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Instincts' Escape

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    Miraak stood tall in the centre of the platform, his back ramrod straight.  His three dragons were perched high on pillars of ruin overlooking the barren land that was Apocrypha.  The first Dragonborn had been found out.  His escape plan had failed.  His fists clenched at his side (the only movement he permitted) as the Prince gurgled in laughter. 

     "I see all," the amorphous blob that was Hermaeus  Mora bubbled, the inky black tentacles spread wide across the sky.  It was meant to be imposing, but to Miraak, it was nothing but posturing (and if it wasn't, all the better, Mora could not torture him more than he already had).  Thousands of years spent alone with nothing but Seekers, Lurkers and the sounds of fluttering pages had been seared into his very being. 

    He'd gone mad a few times.  He was able to admit this to himself. 

    An eyebrow twitched from behind his mask as Mora's mass of tentacles writhed above his head.  He would not give Mora the satisfaction of seeing him angry, knowing that he'd failed again, let the Prince gloat.  He'd ground his teeth into dust before he'd react.

    "Your pathetic attempts.... amuse me.... greatly," he continued, in his warbled voice that grated on Miraak's nerves like iron nails on glass. "I should let you....nnmmmmm... believe you have succeeded next time."

     Despite not showing a reaction, Miraak's heart leapt painfully in his chest, filled with fear.  Mora was quite capable of doing this, and he didn't know if he could take that. 

     Not that it mattered, there was no escape from Apocrypha (not that he believed this...he had to trust he would). 

     He could not starve himself.  The Seekers and Lurkers never attacked him, even if he struck them, or killed them.  They just, came back.  He'd thrown himself in the black tar below on a few occasions and apart from the searing pain before he'd lost consciousness, he'd wake up right back on this very platform every gods be damned time.

     He'd been granted one boon.  A watery sphere that allowed him to see the ongoings of Nirn.  It was more torture than pleasure and he'd stopped looking into it many years ago.  He'd realized fairly quickly that Hermaeus  Mora, despite being neutral (whoever had said this obviously had never spent five thousand years with the Prince), harboured quite the cruel streak.

     A Black Book was dropped suddenly right in front of Miraak.  The Dragonborn didn't move, despite being surprised.  He did tilt his head to the side curiously though.  Now why would Mora do that?

     As he stared at the Black Book, it opened as though invisible hands were doing it.  The pages fluttered as they went from one end of the book to the other, as though the wind were doing it (though there was no wind here).  He remained still as a statue, staring at the book through the slits of his mask, contemplating what to do.

     The book finally stopped, right in the middle by the looks of it, and a burst of light flashed from it.  Miraak had to avert his head a tad to protect his sensitive eyes. 

     "Why don’t I give you...... mnnnnnnnn ... something to ... stave your boredom?" the Prince continued, a twitch of amusement in the voice that made the hairs on the back of Miraak's neck rise. "Your flight....mmnmm... will be but a memory."   

     Miraak's eyes narrowed, and as the light died down, he caught sight of a crouched, slight female...?  Breton by the looks of her.  He didn't even have time to react before one of Mora's inky limbs slapped the tiny female hard in his direction.  He was surprise to note she flew almost to his feet.

     There was a bow that had been attached to her back that was sent flying into the tar pits.  Arrows were spilled out of her quiver as she landed on her stomach, he heard the air rush out of her painfully.  Miraak was looking down at her when she raised her head and emerald green eyes widened as they rose very slowly to meet the tentacled-mask he wore. 

     She gasped, the sound of her voice tensing his body (he actually growled). There was no mistaking the fear in her wide eyes, but he didn't get to ponder it for long before she was seized by tentacles. She squeaked and screamed as she was suspended in the air by her wrists.

     What th—

     His thought never fully formulated in his mind for it was cut off abruptly as tentacles snatched him from his position with lightning speed.  His arms were pulled back behind his back taut, and secured in a way that he could not break free from.  He tried to remain calm as Mora spread his legs apart, all his muscles had tensed.  They had to be about ten feet off the ground...

    Miraak was forced to arch back, his legs folded at the knees but spread as far as they would go without causing him much harm (discomfort, yes).  The cold tentacles were wrapped around his legs, holding him steady that he had almost no room to move.  All of his robes were pulled tight against his skin, the leather gloves he wore creaked as his hands fisted behind his back.

     "Company?" Miraak scoffed, raising his face to look up at the blob overhead, keeping his voice as level as possible. 

     "What's going on?" her voice trembled with suppressed fear.  Miraak's teeth ground harder together as Mora's limbs approached the both of them. 

      Two black limbs wrapped around his throat simultaneously, one going up and the other downwards.  Mora invaded his mask and the arm sunk itself into his mouth without any warning, choking Miraak effectively.  This, he had not expected, nor ever wanted...

     He gagged and coughed around the limb that forced itself into his mouth.  It tasted exactly as one would expect, if one were to taste a Daedra Prince.  Mold, mothballs, tar and dust, all blended into one flavour of Oblivion goodness.  This effectively silenced him, except for his gurgling.  His pets would not be coming to his rescue this day.

     The second limb slid into the top of his robes.  His skin prickled in gooseflesh at the cold touch of the Prince.  He swallowed (this was difficult with the appendage in his gullet) and fought the revulsion, he couldn't stand the ethereal feel of those arms.  Mora wanted to unbal—


     "Nnngh," he actually gargled uncontrollably. 

     Had he not been wearing a mask, he knew for a fact that his face would have betrayed his shock and horror (he was glad he was wearing the mask, he didn't want her to see him sucking on a tentacle).  Hermaeus  Mora's tentacles had ripped the front half of his robes, exposing his chest and stomach, the influence of the Daedric Prince was clearly evident for all to see.  He'd been in Apocrypha for so long that not only had his eyes blackened completely, but the very blood pumping through his veins had turned black.  His own veins had stained his skin, marring his white flesh with spiderweb patterns of black lines.

     He clenched his eyes closed tightly as the tentacle continued down his body to his pants.  He shook his head furiously, trying to dislodge the limb, but it only sunk deeper into his throat. He choked and coughed and stilled immediately, his back was painfully arched.

    He regained control of himself and forced his body to ease. He would not show anything.

    This was—

    The tentacle slid beneath the waist of his pants and he shuddered as he felt the limb crawl down his leg.  He wanted to pull away or close his legs in the worst way but he was helpless to do anything, enraging him further.  He kept calm, he had too.

   His eyes snapped open as his ears picked up more tearing noises and a shrill female scream that turned to uncontrollable sobbing and begging. "P-Please!  S-stop!" 

   He heard the sound of armour falling to the ground and he raised his head to look at the female.  He stifled the gasp that almost escaped his lips, or would have had he not been gagged.

   Mora had stripped her completely bare (how long had it been since he'd seen the female form?).  There she was.  Utterly naked, her arms above her head.  Black, slithering tentacles grabbing and squeezing her breasts in a vulgar imitation of a man's hands.  Her skin was glimmering with cold sweat, small beads of it covered her flesh.  He couldn't escape the sharp tang of her fear.  It permeated the air around him.   

    She was squirming and struggling within Hermaeus  Mora's grasp so much, that the Prince chuckled heartilly, like a jolly fat man.  He waited until she was spent before switching her position.  He'd re-arranged her so that her arms were behind her back as well, her breasts pushing forwards, the tentacles tweaking her nipples drawing his eyes involuntarily. 

    The act made Miraak bite down on the limb in his mouth.  It thickened and he almost fainted from lack of oxygen.  That had been a warning. 

    Her legs were spread wide, black arms were wrapped around her thighs and ankles, making and M out of her legs.  Another limb was rubbing against her sex, forcing her to be aroused.  Miraak's nostrils flared and he made another attempt to free himself; the Dragonborn knew that Mora was going to wrap those small, muscular legs right around his waist.  As if to confirm:


   His scream was muffled when the tentacle in his pants ripped them away from him, rendering him as nude as the day he was born, well not exactly, just the pertinent parts as his arms and legs were still fully clothed.  Heat flooded his face as his trousers hung from his folded knees in tatters.  Leaving him completely exposed to the naked female in the same predicament as him.  His humiliation, however, was not complete.

   The Prince brought the female closer to Miraak and the first Dragonborn could not mistake the stench of fear that invaded his senses, mixed in with the sweet smell of her sex.  He'd smelled nothing but books, pages, mold and mothballs for so long that her particular scent caught him completely off guard.  He was rocked to his very core when he felt his dick twitch beneath her terrified eyes. 

     She was afraid. 

     Of him.

     And then Mora completed his torment.  The tentacle crawled back up his muscular thigh deliberately (Mora knew how much he hated his touch...) and Miraak couldn't prevent the noise that escaped his mouth, the muffled scream of protest.  Hermaeus  had wrapped his limb around the base of Miraak's penis, and tightened painfully, forcing the blood to remain in his dick and causing an involuntary erection.

    It was like he'd been wrapped with ice.  The first Dragonborn struggled for all he was worth, growling angrily around the tentacle down his throat as all his efforts were for naught.  Mora merely chuckled hollowly.

    More heat flooded his face when he finally stopped moving, he was covered in a film of sweat, his heart pounding in his head like a war drum.  He tried to fight the embarrassment slowly creeping into his body; he closed his eyes tightly, but shame flooded him anyways, his blush, however, darkened his skin almost to black rather than the red of Ages past. 

    When she shrieked, Miraak winced.  She doubled her efforts, panic in her voice, he deigned to look at her from behind his mask.  She was staring at his groin in absolute horror and Miraak couldn't help but feel self conscious all of the sudden.  He knew what he looked like...and he also knew that the black veins around his cock (the glan was fully black as were his testes) and over the rest of his body looked about as attractive as a masked Seeker.

    She, on the other hand, he was forced to acknowledge, was beautiful (he had nothing to compare her with as he'd forgotten how striking women were in general).  She had long, chestnut (he wasn't sure if the colour was right, but then, he hadn't seen a lot of colour lately) hair, tied back in a braid the was down almost to her toned waist.  She was small, and compared to his Atmoran size, almost looked fey.  She was no more than eight stones to his seventeen.  She was also so much smaller. (At six foot ten, he dwarfed her diminutive size) 

    His cock twitched involuntarily again as her bouncing breasts caught his eye.  The veins in his forehead were protruding now, with how hard he was trying to not clench his teeth, a headache was pounding in his brain.  He cursed the spike of lust that entered his blood stream, and he tried so hard to fight it. 

   He might have been successful if Mora hadn't brought her within an inch of his bowed body. She was screaming and begging.  Her emerald eyes wide with sheer terror and shock.  The smell of her salty tears mixed with the smell of her sex and his musk.

   Miraak turned his head away, trying to avert his gaze as Hermaeus  moved the woman closer, pressing her against his own body.  He'd been denied human touch for so long that his dick started weeping (this was even more humiliating...) the moment that her wet and warm sex made contact.  He was so surprised by it, having forgotten how that felt, that he gasped/moaned low in his throat. 

   The top of her head, in the position that Mora had them in, reached just below his chin.  He actually whimpered around the tentacle when the Prince pulled on his penis painfully to try and penetrate her warmth.  Mora's warble almost sounded frustrated, until the Dragonborn felt himself being tilted 'til he was almost on his back, his body bowed like a bridge. 

   The cold appendage around his cock tightened painfully and he grunted pain as his penis was pulled roughly from his body to point straight up.  Miraak's heart pounded hard in his chest when Hermaeus  arranged the petite female so that the black head of his dick was at her entrance. 

    Miraak's breathing was ragged as her unwilling juices dripped onto him, searing his very flesh in unfamiliar heat.  He shook his head and his eyes made contact with hers through the slits of his mask.  She could not see him, and he would never forget her tear-stained face when Mora slammed her none to gently and without warning, onto him until he was buried to the hilt in her tight warmth.   

    The wet heat, the muscles milking him, the length of time since he'd last lain with a woman and the very fact that he'd taken her maidenhead doomed him. 

    His entire body shuddered violently as his ejaculation exploded from his humiliated body instantly.  He came to the sounds of her screaming in pain as her hymen was violently ripped apart by his dick.

Chapter Text


     The first time she'd heard anything to do with Miraak, it had come from a couple of cultist that had intercepted her in Ivarstead.  Something about her not being the true Dragonborn.  Well, poo on them, she absorbed dragon souls and could Shout without the stuffy Greybeards teaching her (they had taught her a couple of words though so they weren't that bad).

    She'd killed them all, the guards had even helped.  It had been too easy and taken almost no effort.

    After she'd disposed of them, the big bastard had then started to appear when she'd killed a dragon and he robbed her (and no one steals from the Dragonborn...) of her hard-earned dragon souls.  He was officially marked for death after he took the tenth (yes, she'd killed ten dragons almost single-handed) dragon soul.

    Shamir hadn't wasted time learning all she could about her newest enemy.  There weren't many books on him (considering he was from the Merethic Era), and she had to travel to Solstheim to continue her research.  Her foe was powerful, and imposing, but that mattered little to her.

    She was a Breton, she could wield powerful magics that most (except the Altmer) could only dream of.  She was a master of almost all the schools (damnable restoration was not being nice), she was proficient with bow and dagger (kinda on that one), and her stealth was beyond reproach. Except Brynolf, she could never sneak up on him. 

    As far as being Dragonborn though, she wasn't exactly what the Nords had expected.  She was barely five feet tall, and weighed half as much as almost everyone on Skyrim (women included...damn Nords and their bulk).  Her hair was long (unbraided it went far beyond her ass), brown and straight; she had to braid it so that it didn't impede her during fights (she wasn't cutting it either, it was her only vain).  

    Shamir's eyes were a bright emerald green, that would almost change colours with her mood (they would darken or brighten with her emotions).  They'd rescued her butt from jail on more than one occasion, another boon as far as she was concerned.  Big, Nord males (as in guards) were suckers for the meek and weak (and she could portray it like a pro).

    Not that she was innocent looking or even childlike.  On the contrary, she was a buxom Breton with a lean and curvy body.  She was soft in all the right places too.  Not that it mattered though...she may look the sultry vixen, and could act like it, but that was it.  She really didn't know anything else as far as men were concerned (she'd been mimicking what Sapphire and Vex had told her when it came to saving one's skin).

    To be honest, she was a bit intimidated by the size of the men of Skyrim (which explained why she was still a virgin, having been in Skyrim most of her adult life).  They were huge (honestly the smallest Nord she'd seen still looked like a giant next to her).  Her body was slight and she doubted she could take a Nord lover or Orc for that matter, and the Altmer were out of the question (if Nords were big, the High elves were horrifyingly bigger). 

    On Solstheim, her quest to find the big bastard had taken an unexpected twist.  Hermaeus Mora (a fucking Daedric Prince!!) had offered to help her defeat Miraak (who, as it turns out, was also a Dragonborn), and make her as powerful as he was in his prime.

    The idea of meeting another Dragonborn like herself was highly appealing (she would admit this to no one).  He would understand all the pressure, the ups and downs of being a Dragonborn (this was a girlish fantasy, not the thoughts of a battle-hardened Breton war mage).  

    She intended to kill him.  

    Hermaeus Mora had been incredibly helpful throughout her mission, she wasn't overly fond of the heavy, giant black books she was forced to tote around (they were half her size she'd swear it).  She'd gained so many bonuses (a private Daedric who didn't want that?  Insert girlish giggle here.) and had to admit, she was sorely tempted to become a full blown follower.

    She'd heard of people giving their all to a Prince and were beyond rewarded handsomely (in her euphoria she wasn't even thinking of all the ones betrayed/killed/tortured by same said Princes).  Shamir had done her research too, Mora was neither evil or good, merely a keeper of memories and knowledge.

    Although she had to admit, she was starting to have her doubts.  Shamir had not expected Hermaeus to kill the Skall shaman, Storn (she'd actually liked him, he'd been so helpful...).  Mora had explained that it was the only way he took knowledge for the mind could not lie, death was merely an unfortunate side effect.  She'd believed him, and he taught her the final word of Bend Will afterwards.  Her assured her that she was now ready to face Miraak and kill the Champion.

    She would become his new Champion. 

    Hermaous Mora had been kind enough to drop the pertinent black book she needed to face Miraak and she had wasted no time in jumping in.  She'd checked her supplies first (obviously) she hadn't survived in the Thief's Guild all these years without being careful (despite her somewhat impulsive nature).

    She'd been blinded at first, a bright light, and then she'd felt cold tentacles (and they felt really odd, in a very bad way) grab her and pull her into the book.  She'd been surprised at first and then she'd appeared in the realm of Apocrypha, with its musty old book smell and, let's be honest, very dreary atmosphere.

    Shamir hadn't even gotten to her feet before she was thrown by a powerful blow to her side (holy shit OUCH!).  She'd flown halfway across the platform, dazed and confused and in a lot pain (what in Oblivion was happening?!).

    She landed on her stomach, her hands scraping along the ground.  She felt her bow fly off and her Orcish arrows were sent flying (just great, she'd spent long days, toiling with an axe almost as heavy as she was, to collect the wood for those), and then as she was able to focus, she'd seen large leather boots with the corner of her eye.

    Shamir had slowly raised her eyes from those boots to travel up (and up and up and up) their owner.  Dibella... how tall was he?

    She felt her eyes widen slowly as his sheer size became apparent (he was a monster...), and then her eyes had landed on his grotesque tentacled mask and she'd gasped in unexpected fear. 


    She'd tensed her body for a fight when something that hadn't even crossed her mind happened.  She was grabbed by tentacles, Mora's tentacles, they'd wrapped around her wrists and she'd released a small shriek of fear.  Had Mora lied to her?!  Had he actually sent her here to die?!  He was presenting her to Miraak as thou—

    When tentacles grabbed Miraak and positioned him in a most awkward and uncomfortable bowed position, that idea went flying out of her head.  His legs were forced apart, folded while his arms were pulled back tightly, bunching his muscles all together.  The mask remained. 

    "Company?" Miraak's voice echoed from his mask, a deep, rasping monotone timbre that gave nothing of his thoughts.

    "What's going on?" she licked her lips and tried to remain calm.  This was fast escalating out of her control, and it was getting more and more apparent that it was also out of Miraak's.

    And then she felt the cold hand of reality slap her face hard.  A black tentacle had invaded his mask, she heard him gurgle (oh couldn't have gone in his mouth?!?).  The second limb had quite literally ripped the front of Miraak's robes open.  Her eyes had widened in absolute terror while the big male struggled and gagged.

    He was huge!  Her eyes immediately locked on his torso.  His muscles were bunched up and looked hard as rock.  Her eyes barely noticed the black rivers of lines that quite literally followed the network of veins in his body (it was weird on first sight, since his skin was seriously alabaster white, but in a land where there was mer-folk and dragons, it wasn't really such a shock).  

    Her eyes popped out of her head when the black tendril that was Mora slipped beneath the waistband of Miraak's trousers.

    Shamir swallowed, a wave of fear making her breath short.  This was her overactive imagination...this wasn't re—

    She screamed for all she was worth when those same cold tentacles started stripping her of her mismatched armour.  She didn't notice Miraak stilling as she doubled her efforts.  There was no questioning what was happening, what was going to happen.  

    No no no no no no no—

    She felt tears well in her eyes and she was ashamed to note that she was begging. "P-please!" she swallowed back the whimper, "S-stop!" she couldn't prevent the stutter of fear in her voice.  She wiggled and burned with embarrassment, her entire body broke out in cold sweat.  If she thought things could not go worst...she was severely mistaken.

    Black tentacles wrapped around her heavy breasts and she tried to fold in on herself.  She'd never been touched by anyone let alone this- oh Talos!!  Mora was squeezing her breasts and making her nipples hard, and she knew, without having to see, that Miraak was seeing everything.   

    Shamir closed her eyes tightly and fought hard to free herself.  Anyone who knew her would have been impressed, until Hermaeus rearranged her so that her breasts pushed forward even more (don't look...) and spread her legs wide open (...please don't look...).  She was sure she was going to die from the shame of it all.

    She couldn't control her voice nor her tears as that same disgusting appendage slithered about her inner thigh and touched her core.  She jolted so hard and renewed her efforts but for a brief moment.  The warmth seeping into her traitorous body as the limb rubbed sensually against her pearl made her want to throw up.  It was forcing her body to react, because she sure as Akatosh wasn't of her own volition. 

    And then shit got worse, fast.

     The Prince ripped away Miraak's pants.  

    She shrieked again as Mora brought her fairly close to Miraak, where she could see him in full detail.  Her eyes, the size of shields she was sure, were drawn to his impressive (at least to her) and terrifying penis (it was black and white like the rest of him).  She sobbed as it twitched beneath her gaze.  

    As if to mock her, a tentacle wrapped around the base and she watched in horror as it suddenly sprang to life. If she'd thought it big before, now she couldn't stop her own scream, it was massive, swollen and engorged to an unreal proportion.  The big body shuddered and struggled, his skin flushing to an almost black colour as Miraak struggled in vain.    

    Oh no...please no...

    He was too big.  He'd kill her...there was no way her body would accommodate his size. "Please!!!" she shrilled, struggling in vain.  All she succeeded in doing was making her breasts bounce embarrassingly.  

    She clenched her eyes closed tightly when Mora pushed her fully against the hard black and white body in front of her.  She didn't see Miraak looking away, all she felt was the hard ridge that was his spear against her pussy, and it was leaking.  She shuddered uncontrollably as a dark despair clutched her heart.

    He was going to kill her, she knew this.  He'd rip right into her gut with that thing. 

    She heard him grunt in pain and she was shaking like a leaf as she heard the black blob make noises that sounded frustrated.  It didn't last long though.  She was pulled away from Miraak's body and felt the tears escaping her eyes as the Prince positioned them.  If she hadn't known before, it was obvious now.  

    Hermaeus was going to impale her on Miraak's shaft.

    As odd as it was, her main feeling wasn't fear (though she was drenched with it) it was disappointment.  She was going to have her first experience, her virginity, stolen from her.  She'd had always shied away from those who had made a pass at her.  She'd wanted to save herself for her eventual husband...

    As her hymen was pierced violently, she felt the tears of shame/pain/loss all mingle together as she screamed her heart out.  She felt him shudder (maybe he was screaming as well, hard to tell over her own), his dick vibrating and swelling even more as it began pulsing with his very heartbeat deep inside her.  She didn't know what was happening, but she felt disgusting, the feeling worsened when hot liquid started spurting into her.

    She felt so dirty.  

    She closed her eyes and let sweet Oblivion take her away.

Chapter Text


     Miraak gritted his teeth from behind his mask, his hands fisting behind his back, the leather creaking.  He stood with his feet parted no wider than his shoulders, his arms hanging loosely at his side.  He stood in his private chambers (they'd only just become private because of the woman), and replayed the events of the day before in his head.

     Miraak had been through much with the Prince, none of it pleasant.  He'd been a fool all those years ago to trust the tentacled-mass, but alas, the Prince had known just what to say and do for Miraak to fall under his spell.  The sound of his gloves heightened and he made a conscious effort to relax his hands.

     His mind returned to the woman that he had left on the platform.  He hadn't even looked at her when Mora had freed them from his clutches.  He'd made a dignified exit (as dignified as a masked man in boots and gloves only could) and never looked back.  He'd made it a point to ignore the mixture of semen and blood on his upper thighs and penis.

     This was the first time that the Prince had deign to bring another into his torment.  More leather creaking noise.  What exactly had that been about?  Why had the Prince brought the woman here?  Who was she?     

     He stood staring into the void when cold tentacles snatched him suddenly.


     Miraak struggled hard and was surprised to note he was released almost immediately.  Mora had merely grazed his throat and had let him go.  The first Dragonborn immediately brought a hand to his throat and could feel an appendage there.  He grunted and then felt a chill go down his spine at Mora's words.

     "A gift," Mora gurgled, "For youuuuu.... and her.  You will not beeee..... able to uuuuuse your magic or Shouts against...each other."

     Miraak froze.  He couldn't even kill her?

     "Who is she?" Miraak asked, his voice neutral, not wanting to give anything away.

     If he thought Mora would answer his simple question, it was in vain, for the Prince merely vanished into the green sky.  Miraak was left with more questions than answers and this collar had just made it infinitely more difficult.  He had been thinking of killing her, or letting her kill him so he could be released from this torment. 

    She was powerful if Mora collared them both (or had he just collared him, seeing as he was much stronger?).  A powerful mage probably.  He remembered the bow then, so a mage and an archer.  

     Miraak didn't want to go and find her and see if she wore a collar as well.  He didn't even want to be in the same room as her.  Mora, he did not doubt, would torture them again soon enough.  He never went long without tormenting Miraak...and the Prince enjoyed it too.  He suppressed the violent shudder of disgust that threatened to go through his body, and swallowed back the bile.

     Once he'd gotten his reaction under reign, Miraak glanced to the side, towards his floating sphere.  He swallowed, feeling his adam's apple bob.  He wouldn't have to be in the same room to look at her.  His curiousity eventually got the better of him and he deliberately made his way to it.  

     The sphere was an easy contraption to use.  It worked insomuch as you just had to be within a certain distance of it and it would brighten and show you exactly what you wanted to see outside of Apocrypha.  He'd seen the destruction of his temple on Solstheim by Alduin.

     He took a deep breath and peered into the watery sphere.



    Shamir had no idea how long she laid on the platform, on her back, looking at the swirling green sky above.  Her armour and clothes (they were torn beyond recognition) were all around her.  She could feel a dull pain in her thighs and groin and there was liquid still seeping from her.  She could feel it...

    She swallowed and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.  She was not going to cry.  She was not going to cry.  She was not going—  

     Her lips pressed together and she proceeded to cry her fucking heart out.  Why?  Why had Hermaeus Mora done what he'd done?  The Prince... he'd lied to her.  She'd been raped... they'd taken her virginity...

     She felt her stomach contract and turned herself to her side as she started dry heaving (her stomach was empty already...) painfully.  She brought her legs up to go into a fetal position and almost howled in pain at the fire that exploded in her vagina.   

    With that searing pain flooding her chilled body with a flush of warmth, she screamed.  She screamed out her agony and frustrations for long minutes until she simply went limp once more, her voice raw.  Shoulders trembling as she panted, her breathing harsh and ragged as more tears burned her cheeks. 

     The feel of a slimy black tentacle against her cheek had Shamir ignoring her bodily pains. With what strength she had left Shamir pushed herself backwards, hoping to roll away form the floating mass of eyes and inky black limbs that were the daedric prince. But the slim arm that had lightly grazed her cheek struck with the speed of a snake, wrapping about her neck several times. The thickness of it snug about her windpipe and even lifting her to to her knees as her nails clawed at the tentacle. 

    “Youuuuu wished.... to be my new champion... mnnnnnmmmm but I have other plans....” the limb tossed her back to the ground, and Shamir thought it had pinned her. The snug feeling never left her throat but the limb had retracted... 

     Her hands flew to her neck and she froze, panicking as a portion of the tentacle was still attached to her. Like a makeshift collar that was alive, subtle movements of it moving over her flesh had her wanting to gag, but her stomach (you guessed it) was still empty. 

     “What is this?!” she'd finally found her voice, but it sounded  exactly as she felt: weak.  Her fingers were still clawing at the tentacle collar, her efforts utterly fruitless as she only scratched at her own throat. She got no answer for her question as Mora vanished (without saying another word) once more and she was left alone on the platform. 

     Struggling to not panic any more than she already was (she was failing terribly), she pulled and tugged on the thing about her neck.  It was snug, pressing just tight enough to make her conscious of her heavy breathing, and constant cold pressure. 

     Shamir was growing dizzy as her mind struggled to accept what was going on.  She needed to calm herself, she couldn’t afford to pass out in this place.  Not with what had happened to her already. 

     Her knees shook as she went to stand, and she screamed in agony (mercy Mara...).  Pain so severe it took her breath away came through her very core.  Her right knee smacked against the stone, the rest of her falling to her hip and side as her hands barely caught her fall. Her biceps trembled to hold up her own weight. 

     Gritting her teeth, she gathered her courage and she did what she could to leave from the place where she could see the droplets of her virgin blood mixed with thick semen. She fucking crawled. Of course she only made it a few feet before the sound of claws on stone.

      A familiar sound. 

     Through the stray wisps of her chestnut hair, Shamir glanced to her left, then in front and to her right.  Dragons. Holy Talos, three dragons were before her.  Each of them resting on tall half broken walls. Three sets of dark black eyes watching her.  They clearly saw her, though they made no threat to attack nor did they rear their heads back to shout fire or ice at her.   They just stared at her, in complete silence.

     She struggled to her knees once more, feeling more liquid seep out of her as she did so (so gross...).  She twitched her chin from side to side at the feeling of the collar around her neck. 

      She could manage this.  She was a fighter, a war mage, a dragon slayer and a dungeons crawler of the finest caliber.  She ignored her weakened body, and depleted stamina and focused on her magic.  Shamir hadn't been afforded the time to cast when she'd been attacked.  She hadn't been ready.

      Her eyes narrowed as she took a deep breath..  No better time to try out that new Shout Bend Will, she needed to gain control of one of those dragons.  She'd find her way out of this Oblivion Plane one way or another.  She was nothing if not resourceful, the Guild accepted no less. 

    “Gol, Hah, Dov!”

      Nothing happened.


      She frowned, and tried again.  Her raised voice did nothing on the second try either. There was no power behind it, no dragons were going to bow to her will.


     Miraak stepped away from his sphere and swallowed thickly, the tentacle at his throat moving uncomfortably.  He ignored it.  His mind was focused on what he'd seen. 

      She'd Shouted Bend Will.

     She wasn't a Nord, and the Septim (the last of the Dragonborns) line had died out over two centuries ago (he'd seen that happen as well).  A Breton, of all things, had Shouted.  His frown deepened, and he remained still as he moved his arms behind his back to grasp his wrist.

     It was perhaps time to get information from his guest

     He took a deep breath and turned on his heels as he left his quarters.  He'd just stepped out when a soft gasp emitted from off to his right.  His head turned immediately and he was surprised to note that she was sitting on the ground not even ten feet away from his rooms.

     He turned his full body towards her (he was dressed again in his same dark green robes that he had endless copies of).  She, on the other hand, was still nude (her arms had raised to hide her breasts from him). 

     "How did you get here?" he spoke Dovahzhul deliberately, testing his conclusion (he was genuinely surprised to find her here).  If she was Dragonborn, she'd understand him. 

      Miraak was watching her carefully, his mask tilted to better see her through the slits.  She frowned as she stared at him, both of her arms had folded over her chest, and her legs had closed tightly.  He avoided looking at her body and the bruises/blood covering her as he waited with baited breath for her response.

      When it finally came, her voice was nothing but a squeak and she was staring hard at the ground as her skin turned a pale shade of red. "I don't know what you said."

      How had she learned to Shout then if she wasn't Dragonborn?

     "Why did you lure me here?" he frowned from behind his mask as she voiced her question.  She thought he had brought her here?  He'd barely recovered from that accusation before she labelled another, "Were you in on it with him?" her eyes filled with unshed tears and he sneered in anger, thankful for the mask.

     He'd been just as much a victim as her.

     "I did no such thing," he answered curtly, unable to keep the disgust from his voice. 

     "Don't lie to me!" Her eyes flashed as she raised those emeralds to glare at him. 

     Lie?  Him?  She was calling him a liar?  His eyes narrowed from behind his mask as he stood stock still, staring down at her in silence.  His fists clenched at his side and the leather creaked ominously. "I do not lie, woman." He prevented himself from snarling, just barely.

     "Liar!  You appeared and stole my dragon souls!  Ten of them!" her voice raised a decibel as she exclaimed that part, "You sent your thugs after me!" Two big tears rolled down her cheeks, "Twice!" she hissed.

     Miraak was listening to her rant with rapt attention.  Thugs?  Souls? 

     "So you are Dragonborn," he mused slowly, forgetting for a moment that she did not unde—

     "I am the Last Dragonborn, Miraak!" she snarled, her eyes flashing fire again as she spit out his name.

     An eyebrow arched (she could not see this), she knew his name... his frown deepened even more, she'd understood the Dovahzhul he'd used that time.  So she was not a complete lack wit.  

     "How did you get here?" he changed tact and subject, and it took her off guard, the uncertainty evident in her eyes.

     She licked her lips and Miraak's eyes were drawn to the action involuntarily.  The sound of creaking leather was almost deafening (to him anyways).

    "I-I don't know," she finally said, averting her eyes from his. "I was with your dragons and then," she shrugged her slim shoulders, "I was here..." she licked her lips again.

     He remained silent.  When he finally spoke, his voice was low. "And so the last meets the first."

Chapter Text


     He didn't know how long he stood staring at her before the gargle that was Mora's interrupted it.  Miraak was startled enough that his fists clenched tighter, his body showed no other reaction.  He did note though, that she started shivering uncontrollably and folded in on herself, making herself as small as possible.

     Not that she had anything to worry about for it was Miraak that Mora had come to torment.  Hermaeus ignored her completely and his inky, cold tentacles wrapped around Miraak to suspend him a good ten feet in the air by his arms.  The first Dragonborn remained motionless, except for his gloves creaking.

     "Youuuu will remain as she is," Hermaeus spoke slowly.  Miraak felt a shiver of absolute dread run down his spine.  To prevent himself from shaking in terror (for he was terrified) he ground his teeth.  He would not whimper no matter what Mora did.  No satisfaction given. 

    He would not bend.

     More arms surrounded Miraak and the Dragonborn almost screamed as all of the slimy, cold tentacles slid beneath his robes, boots, gloves.  His black eyes widened as he felt his mask shift.  His teeth were beginning to hurt and he clenched his eyes closed tightly as everything he wore was removed/destroyed/torn right off his body, mask included. 


    Shamir had frozen in fear the moment she heard the distinct voice of the Prince.  She'd dug her nails in her own sides and had attempted to fold herself as small as possible. 

      She'd broken out into cold sweat when she heard Miraak's clothing rip and then she'd heard the sound of his mask hitting the ground.  She was curious, she could admit this, but not curious enough to look up at the amorphous blob that was the Prince.  Her body was already shaking out of her control as it was.

     Miraak was dropped unceremoniously to the ground.  She heard the sound of his skin hitting stone and the first Dragonborn grunting in pain.  Shamir kept her eyes clenched tightly closed as Mora chuckled hollowly. "That will facilitate....mmmmn... my work."  

     The whimper that escaped her throat made her feel weak, but she'd been unable to stop it.  She'd never tasted fear before, adrenaline yes, fear?  Not since she'd seen Alduin destroy Helgen and save her life (indirectly though...) all those years ago.  She hadn't like the taste then, and she sure as Oblivion didn't like it now.

     She remained as she was long after Mora had vanished.  She only raised her body so that she was sitting on the ground, still in pain, still hurt.  Miraak was sitting on the ground about 15 feet in front of her.  He was naked, his head was lowered so that she didn't even see his hair (he really was too tall...).  He had one leg folded at the knee and his arm was resting on it, hiding his face completely had she been face to face with him.

     She swallowed in fear as her eyes traveled his big body (he really was a monster...).  He had the same black veins so she assumed it was everywhere.  His muscles were tense and tight, and she immediately noticed the multitudes of scars along his back, shoulders and sides.

     The last time she had seen him, she'd been too horrified by his dick to see anything else, so she'd noticed nothing.  His breathing was calm, and he barely moved.  She did note the hand dangling from his knee was fisted tightly, and shook a little.  He took a deep breath through his nose and released it slowly.  Shamir was watching his big body expand with every breath he took.

     And then he raised his head and she could see that he had shorter black hair that didn't quite touch his shoulders (she couldn't see that he also had a beaded braid hanging from his right temple that was usually hidden beneath his mask), and then her eyes dropped to the black thing around his neck.

     Her eyes widened and she was already touching her own noose.  He had one too!  She opened her mouth to ask him what it was when he answered her unasked question.  His voice sounding very different.

      "So that we do not kill one another," he murmured, without even turning around.  She frowned, how had he known that she had been about to ask about that.  He took a deep breath and released it slowly, "I can feel you looking at me."

     She blushed and lowered her eyes.  She didn't know how long the remained the way they were before Mora returned, appearing in the sky as though he'd been there all along. "Youuuuu seem...hmm... to be uneducated," the blob said slowly as the multitudes of eyes stared at Shamir, blinking out of sync, "Time to learn."  

     Before she had time to react, more tentacles grabbed Miraak and he was forced to face her and dropped to his knees.  The black arms wrapped around his legs, spreading them wide.  More limbs grabbed his arms and pulled them back.  All his limbs looked as though they were buried in black tar.  The collar around Miraak's mouth came alive to gag him, inserting itself into his throat.

     Her eyes looked at his unmasked face and she caught herself before she made a sound.  His eyes were fully black and the same black lines were on his face, following the veins.  His lips she noticed, were almost black, but were actually a light black (more dark grey)  She noticed the beaded braid at his temple and the high cheekbones.  His face was Nord-like though not quite, square jaw, complete with cleft chin, slightly crooked nose, wide forehead.

     He would have been extremely handsome if his eyes and blood had retained their original colour.  Their eyes met for the first time.  This was all contemplated before Mora began speaking, and the words that echoed in her head made her want to die.  



    Gagged again. 

     He hadn't wanted her to see his face.  He'd had wanted to remain faceless so that she could not put a face to her rapist in her nightmares to come.  He knew he wasn't pretty to look at and his looks would scare children (he was sure of it). 

     Not that he cared at this particular moment.  Hermaeus had him spread out on his knees, his arms pulled back, his back forcibly arched, presenting his flaccid penis and testicles to the woman (he realized he didn't know her name...).  Miraak closed his eyes as his skin flushed almost to black, and then Mora spoke, and Miraak almost whimpered at the words.

     " Youuuuuu will learn his shape," Mora gurgled. His voice like a dozen different voices in perfect harmony, "Come...Dragonborn.....learn his body, learn.....hmmmn.... to arouse him.  Your body....nmmm..... needs to become accustomed to his hmm ...length."

     He felt the blood drain from his face, and opened his eyes just in time to see another tentacle hover close to the woman.  The tentacle's tip suddenly engorged (double his own girth and he was well endowed) and was covered in spikes (like a penis-shaped cactus).  She was shaking so hard by the time Mora showed her that, that it was a wonder she hadn't fainted.

     "Go, or I will penetrate you with this," the blob warbled, his voice sounding (to Miraak anyways) amused.

     She whimpered and her eyes enlarged further as she stared at him.  He stared back, though he was the first to avert his eyes and look downward with his head turned to the side.  Miraak could hear her sobbing as she begged with the Prince.

     "P-please!" she pleaded, "I'm in so much pain!"

    "And you will be in more mnnnnn pain if you do not do I ....say."

     Her voice raised just for a second as she gasped/gulped.  She was slowly dragging herself towards him.  He kept his head averted, not wanting to look at her, not wanting her to look at him. 

     "Touch." She jumped and her hand shook as it slowly approached his dick. 

     He grunted and struggled (though he barely moved) and when her warm palm touched his flesh, he made a high-pitched sound that mortified him, and she pulled her hand away as though she had burnt him.  Her eyes flew to his and he clenched his closed as she licked her lips. 

     He tensed when her hand returned to his shaft.  It had been so long that anything other than Mora or himself had touched this part of him that he couldn't control his reaction.  His dick twitched, and slowly started thickening in her hands.  Her felt her tremble slightly. 


    Her hand lifted his black testicles and she rolled them in her hands, squeezing a little as she learned their shape.  He grunted and gurgled behind the gag when Mora ordered her to taste him.  Her eyes flew to his face (he was sure by now that his face was fully black), tears welled up in her eyes and Miraak forced himself to relax. 

     "I'm sorry," she murmured almost too quiet for him to hear.

     His cock was standing at the ready when she gave a quick lick to the underside of his penis.  He felt his skin prickle and he jumped out of his skin.  When her tongue came again, he couldn't stop the moan that was heard from behind his gag.  He cursed himself as he felt her tremble through his dick.

     "Both hands, girl," Mora told her, and Miraak finally broke and whimpered as his dick started pulsing and weeping.  He felt his semen rushing through his cock and would have came all over her face had Mora not quickly wrapped an arm tightly around his cock.  It was so tight that his ejaculation stopped in its tracks when it got to the blockage (that hurt).

     Miraak screamed.  It was muffled, yet still loud enough to echo. 

     "No, Miraak," Mora chastised Miraak as if he were a youth, "You may release nmmmm only in her ... vagina."

     At those words she pulled back as though she'd been slapped, "No!" she almost yelled, her eyes wide with fear.

     "No?" Mora repeated, and then chuckled, a sinister sound.  She was bodily shaking.

     "W-why are you doing this?!" she yelled, her green eyes flashing fire as she glared at the mass in the sky.

     Mora's laughter almost caused Miraak to start shaking. "Disobeying me, girl?"

     She'd covered her breasts with her arms again. "I need to heal!" 

    "Miraak," Mora spoke slowly, making the first Dragonborn jump in his bonds.  

     The cactus-penis tentacled hovered in front of his face.  Sweat beaded across his forehead as his black eyes focused on the limb. "A choice, my Champion.  Penetrate her willingly or I will use this on you instead."   

     His entire body froze and she shrieked, her fear now palpable.  He forgot for a moment that he was in pain, embarrassed and horrified as he stared at the cactus that Mora was holding in front of him.  It had to be ten inches around.  He swallowed, and his head lowered in shame, his gaze averted from hers. 

     "N-no!" her voice shook violently as Mora laughed deeply.

     Miraak found himself free and the collar removed itself from his mouth, a deep peace settled over him.  There he was, on his knees, his dick at the ready.  He'd be as gentle as he could.  He stared at her in silence as she tried to back away still in the sitting position she was in.  She'd fallen forward in her haste and she was literally using her nails to drag herself away.

     He licked his dry lips and slowly got to his feet.  He felt his stomach roll in disgust as she screamed and panted with her efforts.  A film of sweat now covered her small toned body.

     Miraak swallowed back the bile in his throat and took the three steps required to reach her (he had long legs...).  She was screeching when his big hands grabbed her up and hefted her into his arms. 

     She transformed into a wildcat.  Biting, scratching, shrieking, punching, slapping...

     She even tried to kick him in the testicles, but it was easily avoided.  Miraak gritted his teeth as he grabbed both her hands in one hand and stilled her completely.  His black eyes focused on her emeralds, trying to convey to her that he would not hurt her.

    "I will be gentle," he whispered, trying to soothe her, and failing miserably. 

     She was sobbing and crying, big tears rolling down her cheeks as she begged with him to not hurt her... it almost gutted him.

     He turned his head so that he was nuzzling her temple and growled low in his throat, the sound not really human. "Relax," he spoke quietly directly in her ear.  She was shaking so much that Miraak tucked her closer to his chest (hoping the sound of his heartbeat would lull her) and turned on his heels as he took her to his chambers.  He completely ignored the amorphous blob overhead.

     The tentacle around his dick released from Mora (but it stayed attached to him, preventing him from cumming).  He took her to his bed (which consisted of a wooden bookshelf that he'd modified.  He'd filled it with pages upon pages of books.  The top layer of parchment was so worn, that it had soften over the years.  To him it was comfortable.

     She was sobbing so much more when he laid her on his modified bed.  He ignored that they were being watched by the blob up over head and climbed into bed with her.  He put his arm under her neck and brought her head to his shoulder, where she buried her face and bawled as though someone had died.

     And something had.

     Her innocence.

Chapter Text


     Miraak held her for a few more minutes, letting her cry until she hiccuped and made a soft noise as she released her breath.  His large hand had come up to run his fingers through her hair soothingly, calming the tremors going through her body.  He knew that he couldn't dally for much longer, Mora was watching him carefully.

     The first Dragonborn lowered his head so that his mouth was at her ear. "Trust me, Vahdin," he spoke slowly, enunciating his words.  She froze in his arms, her entire body tensing like a rope.  He nuzzled her temple and very deliberately turned on his side so that he was facing her.

     She started whimpering and kept her face hidden against his chest.  Both of her arms raised so that they were on either side of her head, and she was clutching her head tightly.  He couldn't see her face, but his hand traveled to her leg very gently.  Cautiously.  Miraak could feel the trembling, the goosebumps appearing beneath his touch.  He murmured down to her, keeping his voice level and soft, "I will not hurt you, Vahdin."

     When his hand reached the back of her knee, he grabbed it and hooked it over his hip, bringing their groins closely together.  She'd cried out in pain when he'd moved her leg, so he immediately began  rubbing small circles in her hair, against her scalp while growling low in his throat rhythmically, following a pattern so that she could relax. 

    And she did.

    He felt her body ease as he held her nigh to his body.  With her leg over his hip, both of his hands ran down her back gently and he pressed her even closer to his chest, trying to convey a sense of protection in his arms.  He'd promise not to hurt her, and he wouldn't

    Miraak leaned forward and flexed his hips forward gently.  His penis barely grazed against her pussy, and the moment they touched she tensed again.  He made calm shushing noises against her head as his hands began massaging her back. "Trust me," he whispered as he tilted his hips forward again, this time it was against her lower belly he'd moved. 

    He felt her shift in his arms as (he hoped) she seem to realize what he was doing.  Her leg relaxed (it almost felt like she was pulling him in) and allowed him to move even nearer (which he did).  His large hand moved to her ass and he clutched one of the globes in his hand as he moved against her again, ignoring the tentacle that tightened its grip on his dick.

    She gasped as this time his shaft glided perfectly between her nether lips and over her clitoris.  Miraak gritted his teeth and began a slow rhythm against her, trying to get both of them to forget for a moment the Oblivion they were in.

     "Look at me, Vahdin," he growled gently, pulling his head back to watch her.  She must have understood for her eyes raised to his and widened with surprise.  He stared down at her as he moved deliberately against her, trying to keep her focused on him, so that she could only see him.

     He lowered his head and feathered her brow with a kiss.  A simple action, and yet he felt as though he'd been struck and all the breath was knocked out of his lungs.  She, in turn, hissed a breath in, her lips barely parting.  It was enough for him to capture her mouth with his.  She gasped into his mouth, and he groaned into hers.


    If he had to pick one word to describe what was going through his body when they connected.  That was it.

    Miraak took his time tasting her, inhaling her scent into him.  His tongue touched hers gently, tempting it to dance with his, as he rocked gently against her.  Her mouth tasted of snowberries, as though she'd just enjoyed the sweet and tart berries prior to coming to Apocrypha. 

    Her hands opened against his chest and he felt her nails dig into his pectoral muscles like a cat.  He growled against her mouth and the hand not clutching her ass, returned to her hair.  He palmed the back of her nape and tilted his head to deepen the kiss.  Fully imprinting himself on her. 

    The long-missed scent of the crisp mountain air, mixed with nightshade invaded his senses and he felt his body tense almost uncontrollably.  His nose was practically buried in her dark hair and it enchanted him.  He was almost as fixated on her hair as he was on her lips.   

    He felt a tear drop fall to his arm (the one beneath her, holding her head) and his muscles tightened against her.  He pulled away from her, just enough that they could both catch their breaths.  Her watery eyes were wider still than before and she was staring at him in either shock or awe (he wasn't sure which, so long as it wasn't fear).

    He leaned forward and licked her lips delicately, she whimpered but did not pull away.  He felt her leg muscles tighten at his waist, almost as if she was pulling him forward.  He growled against her mouth and started to move into small thrusts (where the head of his dick was pushing against her pearl more frequently).

    "Release for me, Vahdin," he said into her mouth, his voice low.  He had to stifle his own groans of pleasure as he focused on hers.  She didn't make much sound apart from her breathing that was irregular.  Her entire body started shaking and he heard her grit her teeth as pain (he didn't doubt it) and pleasure mingled through her body.

    She was sobbing against him, her nails had pierced skin and he held still has he pushed his dick into the bundle of nerves one last time.  He felt liquid trickle against his testicles and he had to clench his eyes closed to prevent himself from releasing against her.  It was easier than he expected (the tentacle helped ironically).  

     Her entire body shuddered and he clutched her closer, burying his face in the crease of her neck and shoulder.  He was basically bowed around her (she was so small, and he was so much bigger), as she shook in his arms. When the spasms left her body, he swallowed and raised his head to look down at her.

    She'd reburied her face against his chest, and he got a good look at the pleasure patches of red across her back.  The bits of her ear he could see were blood red. This brought him a sense of achievement that even after thousands of years, he could still bring a woman to orgasm.

   Miraak's heart was pounding in his head, and his dick was starting to hurt from the tentacle gripping it.  It had tightened even more (or he'd gotten thicker from the blood trapped there). The flared glans of his penis pulsated painfully and he knew his blood burned hot against her skin.  Instincts demanded that he sink his length into her sheath, take what was his, claim her.


    Extreme agony for the little vahdin in his arms, if he were to do as his very being was screaming to do, was in that direction.  Dragons were fierce lovers, and he was no different. He would be brutal without meaning to be and he'd have little control over it.

    He would have to let her get use to him, to his size and girth if he were to penetrate her fully as he was meant to do (without Mora's interference), and she was already scared enough of him as it was. He was patient. He'd been sleeping for thousands of years, he could do so again if she needed him to.

    A soft, sad growl escaped his throat, it didn't turn into a whine but it came damn close to it, damn close.  The little vahdin would have to contend with much when he lost control. He couldn't protect her from himself.

     He swallowed and nuzzled her hair comfortingly. "Allow me release, Vahdin?" The words were purred into her ear, he didn't want to take any more from her then he'd already had.

    She shivered against him as his chest rumbled beneath her ear.  She raised her head, and summer grass-green eyes stared at him.  She didn't say a word, but she blushed a bright red and averted her gaze from his heated one.  He took that as consent and reached down to grab his shaft.

    He used his hand to get himself as close to the end as he could (it didn't take long at all, not with her scent permeating the air around him).  He would have never guessed that the smell of nightshade would be so intoxicating.  

    The fact that she'd covered him with her sweet nectar made it that much better, allowing him ease in his actions.  As if on cue, the tentacle released, and Miraak was quick to very gently (that he was gentle at all was borderline unbelievable) place the head of his cock against her entrance (she tensed again and whimpered in pain, but did not stop him).  He murmured calming words as he barely penetrated her, and still managed to release his seed in her without causing her more harm.  She remained tense as he stifled his voice, his muscles locking all around her. 

   His body was now covered in a film of sweat and Miraak raised his head to glare up at the amorphous blob that was Mora.  The Daedric Prince chuckled deliberately at the look of defiance that the Dragonborn knew was leaking from his eyes.  (He already missed his mask...)

   He'd penetrated her willingly.

    "The results ..mnm... are the same," Hermaeus warbled slowly, as though he'd read his mind. 

    Miraak's black eyes narrowed, "Results?" The Dragonborn paused a moment before continuing, "You will get no such satisfaction from my body, Mora."

    "That you are here now, tells me enough." The main eye, with its loop iris, stared at him unblinking.

    A small shiver of dread tried to spread down Miraak's back but he squashed it down; he had nothing to fear.  Death would be a release from this prison.  Although he doubted he'd actually be released, he had given his soul to Mora many a millennia ago. 

   "This was hrm-not foreseen," Mora continued, "This will be a mmmmm....most interesting experiment."

   Miraak felt his top lip slowly start raising as though he were about to bare his teeth at the Prince.  He kept his face relaxed and motionless.  He would not give Hermaeus any reaction, he'd just stare at the blob.  He was beginning to have his own suspicions about what Mora had planned for them, and it terrified him.  

     The Prince remained maybe a few moments more, blinking his multitudes of eyes and returned Miraak's gaze.  Finally he dissolved and disappeared, his laughter echoing ominously.  Miraak swallowed and felt his body stiffen suddenly. 

     The fear and desperation that had brought him forth were slowly dissipating and he felt himself drift off into sleep (this would not be good).  He tucked her against himself and fought with himself for as long as he could. 

      He finally succumbed shortly after she'd fallen asleep in his arms. 

Chapter Text


      She felt warm and secure, and a little sore she'd admit, but safe.  Shamir slowly opened her eyes and found herself staring at the muscular chest of Miraak.  There was a light dusting of hair (more of a line really, from the center to his navel then to...) her eyes widened and she blushed scarlet as she averted her gaze.   

     Her throat constricted and she nuzzled him gently.  He'd been so gentle with her... he hadn't hurt her at all.  He'd been so... careful.  His eyes had taken her aback when she'd first seen them, pitch as night, and yet, when he'd held her...they had...glowed.  Black, glowing eyes... she'd never seen the like before.

     Shamir had forgotten for a moment that they were on Apocrypha, and that Mora had just threatened Miraak with a disgusting horrifying tentacle if he didn't rape her of his own free will...

     She'd been so scared, well, she still was... but not of him any more. 

     Shamir licked her lips and moved to be closer to the big body holding her.  She rubbed her forehead against him and very carefully leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss against his warm skin.  This might not be so ba—

     She didn't even have time to scream when she was violently thrown from the bed, and away from Miraak.  Her first assumption was that Hermaeus Mora had returned and was torturing them again.  Shamir had time to flip onto her back, ready to scream for Miraak when the words died in her throat.

    It wasn't Mora that had flung her so roughly. 

    There he was, in all his naked glory, his chest heaving.  His hands, at his sides, were clenched so hard the fingers were white.  His teeth were bared at her, and he literally snarled viciously at her.  Her eyes widened and her body froze in absolute terror.  His black eyes weren't glowing now, but they sent her scrambling.

     Well...she thought she had scrambled... she didn't really move; too much pain in her legs and thighs.  She had turned her back to him and was trying to crawl away, but she maybe moved three feet before he was over her.  She screamed when his hand fisted in her hair and yanked her up to her knees.

     She screeched in pain and both of her hands came up to try and claw him so that he would free her (it didn't work...).  Her scalp was on fire and she scratched at his wrist with her nails.  Shamir may have thought he would let her go but that's not what happened.  

     Of course not.  

     Nothing simple ever happened.

     What the first Dragonborn did do though, surprised the shit out of her.  

    He slapped her.  Slapped her hard, and did not let go of her hair.  He'd stunned her and both her hands had dropped from his wrist like limp leeks.  Her ears were ringing and moving her jaw turned her vision white.  Her scalp was also screaming since the slap had sent her almost flying from him if he hadn't kept such a tight hold on her hair.

     She'd barely opened her mouth when he slapped her again (a backhand this time....that one hurt more....).  She tasted blood as her lip split on her own teeth (with the help of his knuckles), and this time she hit the floor (he'd let her go...owie...).  Her cheek slapped the ground and more stars appeared in her scope of vision.

     Just as she struggled to raise herself on her arms, he was back over her.  Both of his hands dug into her shoulders as he raised her to her feet as though she weighed no more than a feather (which she certainly did not).  He moved so quickly that she hadn't budged when he grabbed her throat in one big fist and lifted her right off the ground.

     She gurgled and spat out blood when he slammed her against a wall that brought Shamir to eye level with him.  She tried to lash out a him with her feet, but that lasted only until he tightened his grip.  She grabbed his wrist with both her hands and couldn't prevent the tears of fear that were leaking from her eyes.

     He roared in her face (he did not Shout, but she'd forgotten in the heat of the moment that he couldn't Shout at her) and she reached forward to scratch at his face, well.... she tried.  The length of his arms were much longer than hers, and she just couldn't quite reach him. 



     Her face was turning a dark purple, and yet Miraak was not focused on her like she probably assumed he was (he was looking at her, but not seeing her).  His heart was pounding out of his chest, deafening him completely to everything and anything around him.  His skin was crawling where she had touched him, sending pins and needles throughout his body that made him want to vomit.  He was bodily shaking, that it was in fear and not anger, mattered little.

     What did matter was that she had been in his chambers.

     She had been touching him.

     She had kissed him.

     It had all been real.

     He'd assumed that he had been dreaming (and it hadn't surprised him that his dream had been of the erotic variety at the time) when he'd first become aware that he and the woman were... engaging (in real) sexual play.  He had missed contact, and had enjoyed (more than he would admit to himself or to her) having her wrapped around him like she had been.  She'd felt almost right.

    It had been a dream.  

    It was suppose to have been a dream.

    It had felt unreal.  He hadn't been in total control of himself and had watched with rapt attention every little movement she'd done or noise she'd made.  He'd wanted it to be real then, but it couldn't have been.  He didn't even remember the words he'd spoken, though he knew he'd spoken to her. 

    The last coherent thought he remembered clearly was Mora threatening him with the spiked phallus-like tentacle.  He'd remembered feeling shame and horror and dread.  

     She wasn't making much noise now, and her hands had dropped from his wrist.  His eyes widened and he dropped her to the ground and stepped away from her.  He schooled his features into a blank mask (damn Mora for taking away his face) and glared down at her.

     She was rubbing at her throat (over her collar) and coughing and hacking as though she had been forced under water. "Don't ever touch me," he snarled, his body tensing as he stared down at her.

     The woman was holding her neck and coughing still (she'd fallen to her side), she wasn't even looking at him.  He felt his hands clench (silence... how he missed his gloves).  

     Her wet, emerald eyes raised to stare at him as though she'd never seen him before, betrayal evident in those green spheres.  Visions from his dream (he was still not understanding how it wasn't a dream...) muscled their way to the forefront of his thoughts and he pushed them savagely away.

     He glared down at her, ignoring the purple/black bruise slowly beginning to appear on either side of her mouth (he had hit her hard...), and it wouldn't have happened had she not been touching him.  He suppressed the shudder threatening to invade his body.  He couldn't stand being touched...

     One of her hands came up (it was shaking) and she touched her jaw, he heard her wince and her breath hissed between her teeth.  He narrowed his eyes and just as he was about to back away from her, black tentacles snatched him from where he stood and raised him high into the green sky.

     "What ...hrm...have youuuu done?" Mora gargled.  To the untrained ear, he sounded much as he always did, but to Miraak.  Heh.

     Whatever Miraak could have said on the matter, went up in smoke when Hermaeus Mora decided to deal with Miraak in his own particular way.  The first Dragonborn barely managed to cut off his screams as the black tentacles pierced his hands and feet, and then spread him as though he was crucified on some malformed black tree.

     He arched his back and his teeth sunk in his lower lip (blood exploded from his mouth) trying to stifle his screams of pain as Mora spread him wide.  The muscles of his legs were cramping, his arms were spread akimbo.  There was no room to move, and he was bleeding heavily, he could feel the limbs moving through his wounds.  

     He would not react.

     No screams.  No words.  Nothing.  Mora would get nothing from him.  There would be no satisfaction for the Prince, not this day.  He would swear his teeth cracked when he felt the thin limbs, that had invaded the inside of his body, ripping layers of flesh open the more they explored; poking and prodding at the muscle and sinew branch. 

     Gods, it hurt.   Oh so much...

     “You will not.... mnnn injure her any... further.” Mora's gurgled voice sounded so close, as if the entity that was the Prince was enveloping Miraak, just inches from him.  The first Dragonborn would have clenched his fists, if the agony in his hands and wrists hadn’t been do great. "You however.... mnnnnn.... my Champion.... “ Mora didn’t finish his sentence, instead his main eye blinked slowly and Miraak tensed, his back taut to prevent his body from trembling.


     Hermaeus' great eye and dozens of others flicked downwards to the base of the thick tree of tentacles.  A flicker of brunette hair flashed as Shamir hit Mora's limbs, over and over again.  Wait... he frowned as he looked downwards, ignoring his woes momentarily. 

     Was that a book?  He blinked.  She was hitting Mora with one of his very own Black Books.  She'd apparently grabbed it from the nearest shelf (it must have been within reach).  Her legs were barely holding her up, he could see from his vantage point, how her very knees were threatening to give out on her.    


     Again she hit Mora's thick limbs with the book and Miraak's eyes widened a fraction at her stupidity.  Twap.  Twap.  Twap.

     A thin limb slid from behind her and captured her left hand like a whip, forcing her to drop the heavy tome.  Her lips opened to scream and (he'd give her credit) she did try, unfortunately it was cut off from the obvious pain in her jaw.  The places where he'd had slapped her were already shadowed heavily on her soft skin. Thin lines of drying blood dropped down her chin from the corner of her split lip. 

     “What a brave ..... hmmmm little thing you are....” another tentacle slid out and grabbed her other wrist, effectively pulling both her arms back and securing them to her from behind. The woman’s knees gave out finally and she blinked away the pain, her head rolling to the side for a moment as a glazed look came over her gaze for a few moments.

     “I should have hrm... expected this from you," Mora's voice turned into mockery as he continued, "Youuuuu were so easily fooled by mmmmmy illusions of my Champion that you came running."

      She gasped audibly and Miraak saw her eyes widened as fresh tears slid down her cheeks.  So that was how she knew of him. Mora had tricked her, much as he had duped him.     

      He'd lured her here.  Mora had used his likeness to get her to follow his trail.  She'd walked right into the Prince's trap with her eyes wide open.        

     A blunt ended tentacle reached out and poked at her injured jaw.  The woman tensed, her back arching, and she screamed, and screamed, pulling away from the limb that had touched her.  Miraak looked away, up into the green never-changing sky that was Apocrypha. 

    If she was stupid enough to attack the Prince, in his realm, she deserved her fate. 

    Though, Miraak wouldn’t deny his curiosity on her actions. She should have attempted to flee, instead she'd grabbed a book (he smiled inwardly at the fact that it had been a Black Book she'd grabbed) and had attacked a Daedric Prince.  

   With a book

    If he wasn’t in so much pain, he’d have maybe chuckled.   Maybe.  He honestly didn't remember the last time he'd smiled.

    Foolish girl.

Chapter Text


     It hurt.

     Gods, it hurt so much.

     His eyes were clenched closed as the tentacles continuously flexed and twitched as they writhed.  Mora, sure as Oblivion, wasn't about to do him any favours either.  The Prince was enjoying his suffering in his typical Mora way: deliberately. 

     Miraak gritted his teeth until he thought they'd break under the pressure he was excising.  He would not make a sound if it killed him (which it would eventually, that was a certainty). 

    No satisfaction.

     Not a sound.  Not a single scr—

     Hermaeus' limbs thickened in his palms, and the first Dragonborn was barely able to suppress the agony of his skin giving way to the daedric Prince.  The woman had dissolved into a whimpering mess on the ground, Mora still had her arms bent backwards in a most awkward position.

     "Seeking to free him, mortal?" Mora warbled, his tone borderline obscene, "I will help you." Mora's tentacles moved faster than Miraak's eyes could follow.  Though he wasn't surprise to see the woman raised up so that she was eye level with Miraak.  Her arms were still behind her back, pushing her bouncing breasts forward.

     The black arms circled her thighs and spread them apart wide.  Miraak's nostrils flared as the scent of her sex wafted towards him.  His cock twitched uncontrollably, and his hands hurt too much to fist.     

     "Damn you, Hermaeus," Miraak gritted out as he turned his head to the side and clenched his eyes closed.  He didn't want to look at the woman and he sure didn't want to smell her either.  Not again. 

     "It has been centuries since your genitals have spasmed this mmmmmuch without my help," Mora practically oozed spite.  Miraak swallowed and kept his eyes closed, refusing to be embarrassed despite Mora's taunts.

     "Let us go!" the woman screamed, twisting and fighting. 

     "I thought you wanted him," Mora chuckled, "You almost over exerted yourself for him."

     Miraak's eyes shot open when he felt the woman's body pushed against him.  She screamed at the top of her lungs and the first Dragonborn got to see her green eyes widen with both fear and disgust. 

    "N-no!" she begged.

     Mora ignored her pleas and instead arranged her so that her back was to Miraak and she was bent over.  The Dragonborn averted his head, and gritted his teeth as Mora moved the tentacles impaling him.

     "Nngh!" he jolted, his muscles locking.

     "Let me hear your screams, Miraak," Mora gargled slowly, "It has been soooo long since I heard them...mnnmm."

     Miraak's jaw was hurting with the effort he was exerting.  He couldn't control his hands (and it felt like he was being chewed by a dragon), he'd clenched his fingers closed, digging his nails into Mora's black, inky limbs. 

     He heard the woman choking (her collar had come up to her mouth, though he could not see this), and she began to struggle.  Her muscular ass alternatively jiggled and tensed with her efforts.  Miraak whimpered and threw his head back to stare at the green sky, anywhere but towards the woman.

     There was no stopping his cry as he felt a tentacle wrapping around the base of his dick again.  His head snapped forward and he felt his entire body shudder.  The tentacle tip was slowly encircling his penis, continuously moving upward as it wrapped itself around his shaft.

     The tip then rubbed at his piss slit sensually and Miraak's eyes shot open.

     No.  Not tha

     His entire body jerked as the tapered end of the limb suddenly slid into his penis, and went down his urethra.  Mora got his wish.  He screamed.  He screamed long and hard as the tentacle went deeper into his groin.  His hands were on fire and his feet felt the same, and still he screamed.

     “Yes, Miraak.  Scream for me, my Champion," Hermaeus practically purred as the Dragonborn fought like a dragon possessed, as the tentacle continued into him, "Hmmmmmm so sweet, it has been such,” Deeper. "A." Deeper. "Long." Deeper. "Time." Deeper still. "Shhh..." Mora's giant eye blinked once as another tentacle wrapped around Miraak's waist and the tip skirted along the top of his ass. "Let's show her how much youuuu like this, how much your body ...hmr... begs and weeps for this.  Let's show the last Dragonborn how to make youuuu squeal."

     Miraak bowed and fought.  His dick was on fire, felt as though he were being ripped apart from the inside out.  He could feel Mora's tentacle moving in his sac, caressing his testes within the confines of his scrotum.  Miraak whimpered and felt his eyes water uncontrollably as the black limb slid down the crack of his ass, spreading the tightened cheeks as though he were willing.

     The tampered end poked at his anus gently and Miraak roared (it was not a Shout, but it was feral), unable to control himself.  Mora was going to rape him in front of the woman... he was going to pull his seed from his body while she watched.  He felt his entire body heat and fluctuate from white to black as the tentacle prodded again. 

     He bit his tongue to stop himself from begging.  He knew all too well, much to his shame,that Mora was waiting precisely for that.  He clenched his eyes closed and tried to struggle as the limb moved back and forth across his sphincter with carnal intent.  Miraak tasted blood in his mouth and would have probably bit his own tongue off if his collar hadn't suddenly come to life and jammed most of itself down his throat, prying his teeth apart without any effort.

    "That would not do," Mora chastised, "Come now Miraak... you should be hmnnnn elated that someone else will.... share your pain."

     Miraak whimpered as the woman's sex was pushed against his stuffed dick, she was almost folded in half in front of him, her legs spread wide.  Her head was down and her screams were well muffled by her collar.  Miraak knew if he looked, he would find her nether lips spread by inky black arms, her pearl being flicked to encourage penetration. 

     His cock was already standing at the ready, practically panting as it moved up and down as though it had a mind of its own, and it did if you counted Mora as its mind.  He felt her pulled away a little and then he grunted in pain as his penis was slapped against her entrance rather roughly.  The sound of skin slapping skin echoing ominously in Apocrypha as Hermaeus spanked her pussy with his dick over and over again (the tentacle that had been inside his penis was slowly pulling out, and that hurt more than he could describe).  

      "Look how she weeps for you Miraaaaaaak." 

     He'd rather have his soul swallowed by the World Eater.  

     Had he known, that he, Miraak, First Dragonborn, First Dragon Priest, and the Master Atmoran Mage (he was a rare novelty... his race was not magically inclined like others), would be a Prince's pleasure toy, used, abused and humiliated as though he were a slave

     A sex slave, no less. (He doubted Sanguine treated his worshipers like this, and if he did, they probably wanted it.)

     He would have never broken faith with Alduin.

     In fact, he would have been the first one to kiss the World Eater's claws.  He would have remained exactly where he had been, never sought more, never learned more, and he would have kept his dignity.  He would have had an enriching life, he had been powerful... why had he wanted more? 

   A question he'd asked himself countless times.  Regret did not even begin to explain his feeling on the matter.

    He felt all his muscles tighten as her wet warmth enveloped him suddenly (Akatosh!).  His cries were muffled by the collar in his mouth, for again, Miraak found himself painfully ejaculating almost immediately inside her womb. 

     His fell limply within his bonds, all his muscles going lax, including his hands.  If he hadn't been nailed to Mora, by Mora, he would have fallen to the ground, dead to the world, as it were.

     As he hung there, Miraak was able to see her back-end quite clearly.  A few things happened at the same time and it took him a moment to actually realized it. 

     The woman's legs were spread, as was her pussy.  She was actually covered in his semen (apparently he'd cummed even sooner than he'd realized... how quaint), which took him off guard at first, and then he felt his teeth sink in the tentacle in his mouth.  A inky limb was gathering up all his seed from her body, and without warning penetrated the woman.

     He winced and closed his eyes as she fought like a sabrecat.  Her legs were flailing (or trying too) and she was shrieking for all she was worth, trying to close her legs, and force the Prince out.    

     “Look how she mnnnnnnnnn squirms, Miraak," Mora's voice was slow and deliberate, as if speaking to a lover, his eyes snapped open in dread as Mora continued, "She hmmmmmmmmn reminds me of your first .....century here.”   

     Black tears fell from his eyes as he closed them again (they landed on her ass) and did his best to block out Mora's words.  Goose flesh exploded across his back as Mora's warble seem to come right beside his ear.  He could even feel the hot breath against his neck. "Tell me, Miraak... hmmmmmm do you recall the way you mnnnnnn screamed?" Mora whispered loudly, the tip of his black tentacle slowly pushing into his anus. 

    He started shuddering and made an effort to fight, but he didn't have it in him.  Instead, he hung there, whining like a cowed dog, as Mora went in search of that place inside that controlled his very orgasms.  Miraak keened and jerked forward, trying to get away from the limb pushing its agonizing way into him.

     "Yes, my Champion," Hermaeus drawled in his ear as his dick jerked to life again (he had gone soft...), and straightened, the inky, black limbs touching and wrapping around his cock.  He screamed into the collar as Mora started jerking on his dick and then brought the woman's pussy back into his line of sight.

    Miraak winced, closed his eyes and tried to turn his head away as Mora's tentacle slowly removed itself from her depths.  Miraak could see clear into her cunt, her cervix was open and his semen had been pushed into her rather roughly.  He couldn't stop his reaction as Mora forced his penis into an erection that was on the verge of exploding already.

     "Tell me, Miraak.... how much will it hmmmmm take to fill her very.... womb?" Mora voiced the question so casually that one could almost pretend he was speaking of something else, "I must.... have this knowledge, and you my Champion.... will give it. Hmmmmmn willingly or not."

     Miraak felt the cold hand of dread wrap itself around his heart as Mora rammed his dick into her pussy, and started using the momentum from his tentacle to bed the woman through Miraak.  The constant rubbing of the tentacle against that place, and the squeezing/milking of his dick by both the tentacle and her vagina made it impossible for him to control himself.

     The first Dragonborn felt his testicles tense and while the woman screamed beneath him, his cock emptied itself deep inside.  He was not naive enough to believe this would end now.  He knew, and it became very apparent that the woman knew as well.  The Prince did not even bother separating them as he made Miraak cum over and over again. 

    By the fifth time, no more than a drop squeezed from his abused penis.  He was in so much pain, it was a wonder his dick was not cumming blood instead.  The woman had stopped fighting by now and just hung there limply as Mora continued with his torture. 

     "Empty?  We will continue this later,"  Mora chuckled and the tentacles all around them that had been flexible and alive, solidified and turned into actual cages almost. "Until then, stay put." Binding him and the woman together like a couple of mating snails.  He screamed into his gag as Mora suddenly disappeared, leaving them alone, trapped together.  

     He was inside her...

     Still touching.

Chapter Text

   It was hours before Mora returned.  Miraak refused to show any expression, despite the fact his muscles were cramped, his ass hurt beyond imagining (he was still impaled), and for maybe the first time in over a century, he wanted to cut his dick off.

   His semen had dried and stuck them together.  His foreskin was rubbed raw and burned as though on hot coals, his glans was pulsing so painfully that he would have volunteered to become a eunuch in a heartbeat.  Each breath he took inched his agony ever upward, barely shirking the edge of madness.

   His face, however, bellied none of this.  

   Miraak's expression remained stoic, impassive.

   That is, until one of Mora's tentacles wrapped around his testicles and pulled.   Hard .

   " Let's see if these have refilled yet ," Mora gargled, tightening his grip.

   Miraak screamed as all the tentacles surrounding them came alive again, and resumed doing what they had been doing before.  Those in his limbs paled in comparison to the one inside him, Mora had enlarged it and was rubbing that place harder.   Faster.

   His penis jerked to life inside her as the tendril around the base of his cock tightened again.  He felt his skin pull and rip as Mora began his tortures anew.

   Keeping track of time in Apocrypha was an art that Miraak had mastered thousands of years before, unfortunately, as it were, the knowledge left his brain.  He had no idea how long Mora forced them together, he'd lost track of the amount of times he'd ejaculated.  Mercifully, he couldn't feel his dick any more or his bollocks.  A string of saliva escaped his mouth and Miraak felt his eyes roll to the back of his head.

   He felt a calming peace settle over his mind and his eyes snapped open instantly.  He was not going to lose control of his body again. He shook his head hard, trying to push this peace away.  Peace meant he had no control. And he needed control, he needed it.

   The bleeding wounds and tentacles in his limbs were ignored as he clenched his teeth, and shook his head like a rabid dog, but it was in vain as he chanced a glance at the woman’s weeping body wrapped against his own.  When his eyes met her own, just a glance, he felt whatever power in him surge forward and the tranquility felt stronger. The fright and anguish in her teary orbs had his spine grow taut and all his agonies seem to vanish as though he were hale and hearty.  He relaxed his entire body and closed his eyes. The less he struggled, the easier it would be on both he and the woman (he still didn't know her name...).

   It took 27 ejaculations in total to fill her womb...  

   Mora had laughed like a buffoon as he practically crushed Miraak’s testicles to get the last few drops, and then dropped them to the ground unceremoniously.  The woman whimpered and Miraak closed his eyes as he lay on his back. He didn’t want to move, not yet anyways (maybe never).

   His penis was beyond raw, beyond burning.  It was swollen and patches of skin were missing (parts of it had been ripped off, as if a layer had been forcibly removed) and oozing a clear liquid that felt like acid.  He used a minor healing spell, just enough to take the pain away, to repair the skin, stave off infection and reduce some of the swelling.

   As if to mock them, Miraak’s mask and robes (she didn’t have clothes now) fell to the ground around them.

   Mora’s laughter echoed as he dematerialized and vanished from sight.  Miraak waited a long while before rolling over and slowly sitting up. He gathered up robes, left the mask where it had fallen, and limped his way towards the woman.

   She lay partially on her side and stomach, unmoving, her arms were up close to her head.  He could see his seed seeping out of her mockingly. He was quick to pull his robes on. He used a small fire spell to cut the tops of his robes off.  He tied the pants up with the material and then very carefully laid the torn clothing over the woman. 

   She remained motionless until the palm of his hand grabbed her shoulders and tried to hold her against his bare chest.  She came to life instantly as if he had burned her with the flames, and she fought against him as best as she could.  Her nails trying to find purchase like she had claws instead. He grabbed both of her wrists in one big hand and continued to try to soothe her.

   “Vahdin ,” he murmured, his voice calm, “ stop this.”

   He grit his teeth when he felt her teeth sink into his chest, close to his nipple.  She drew blood and he pulled away until she let go, his blood on her lips. Miraak felt all his muscles tense and he tipped his head forward to better look at her, his braid hanging down.  He barely managed to restrain himself as she glared at him with all the righteous fires of Oblivion, returning the intensity in his stare two fold.

   His heartbeat increased and he swallowed back the urge to mark her as well.  Instead he growled low in his throat, “Stop.”

   She spat in his face. “Fuck you!” she snarled, baring her teeth.

   He sighed. “Vahdin…”

   “Don’t you ‘Vahdin’ me, asshole!” she hissed, mimicking his voice as she pronounced the name he’d given her.  She was still struggling in his grip.

    He licked his lips, and realized that mayhaps he should explain himself.  He cleared his throat. “I am not the man, Miraak, but the dragon.

    She continued to fight, trying to kick him, the robe he had placed around her no longer covered her and his eyes lighted on her bruised flesh, he winced and gave her a quick shake.

    “Dragon,” he touched his chest with his free hand, trying a different tact.

    She seem to realize (he hoped) that he was trying to communicate with her and not hurt her for she stilled and frowned at him.  He kept his eyes focused on her as he held his hand over his heart. “Dragon,” he repeated, more relaxed.

    Her clear green eyes were watching him intently almost as though trying to see into his thoughts.  He tried to be as open as he could with her, and she visibly swallowed, “You’re a dragon?” she frowned, her words tentative.

    He nodded deliberately. 

    “Was it with you…?” she trailed off, averted her gaze and blushed.  He reached down and grabbed her chin to turn her head back towards him.

    He nodded, and wanted to make sure she was looking at him when he answered, “Yes .   It was me.

    She swallowed again, her face a bright red.

    “Let go,” she whispered the words, her voice shaking just a little.  She was still afraid of him.

    He shook his head, and before she responded, he gathered her up again and placed her on his lap.  He was able to reach for the robes that had fallen off her shoulders and wrapped it around her again as he held her against his chest.  She didn’t struggle this time and let him do as he pleased.

    He guided her head to his shoulder and wrapped both of his arms about her body.  She was so small that he almost swallowed her up. He felt her shivering and rubbed at her back with his big hands. “I will not hurt you, Vahdin.”

    “Shamir…” she murmured, her voice muffled by his skin, “My name is Shamir.”

    He paused in his ministration and smiled as he looked down at the top of her head.  She’d given him her name…

    “Shamir,” he said her name slowly, tasting it, committing it to memory.

    He felt her drop in exhaustion onto his chest and he called on his Restoration magic.  Mora had said they could not cast on each other to kill each other, was healing magic included in this?

    Miraak ran both his hands down her back, using Healing Hands.  The moment his hands touched her body, the spell quit as though he had no mana, despite being almost full (his magicka was ridiculously potent, he didn’t remember ever being depleted completely).   

    He frowned and tried again, as he suspected, it happened once more.  They could not cast on each other. Period. She would have to heal her own wounds.

   “What does he want with us?” she asked slowly.  Miraak took a deep breath and slowly released it.

   “We are being bred ,” he growled, trying to remain impassive.  She tensed in his arms and raised her head to look at him in the eye.  He saw the confusion there and took another breath, “ We ,” he motioned to the both of them with a hand, signifying them, “ Bred.” He deliberately reached down and placed a hand to her stomach.  

    She flinched as though he’d burned her and pulled away from his palm.  Miraak knew the moment it dawned on her too for her eyes widened to the size of septims and she turned a bright red, before the blood drained from her face leaving her deathly pale.  

    He felt her start shaking and shivering.  Her heartbeat increased in speed and she broke out in cold sweat, the beads pebbling her skin.  Miraak didn’t move a muscle when her body started contracting and straight up bile covered his torso.

    He put a hand to the back of her head and massaged gently as he rubbed her back at the same time.  She started sobbing in mid spew and great wails came from her very core. The sound was low at first, a faint vibration.  The Breton's vocals hitched as the wail turned animalistic - a roar.

   Her dragon, and he knew her at once, was showing her grief.

Chapter Text


     Shamir wrenched her body from his, her palms slapping down on the stone beneath her as her back shuddered and she continued to wretch.  Nothing but more bile and strings of saliva leaving her lips as her chest wavered for breath.  He knelt by her side, ignoring the slime against his chest as his large hand touched her back to soothe her. 

     The moment he touched her, she flung herself from his reach, on hands knees and she bared her teeth as a warbled snarl left her throat.  Her chestnut colored hair obscuring half of her face as she continued the snarl into a low keening growl.


     “No!” Her answering growl did make him pause but only for a split moment as he tried once more to get to her, calm her.  Her teeth bared once more and she backed up, his robes about her shoulders hanging loosely.  Seeing her back away from him, he growled low and narrowed his eyes. “Do not touch me...” 

     She was just out of reach, her hands and arms shook to hold up her battered body. His nostrils flared as the metallic scent of her blood caught his attention.  A thin drop made its way from between her thighs, it dropped to the ground and sounded like a boom of thunder (to him), she must have re-opened her wounds on the inside.

     “You need to heal.” His hand formed the soft glow of a healing spell and motioned it to himself and then at her. “I am not able to use my magic on you.” 

     Shamir hunched her shoulders a fraction, lifting her own palm and closing her eyes as she summoned what little restoration magic she knew (which was precious little). 

     It wasn’t much but a faint glow did wrap around her palm and she pressed it between her legs.  While she knew mastery in many of the Schools, her Restoration was appallingly bad.  The constant searing pain inside of her ebbed to a medium ache but then her magic was depleted and she panted with the exertion it caused her. 

     Shamir's body was trembling and the hand she pulled back from her crotch was smeared in blood and clotting semen.  Her breathing ragged and uneven as she stared at her slim fingers. Every ache and wound on her body seemed more prominent the longer stared at the mixture between her digits. 

     There were no thoughts in her mind, not solid ones.  Only a deafening roar that never ended, her hand moved to her abdomen and a growl reverberated from deep within her chest.  Hands touched her once more and she snarled viciously back at them.

     “Stop this,” he growled at her, her head whipped up and she bared her blunt teeth at him. 

     “No!” She slapped his face, hard.  He felt the force of her dragon's fury behind it, the blood and seed on her fingers causing the hit to sting worse than it should have. Shamir scrambled away, standing on unsteady legs as she crouched, ready to attack or defend. 

     “I will not.... I will not allow this to happen...” her voice was steadier now, low and hoarse as her hand gripped at her own flesh just above her womb.  Nails digging into her skin as if she would rip out her own innards. 

     He straightened, eyes narrowed as she stood across from him.  Little thing that she was, she had bite behind her hit. Her palm must sting but she clenched it into a fist as the other nearly clawed at her belly.  The fisted hand lit aflame and his eyes widened as she went to touch herself.  She was going to burn his seed...

     Moving on instinct, he lunged and they both rolled to the ground.  The flames vanishing away in a blink as she snarled up at him, her feet and hands kicking, clawing and scratching at every inch of him she could touch. He’d had enough, and grabbing both her wrists in his one hand he pinned them above her head (the robes opened exposing her completely), dropped open his jaw, and roared.

     Directly in her face.

     Heaving chest, his mouth partially opened as he breathes above her. The roar he’d let loose echoed for another moment before dissipating altogether.  Leaving them with their mingled breathing, and the soft whispering of pages.  His grip strong and like iron manacles on her wrists, his hips and legs pinning her lower body to the ground. 

     “You will stop.” Shamir narrowed her eyes but she did not fight him, for the moment, she didn't relax either. 

     “You would allow him to do this?" she snarled savagely, her eyes shooting fire at him as they glowed a bright green, "This is a travesty, a mockery of our ways.  Burn your seed from my womb lest it bear fruit and he takes our young!" He'd swear her teeth elongated (her voice sounded panicked almost) ready to sink in his throat and snap his neck with a great shake of her head. “Burn it, by Akatosh, burn it out of my body!” 

     He remained silent for a long time, staring at her, trying to find the words to tell her that he couldn't.  He couldn't burn anything from her body.  The collar around his neck prevented him from casting anything on her.  He waited for it to dawn on her, and then he realized that this was not the Breton fighting him, but the dragon aspect of the Breton.  

     He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he hung his head.  His free hand engulfed itself in flames burning brighter and hotter then her own. Locking eyes with him, she nodded as he moved back some off of her and hovered his fire above her crotch.  

    She closed her eyes, waiting for the burn and preparing for the pain.  She'd tensed her body and almost jumped out of her skin when his cool palm settled over her mound.  She balked, eyes now wide as she caught the flames diminish to nothing as he touched her skin. There was no heat from his touch. 

     In his moment of loosely holding her, she shoved him up and off of her, her own hand now engulfed back with her own flames. Only to have the burning sensation stop after a single moment of touching her skin.  The soft curls above her cunt were scorched and burned but that was all that was accomplished as a sudden pressure came from about her throat. 

     Eyes wide, her hands went to her neck to touch the living collar that sat there flush on her skin. It was squeezing tightly but the moment she let her magic go it relaxed and became dormant once more. Gasping for breath, she sat back on her haunches, her hands gently reaching to touch her bruised throat.  She felt a small whimper bubble out from her chest

     “No... this cannot be...” her voice went lower, raspy, thick with grief.  Her eyes lifted to his own, and the sadness in his gaze was amplified a hundred times over in hers. 

     They could not cast on each other.  They could not hurt the other harshly.  They could not reverse what was being done to them. This mockery (her word) of their very souls and instincts.  His stomach knotted in disgust.   

     When she lowered her gaze, her body slumped forward as if she'd lost consciousness.  He reached forward and pulled her to him (Ripping more from his pants he wiped his chest clean as much he could.) she didn't fight him, she just whimpered, and he couldn't prevent the rumbling whine that escaped his chest as he clutched her to him.  

     “We cannot allow it...” her hands grasped at his shoulders, nails digging into his own bruised flesh. 

     He dipped his nose into her hair, wrapped his arms about her back and pulled her fully into his lap. Engulfing her in his body as much he could.  He never would wish this on his worst enemy.  Even Alduin, with his heavy claw and massive jaws, would never be subjected to this, or more apt, subject them to this.    

      This terrible thing being forced open them.  

     Them.  Powerful, prideful and strong creatures.  Kings of kings.  Elite among both men/mer and dragon.

    He pressed his lips to her forehead, gentle at first, until her claws sunk into his flesh and drew blood.  He felt his muscles bunching around her and he barely managed to stop himself from grappling with her.

    "Swear it." Her words surprised him and he pulled away to better look down at her.  She raised her head and her bright emerald eyes bore into his.  He felt naked behind the intensity of her stare.  She jostled him once roughly, as if waking him up and her upper lip quivered momentarily before she repeated herself, the pitch of her tone had increased minutely. "Swear it!" 

     He stared back at her for a heartbeat before he brought his face close to hers, "I swear it."  

    She didn't give him a chance to move before their teeth clicked together as their mouths connected without preamble, their tongues barely touched before he growled.  She'd sunk her teeth into his bottom lip, the taste of his blood sent a shudder through her body and he barely suppressed his response.  He felt his hands tighten on her arms when the warmth of her blood coated his tongue.  This was an oath kiss, a blood oath.  She was ensuring he kept his word.

     It took all of his considerable willpower to not fling her to the ground and mount her then and there.  As the idea of mounting her rose to the forefront, his body's immediate reaction was rejection.  They were still in Apocrypha... to mount her where Mora could watch and interfere pretty much killed his ardor and he was able to pull his head away.  He was panting, so he gave his head a shake before glancing down at her.

    She was magnificent.  

     For a half a breath, he wondered what she would have been like outside of this Oblivion.  On her own ground... or even his... Would she have fought him had they met outside?  Forced him to prove that he was worthy of her, or her of him?  Make him fight other males for her affections (he would have killed them all)...?   His mouth went dry at the idea of locking sword, magic and teeth with her.  His blood pumped and he had to look away... or try too.

    The glowing, emerald jewels in her face mesmerized him.  They reflected what he felt ten-fold, tear filled as they were.  His eyes traveled down her body and settled on her stomach.  His own clenched at the realization that his young (he'd waited, wanted and given up for thousands of years...) would never fully form in her womb, he'd never see them or bond with them.  One of his big hands (they were trembling now) dropped to her belly and he clenched his eyes closed.  

     One of hers covered his.   

     He/she would kill them... to save them...  

     His own private Oblivion... 

     There was no comfort to be had between them.  He swallowed and gathered her close to his body.  He ignored that her nails dug into his flesh as she clung to him.  With unsteady legs, he gritted his teeth and curled her against his chest as he stood. 

    His feet disturbed the scattered pages upon the ground, carefully he sat into the only bed he’d known for centuries. They were still injured and bloody, filthy and desperately wanting to scrub every inch of skin to thwart away the feeling of Mora's limbs from their bodies. 

     Too tired to do more than fix the burnt robes to cover her more and then curl her into his big body, he started a low rhythmic rumble deep in his throat.  He knew it wouldn’t help either of them, the action was instinctual more than anything, and right now they needed their instincts, more than ever before.

     He needed to find a way for them to escape.