubbub of the city, youâd never seen open wilderness like that: wilderness that went on and on and on, for mile after mile of purple heather and grassy tracks, punctuated by dark bluffs that reared up out of foggy mornings, like ancient castles worn down by wind and rain until all that was left was a rocky footing made of implacable granite.Â
Your grandmotherâs cottage was a low, stone building with white-washed walls and a dense, thatched roof that was peppered with too much moss, and it had stood sentry on the moor for longer than folk memory recalled. As your motherâs battered hatchback drew up the gravel driveway, engine wheezing and coughing after so long a drive in truly foul, unseasonable weather, you both exchanged a wide-eyed look and let out a breath.Â
âMade it,â your mother chuckled, looking just a little wild around the eyes. Her knuckles had practically popped from gripping the wheel as sheâd guided her rattling old rust-bucket car down the winding, narrow lanes of the Devon countryside in the dark.Â
âGrandma really lives out here on her own?â you asked, smearing a clearer patch through the steamed-up window glass with your fist.Â
Your mother sighed and nodded. âYes. She has people come up to check on her, but thatâs why weâre here for the summer â to give Ursula a bit of a break. Plus, I think it will be good for you to be here for the summer.â
You nodded, then braced yourself before scuttling out of the car into the squall, first grabbing your rucksack from the back seat, and pelting through the driving rain towards the front door, where a flickering porch light danced above the doorway like a fairy in the dark.Â
As you rapped the little brass knocker, a flash of movement out in the darkness to your left made you twitch around with a gasp.Â
Not even twenty feet away from you, a pale shape moved in the heather, and for a moment, you just stood there rooted to the spot in terror, thinking it was some spectre or monster emerging from the dark. It wasnât until you heard the snort of a horse and an answering whinny that your shoulders slumped in relief. A knobble-kneed colt with a stark white coat staggered up to its mother and snuggled in close to her belly to escape the driving wind, and you turned to face your own mother as she approached from the car, struggling with one of the suitcases in her hand.Â
âDid they escape?â you asked, pointing at the horses.Â
She looked, squinted, and then chuckled. âNo, sweetie. Theyâre the Dartmoor ponies I was telling you about â the wild horses that live up here all year round. They donât need a stable or rugs. Theyâre tough. Come on, did you knock?â
âYeah,â you nodded, and a moment later, your elderly grandmother drew back the creaking door and ushered you both inside out of the weather. The ponies were soon forgotten in the face of a rare summer fire in the hearth and a heaped plate of freshly-baked cookies.Â
The summer storm had blown itself out by morning to leave a stunning, bright blue sky, and while your mother took it upon herself to tidy and deep-clean the cottage, she let you roam around the area surrounding the cottage, with the promise that you wouldnât go out of sight of the front door.Â
As you began trudging through the rough grass and gnarled clumps of heather, wondering what you were going to do, you looked up and saw a small herd of ponies on the brow of the hill and grinned in delight. They looked so sweet with their thick forelocks dangling down between adorably fuzzy ears to drape down over one eye, and their stocky, muscular bodies that seemed so perfectly suited for the wild moorland.Â
âHi there,â you said as they showed no sign of scattering at your approach and instead watched you with open curiosity. There were six of them, ranging in colour from dark brown and smoky black to the silver grey of autumn clouds.Â
The grey pony with the foal from the day before flicked an ear at the sound of your voice, but you had the sense not to approach her. Even after being raised in the city, you knew not to go near a mother and her baby, and as cute as these two looked, they were wild animals after all.Â
Her leggy colt, on the other hand, clearly had other ideas.Â
At the sight of you, he pricked up his ears and raised his head, and gave a shrill whinny that split the still, summer air like a whistle. With his nose raised and his nostrils flared, he trotted proudly over to you, lifting his hooves like he was a prize dressage horse, not some scruffy-looking wild pony. He might have knocked you over in his enthusiasm to greet you had you not stepped slightly to one side just as he reached you. Despite your efforts at evading him, he lowered his grey head so that his scrubby little forelock was the closest thing to you, and he gave you a cute but still rather over-enthusiastic head-butt that nearly sent you toppling onto your backside.Â
The next thing you knew was the sound of cantering hooves, and his much larger mother had come barrelling over, knocking him to one side and steering him away from you with a disapproving snort at him, not at you.Â
You laughed as you caught your balance, watching him get herded back away from the strange human, but when he heard the sound of your laughter, he paused and turned around, ears pricked again. He raised his head right up into the blustery wind and whinnied again in a way that sounded somewhere between a laugh of his own and the beginnings of a little tantrum.Â
When you returned to the cottage after a morning of lonely adventuring on the sandy tracks of the heath, your mother was about to head out to the shops. âWill you stay with grandma while Iâm gone, sweetie? Perhaps you can tell her all about how youâre getting on at schoolâŚâ
You nodded and headed into the cottage. When you told her about the ponies youâd met that morning though, your grandma got a strange twinkle in her eye. âYou want to watch out for the clever ones, child. They might be kelpies.â
âKelpies?â
âYou havenât heard of kelpies? What kind of fairy stories did your mother tell you at bedtime then?â The old woman looked positively disturbed.Â
âShe⌠didn't?â you said, thinking of your father who had read to you instead. Heâd told you stories about knights and dragons, but nothing involving⌠kelpies? âWhat are they?â
âWell, child, come here,â your grandma said, patting the sofa cushion next to her. âAnd Iâll tell you all about the kelpies and knockers, and the brownies and boggarts tooâŚâ
With your head full of folklore, you set off into the heather the next morning while your mother and grandmother pottered about the house, fully expecting to find the horses again and to have to convince yourself that they all wanted to sweep you away to the depths of their ponds and eat you aliveâŚÂ
Instead though, you found a nearly-naked boy about your own age.Â
WhichâŚÂ wasnât exactly what youâd expected to find out there.Â
Near the rocky tor that kept watch over your grandmotherâs cottage, you found the child crouched down and pressing his grubby fingertips into the paw prints of a massive dog that had been imprinted into the mud before the weather had turned back to hot and sunny. He was wearing some kind of sandy-coloured, linen shorts, but no top and no shoes or socks, and as your footsteps faltered and you found yourself staring at the strange looking boy, he turned his head and regarded you with eyes the same shade as the summer sky stretching overhead.Â
His hair was the next thing you noticed as strange for a child your age: it was grey. Not pale blond, as youâd thought as youâd approached, but the same iron grey streaked with pale silver as someone in their old age. His skin was a rich tan, like he had spent all summer playing outdoors already, and he had a spray of coppery freckles that swirled all the way up his left cheek and over the bridge of his nose in the shape of a breaking wave, but none on his right cheek.Â
He also had a plain, delicate, silvery necklace, the links of which sparkled around his collarbones like an autumn spiderweb. Youâd never seen a boy wear jewellery before, but definitely not anything like that.Â
âHi,â he said, grinning toothily at you as he straightened from his crouch. He was missing a front incisor and it softened his already round face into something kind of cute.Â
âHi,â you said back. âWhat are you doing?â
âLooking at Black Dog tracks, come see!â
âBlack dog?â you asked, not understanding the significance.Â
âYeah,â he said, frowning seriously, as though black dogs were somehow A Problem on the moor. âTheyâre they only thing that could get so big out here. LookâŚâ and he pointed again at the imprints in the mud beneath his bare toes. âThis one had a pup with them though, see?â
You approached, curiosity piqued, and sure enough, a paw print the size of a small dinner plate was clearly visible between the reedy grass and the twisting heather. âWhoaâŚâ you breathed. âHow⌠How big are they?â
âAs big as the ponies,â he said sagely, looking up at you again. âProbably bigger actually when theyâre full grown but they can be any size they like. Theyâre shapeshifters.â
Your breath caught as you stared into those eyes. Youâd never seen anyone with eyes that blue. âThatâs⌠crazyâŚâ you whispered.Â
He grinned again, but it fizzled into something less wild and a little more serious. âYouâre not from around here, are you?â
âNo.â
That mischief returned in a flash. âWait til you hear about the pixies in Wistmanâs WoodâŚâÂ
âThe what, where?â
Read the whole thing and catch up with all the other monthly and exclusive stories on my Patreon here!
Monthly story - male dragonborn x gn reader (nsfw)
As I said on Discord yesterday, I apologise for how quiet it's been on here lately. The 10+k word story I had begun and intended for this month's story didn't want to play ball at all, so I've shelved it for now. It's at 3 chapters, the plot grew wings the size of a gargoyle, and took off into the trees, so I'll wrangle it back at a later stage.
I went to a motorcycle expo thing in Birmingham and came back really really ill (that'll teach me to be sociable!), but I'm hopefully on the tail end of it now.
Anyway, here's nearly 10k words of burly but submissive dragonborn caravan guard for you! I hope you like it! A number of you said in your feedback comments that you liked dragonborns (lizardfolk), and also that you enjoyed more sexually submissive monsters, as well as gn readers, so hopefully this suits your tastes! I went overboard on world building for this one, so maybe we can revisit these characters if anyone else catches your eye too...
Content: reader who grew up in a trading caravan but moved away to study magic in the capital seeks out one of the trading caravans in the hopes of hitching a ride north to access a distant city's archives. On the way they meet a childhood friend, and find themselves attracted to one of the mercenaries hired to guard the caravan. Slight threat to safety at knife point (not from romantic interest), but the reader knows how to handle themselves.
Nsfw: reader is body and gender neutral, but sex is penetrative. No body parts mentioned other than 'entrance' for the reader. Dragonborn is sexually submissive, and enjoys their sheath being fingered. Orgasm delay/denial if you squint.
Wordcount: 9224
Preview:
The ring and rumble of carts and wagons filled the air, along with the sharp tang of horses and the clamour and somehow organised chaos that came along with a large trading caravanâs imminent departure.Â
âWaggonersâ Plazaâ was the rather overly-grand name for what was a partly-cobbled, partly quagmired parcel of land on the outskirts of the city walls, with the gnome-engineered canal running alongside it on the eastern edge and the grim, surly walls of the capital rising out of the stumps of weathered granite to the west.Â
You'd grown up on a trading caravan just like the one preparing itself in front of you, and something in your heart squeezed as you watched the kids playing off to one side near the canal on a stretch of muddy grass. They scrapped and played under the watchful eye of a rakshasa with a bandoleer of throwing knives dangling protectively across his chest and one grey ear flicking constantly around for any threat to the caravanâs assortment of little cubs of all kinds. There was a dragonborn with a stubby little tail that looked more like it was going to overbalance them than keep them upright, a tiny but tough little gnoll who hadnât grown into her ears yet, a human and a tiefling who seemed inseparable as they played bandits and guards with the others, and a pale-coated minotaur calf who was so unbelievably fluffy that they resembled a dandelion puff.Â
Your lips tugged into a smile as you remembered playing a hundred games just like that in towns all across the continent, and you hefted your small travel sack further up onto your shoulder and approached the wagon train at an easy walk.Â
As you drew nearer than just a casual passer-by, three guards â likely mercenaries hired for the season â came alert from their casual conversation where they were leaned up against the nearest wooden wagon, and one of them peeled away from the group while the other two watched on intently.Â
Small for an orc, though still tall by human standards, he was lean and narrow-waisted, and it was clear that he knew he was good looking as he pushed himself sinuously off the side boards of the wagon with just a tilt of his hips and set his ebony-handled war axe to rest casually across one shoulder as he walked. With black hair scraped back into a short tail and shaved close above his elegantly pointed ears, he sauntered towards you and jutted his chin up sharply.Â
âCan I help you?â he said, his voice rough and rich. His brown, kohl-lined eyes looked kind, even friendly, as he let them sweep appreciatively up and down your figure. With his high cheekbones and tapering ears, you suspected that his other parent must have been an elf.Â
âIâm looking for the caravan master,â you told him with a smile of your own. âCan you point me in their direction?â
âI can do you one better,â he grinned, showing off his comparatively cute, smaller tusks. âI can escort you personally.â
Oh, you knew charmers like this one. âVery well,â you said, biting back your smile along with an eye roll. âThank you.â
âNo problem. This way,â he said, and he twitched his head in the direction of the front of the line.Â
As you passed the other two guards, a minotaur with a russet coat so rich and dark it almost looked the colour of blood, and a tall tiefling with purple skin and one horn missing, the half-orc tossed them a wink, and they both shook their heads in synchrony. Before you were out of earshot, the tiefling called out to you, âWatch out for that one, stranger! Heâll charm you into bed before youâve put your question to the wagon master!â
âUnlikely!â you yelled back. âHeâd have to work a lot harder than that.â
They both laughed, and you shot the half-orc a look to find him already grinning at you. âThat so?â he asked, and you nodded. He let out another easy chuckle and then said, âSo, youâre hoping to travel with us?â
Read the whole thing, and gain access to all my previous monthly stories, over on Patreon right now!
Thank you again for your feedback after my last post - I'm still going through some of the comments but I will reply to you shortly. In the meantime, here's Chapter Eight of Ben & Tanner's story.
Contents: After settling into a blissful routine on the ranch, during which time Ben gets to know Nico and his best friend Caleb a little bit, their domestic peace is disturbed by a lone wolf in the night, and the threat that's been looming makes itself known...
Warning: injury, blood, and mention of captivity, description of a slightly traumatic shift (light body horror???), passing mention of knotting but not terribly descriptive, perceived threat to life, protective mate, dominating wolf behaviour over lower-ranking pack members, mention of guns (not used/fired)
Wordcount: 6015
Catch up here: One (sfw), Two (sfw), Three (sfw), Four (light nsfw), Five (nsfw), Six (nsfw), Seven (nsfw)
_
The next few weeks seemed to flow by for Ben in a dreamy haze of chores around the ranch and time spent with Tanner.Â
Whenever he wasnât working, Tanner would shift and run in his wolf form from Raven Tree all the way across the wide, pine-prickled valley through the secrecy of the woods, and out onto Junieâs ranch. In no time at all, it had turned into something of a game between them for Tanner to track Achilles and Tanner down, wherever they happened to be working on the ranch that day. Some days Ben was checking or repairing fences in the remoter corners of their land, but others he was managing the trails in the wooded areas, or checking on the cows, or working on the temperamental old tractor in the barn.Â
Wherever he was though, Tanner always found him.
Achilles usually gave his presence away, snorting and whickering with anticipation and excitement the moment he heard or smelled the werewolf drawing near. It meant that Tanner found it nearly impossible to sneak up on Ben, and ever since heâd frightened Ben into letting out an honest-to-god scream the one time Ben had taken the quadbike out to the remote pasture instead of Achilles, Ben had made sure he always went out on the horse so that he had an early warning system before a cold, wet nose was shoved into the curve of his neck from behind. Â
Read the story right now on Patreon now for just $3
I hope the spooky and cosy month of October is being a bit kinder to you than it has been to us, but I'm continuing my birthday month with a big, slightly older orc lad, who comes to the reader's rescue at a fairly awful family wedding. It's fluffier than the warning makes it sound, but I wanted to cover what's in it in case anyone is sensitive to any of that. Hope you enjoy! There's also a bit of language of flowers in there and a Starfall Springs reference, along with a sassy drow lady and an nb drider florist.
Contents/warnings: familial (sibling) cruelty, brief humiliation by family at an event, sibling attempts to use reader financially. Nsfw: cis male reader receives oral, penetrative sex (condom), multiple orgasms, light D/s and praise kink if you squint, breakfast in bed, fluff, comfort, size kink(?)
Hi friends! I'm kicking off my birthday month with the next instalment of these two lovebirds! It's also Orctober, so the monthly story for the Little Ghosties tier will be a big ol' orc lad to celebrate the finest of the monster themed months (I'm thoroughly biased and I don't mind admitting it).
This chapter is the last of the super fluffy, domestic mush chapters before The Plot returns and we get some action⌠Chapter 8 is fully written and just needs another edit, but after that I anticipate there being two more chapters, maybe three, depending on just how much Plot there is.
Content: tooth-rotting fluff, mention of Ben's scars on his chest from Mac's claws, and Junie being more affected by the sight of a werewolf in full shift than she thought she would be (spoilers - she's totally not over MacâŚ). There's also a sassy, competitive little horsey too, and a couple of Tanner's pack members make a brief appearance.
Nsfw content: Tanner's still shifted from the previous night, wet and messy hand and blow-jobs, Tanner pops a knot, and he shows his submissive side again.
Wordcount: 6557
Chapter One (sfw), Two (sfw), Three (sfw), Four (light nsfw), Five (nsfw), Six (nsfw)
As we enter the greatest of all seasons, that being, of course, Spooky Season, I thought we were due a good ol' demon.
I hope you enjoy!
Content warnings (please read!): f. reader is followed/stalked through a graveyard and verbally harassed/threatened/pursued by a man (the term 'bitch' is used, though nothing more explicit), and nothing comes of it (thank you, Fear Demon).
Nsfw content: reader is cis female, sex in a mausoleum, reader receives oral sex, demon has some nice goop, penetration with tentacles, reader is immune to demon's fear-related abilities.
Wordcount: 5588
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September had always felt like a homecoming to you.Â
Even as a child, the moment those first leaves turned to copper and floated down to adorn the grass beneath the trees like flakes of glitter, and the conkers burst from their spiked casings to lie like little forgotten gems on a nest of sparkling moss, you felt your heart beat just a little lighter, and the weight of the world lifted from you just a touch.Â
Janice from accounting gave you the weirdest look when you said you were walking home after work one late September night. She cast her eyes to the window outside, where a fog was pressing itself against the office windows like a pale cat begging to be let inside, and then let her gaze fall back to you, laced with scepticism.Â
âAre you sure you should be walking around the city alone in the dark on a night like this, sweetie?â she cooed.Â
âIâll be fine,â you smiled back.Â
You lived for nights like this one. While others found shrouding mist claustrophobic and creepy, youâd always found comfort in its cold caress, and as the nights grew longer and colder still, you came back to life. Walking through the parish graveyard had always felt like visiting old friends, after all.Â
So your fingers brushed against the cold stones guarding the open gateway to the cemetery, and as you walked up the smooth, flagstone path, a vixen gave a haunting bark on the other side of the sprawling graveyard, making you jump and then laugh. Folklore said that the reason foxes were so often found in cemeteries was because they could pass through the veil and carry messages from the living to the dead.
âI donât have any messages for anyone today,â you said aloud, watching your breath form twisting ghosts in the chill air in front of your face.Â
A leaf scuffed and crunched behind you a second later, and you froze.Â
That was the first time youâd ever felt anything different about the atmosphere there, and your heart skipped a beat.Â
It being the glorious month of Taurgust (Taur - as in centaur - plus August), I did a poll for my patrons with a number of humanoid torso + monster body 'taurs' and they decided on a nonbinary drider who's a tailor to royalty, and a royal, gender neutral reader.
Available to all tiers on Patreon
Preview:
âHowâs that, your Royal Highness?âÂ
Gods, how that soft, susurrating voice in your ear made your heart flop over in your chest, and how those light, dancing fingertips made your skin prickle into goosebumps, even after all these years.Â
Sal had been your own, personal tailor for six years now, while their mother remained the court tailor to your parents and older brother. Having them stand so close to you in the seclusion of your private apartments, their fingers skimming over the lines of your body to make the final adjustments to your outfit before you emerged into whatever task or speech your role as the younger of the two royal siblings demanded, had become a guilty pleasure in which you indulged far too often. Nobody needed that many new outfits, after all.Â
Nothing was going to make you stop.Â
Nothing short of Sal asking you to stop, that is, but they didnât seem inclined to back off either.Â
Youâd been dancing around each other for years, after all. At least, in your mind you had⌠Finding out the truth would involve shattering this spun-sugar fantasy youâd woven around the two of you like spidersilk.Â
Sal had started coming along to their parentsâ appointments to learn their motherâs trade when theyâd only been around ten years old, and the first time youâd met them, youâd been fascinated by them. Of course, you were used to the sight of driders from having to attend your parentsâ and older brotherâs appointments already, dragged along like a piece of spare cargo and expected to sit quietly on a silk damask sofa until it was your turn to be fitted for something new.Â
The captain of the Royal Guard was also a drider, but he looked nothing like Sal and their parents. He had long, steel grey hair that he plaited back off his stern, slate-grey face, and he was armoured with his own, natural carapace that gleamed softly like burnished steel. His nightmare limbs were needle-sharp and hooked at the tips with stiletto-talons that could probably have punctured the steel of the royal vaults in a single punch.
Sal and their parents were more like tarantulas, with velvet-soft fur and low-slung, rounded bodies, but while Salâs mother was white all over, including the thick, curly hair on her head, Salâs fur had slowly turned from white to a cherry blossom pink as theyâd grown. Their father, apparently, had done the same, and his fur was now a rich, vibrant fuchsia, banded with paler tones across his legs. He was a renowned leather worker in the upper city though, and while some of his skills had been used in his wifeâs work, he rarely came up to the palace.Â
The first time that Sal had been there had been the day youâd first begun to enjoy learning about clothing, and at every appointment since, theyâd been there to make you smile or reassure you, or keep you from keeling over out of sheer boredom.
More recently though, it had become exquisite torture.Â
Sal never did anything that wasnât completely appropriate. Every touch had a purpose â to snip a stray thread or to tuck up a hem for adjustment, or to make a suggestion about the drape of a fold of silk â but the way their fingers lingered at your hip or the nape of your neck always made you shiver.Â
When you met their strawberry-pink eyes, your breath caught.
Read all of it right now, as well as August's monthly exclusive - a male gargoyle x f. human that's over 10k words long!
