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konigs-left-pec · 5 days

Text

Wrath

Pairing: Ondolemar (TES:V) x Dragonborn Breton Reader.

A/n: This is a sequel of sorts to this fic that I posted years ago but it can be read alone. I make no excuses, I'm a very slow writer. Also posted on my Ao3 here.

Warnings for: smut(ofc), oral sex (male receiving), Light slapping, religious fetishization, degradation.

"-and of course, Elenwen has no intentions of honoring her word, Ancano could rot in that backwater excuse for a college and she'd be all the happier for it."

You smiled to yourself as you listened to Ondolemar's grumbling from Vlindrell hall’s dining room. He could gossip like an old milkmaid when the mood struck, and only recently had the gossip turned to matters of his own comrades. In ever-growing doses, you were getting deep insights into the very bones of the dominion’s arm in Skyrim. All because your undercover lover liked to bellyache.

"So Ancano is doomed to rot at Winterhold for one slight fifty years ago?" You twirled and inspected yourself in the mirror before pushing your hair aside to fasten the chain around your neck. "I noticed he wasn't at the embassy, I wonder if he even got an invite."

A faint, mirthless chuckle slid into your room from the other side of the doorless archway. "Yes, the Lady Emissary can hold a steel grudge... I wouldn't be surprised if she pretends the poor sod is already dead."

"Wow." You muttered to yourself, only partly at the conversation that you were barely listening to by this point. The mirror was the object of the brunt of your focus, or rather, yourself in it. Gods, this was going to be good if only he reacted as you hoped. Really, you felt sort of kinky as you looked yourself over, not necessarily because you were in a particularly racy outfit, but simply by virtue of the nature of your attire - the meaning. Especially with regard to who was currently in your dining room…

Ondolemar's voice broke you out of your thoughts as he called your name, clearly questioning as to if you were still listening. A giddy feeling bubbled at the eaves of your chest and you bit your lip as you turned from the mirror and stepped into your bedroom doorway.

When Ondolemar looked up from the book he'd nicked off your shelf, he froze.

"What-" he gave a jolty pause, uncharacteristic and cast in hues of similarly foreign confusion, "-are you doing?"

The smile that broke your face was mischievous, a playful wickedness shining in the curve of your lips and spark in your eyes. In the presence of a member of the Thalmor, and one of their most zealous at that, the amulet of Talos hanging around your neck felt nothing less than sinful. From the moment you lifted it off of Ogmund, you knew exactly how you would present it to your pious Altmer lover, potential consequences be damned (though you doubted their integrity where you were concerned, anyway). It was a risk, but one you felt would be well worth it, should the right plays be made and the right pieces be knocked from the board.

Play one had been privacy. The risk of any audience, any witness at all to what was to transpire being blown from the equation, which led the two of you, as always, to your home far away from the keep. An empty house, sans housecarl, where the song of your repercussions could pound carelessly against the stone walls, echoing so deep within the mountain that nosy ears couldn't hear enough for substance.

Ondolemar's scowl from your dining room chair was burning. Almost toeing the line of bona fide anger, but not quite to-temperature. His eyes roved you with a glint of open suspicion, and no attempts were made to hide their stall along the curve of your hips or the low wrap of the fabric of your silk robe. The amulet itself garnered little more than a glance and that was the moment you knew your suspicions about what may lay beneath the veneer of his zeal were almost certainly correct.

"It would be wise of you to remove that at once." He drawled, "need I remind you of the company you keep?"

Twelve paces from your bedroom door, down the couple of steps into your dining room, and you were rounding the table under the heavy pressure of his stare. Slowly, carefully, you drew near, hovering just outside of arm's reach, more to tease than to protect.

"I'm well aware of my company." You felt electric, acting like this, like some tavern girl playing a part for the reward of coin. Every part of your proper Breton upbringing was anathema to it, screaming in your bones to sit down, cross your legs, and let him work for your attentions. But the little wanton within you, the one born and grown in the shadow of your grandmother’s lectures, a legacy to the over-restraint, begged otherwise. It took no effort for it to win out.

"So you're going to have to be more specific..." your fingers traced along the contours of the amulet, down to the collar of your robe where it lay loosely closed along your chest. His eyes followed the trail. "Is it the Talos amulet you want off....or the robe?"

He ignored the question pointedly, but one hand settled on his thigh in a gesture half defiant, half betraying.

"That's the amulet I asked you to retrieve from Ogmund, I hope?" His eyes lingered on it for a beat longer, then fixed onto your face again. He was tense, visibly white-knuckling his resolve, torn at a crossroads where his duty and his passion met, stuck between piety and the sweet sin laid bare before him.

Well, almost bare.

Play two, sweeten the deal.

"Perhaps it is." You toyed with the pendant, "or maybe I'm a dirty heretic, myself."

Ondolemar gave a half-scoff, meant to sound more aloof than it did, but it clipped off abruptly, betraying his non-committance. You hazarded a step closer, watchful of his movements like a hunter approaching a sleeping bear, praying to make the right moves before the beast can have time to react. Then, with a slight of your hand, you let the robe pool by your feet, baring your body to the glow of the flames in the hearth. Ondolemar struggled to keep a measured countenance and prevent his starving eyes from chewing on the divots and peaks of your form.

"A shame, then.” He tried desperately to keep up his defiance. “Heresy is a punishable offense..."

It was a wonderful thing, watching such a superior mer struggle so plainly with his convictions in the face of a naked Breton. Really, he should be loathe to any situation rendering either of you clothless. He was a Thalmor agent, brainwashed his entire life to be repulsed by your woefully unyellow skin and full legs.... he should not find such pleasure in the sight of your bare body. Your shorter frame and wide hips should not have such an affect, but oh how they do.... if the rising peak in his lap was anything to go by, at least.

"Then punish me, commander."

Play three. Indulge the usual script, but turn the context on its head.

Very seldom had you seen your Altmer fumble, unable to get a grip on his wits that were usually so quick and ready, especially in the face of teasing, but he was at a clear loss now. Slowly, you took a seat at the edge of the table behind you, parting your legs and resting one foot on Ondolemar’s chair, squarely between his thighs.

Heavy eyes took your bait and fell enraptured upon your naked cunt.

Tentatively, a hand slid up your calf, in more of a suggestion of touch rather than a bonafide connection, so light against your skin that it seemed to speak to a deeply held fear on his part. Whether for his own actions, yours, or both and what meaning lay beneath, you would likely never truly know. His motivations, inspirations, and secrets were his own but the naked want on his face was all yours. With no small bit of hesitancy, the hand made a blazing path along your skin, but escalated in pressure until he gripped the meat of your inner thigh just so and a heat spilled immediately into your gut. Slowly, Ondolemar stood and loomed above you, pushing aside your leg and pinning you between his broad frame and the edge of the table. He slid the same hand into a loose loop over your collar bone, thumb teasing the face of the amulet between your breasts.

Then, you watched as he chose his path and barreled through the trees, leaving duty behind him.

“I’m sure we can find some way to absolve you of your transgressions,” he told you, pressed so close that you could feel his anticipation, hard beneath his robes. “But what to do with you, hm?

“Punish me, Ondolemar.” You couldn’t stifle the begging whisper. “I came to you wearing an amulet of Talos and I think that deserves something…”

“Oh it does.” He nodded. “Indeed, given the circumstance, being that you so filthily presented yourself as such to a commanding officer of the Aldmeri dominion, I think a whore shall get what a whore deserves.”

You gasped as a rough grip suddenly pinched your jaw, his face coming within inches of yours.

“Shall I fuck the heresy out of you, whore?” He gritted.

“You can certainly try.”

A shadow of something wild flashed in the lineaments of his face before he jostled you roughly.

“I’m going to. Thoroughly.” His promise was cut with a softer look, “But should you want to stop, you are to tell me so. Simply say the word and it will be over. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” You grinned, both appreciative of his consideration, even in this predicament you’d sprung on him, and anticipating the best bedding you’d had in ages.

“Good girl.” He revitalized his grip on your jaw, the strength of it just on the right side of bearable as he plucked you off the table and then let go.

“On your knees, filth.”

Immediately, you sank down, your face coming level with the tent in his clothes. Obediently, you sat and waited with your palms on your thighs.

“Take my cock out.”

Nimble fingers pulled up the fine tunic he wore beneath his robes and tucked the hem behind his belt then made quick work of his trousers. His length sprang free, bobbing in front of your face, already weeping at the tip.

You dare not voice the thought that his arousal brought forth, that he was certainly enjoying this much more than a thalmor official strictly should.

“Come now, girl, don’t play coy. A heretical whore certainly knows how to work a cock.” His biting voice cut through the silence, over the crackle of the hearth. Hazarding a grin, you took him into your hand and gave him a few languid strokes.

He grunted, closing his eyes against the sensation, spreading his stance wider over the stone pressing hard against your knees. “Yes, that’s right. Spit on your hand for me, girl, make it slick.”

You obeyed and it earned you a deep groan. He gripped the back of your head with one hand and looked down at you, his eyes momentarily flitting to your neck.

“I can think of a much better use for your mouth than praising a false god, can’t you, girl?”

You gave him a biddable look, nodding quietly, knowing better than to speak unless told to. He smiled gently, but you had no way of telling if it was a piece of him showing through or a warning for what was to come.

“Open.” He commanded and as soon as your lips parted, his tip slipped between them.

Slowly, his entire length invaded your mouth until you gagged around him and he pulled away.

He held you back by your hair in his fist, the tension making you wince. Derision burned in his tone as hotly as it had the first time he ever spoke to you. “None of that now, whore, we both know you’re not that useless. You can take a cock down your throat.”

He sneered when you didn’t react.

“Say ‘yes, sir’ when I’m right.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Immediately, he pulled you onto his cock again, shoving himself down your throat, ignoring the small gag you couldn’t stifle at the sudden intrusion. He fucked your face ruthlessly, slamming his hips against you until tears pricked at your eyes and you tapped his arm for air. He gave you a chance to breathe, gasping himself in the wake of his exertion.

When you opened your mouth in offering again, he plunged back in.

“Oh, gods.” He rasped as he thrusted into your face, “yes, you fil- filthy bitch. Suck harder.”

You hollowed out your cheeks more and did as he bid, ripping a deep groan from his throat. He pumped your head onto his length a few more times, groaning and pulling at your hair so hard it stung but you couldn't be bothered to care, the pain of it and the physical discomfort of being used in such a lewd way stirred your appetitive hindbrain into a frenzy, watering the buds of your nascent pleasure, preparing for the bloom of it you knew lay between you and whenever he considered you well and thoroughly fucked.

His breath caught, mid-stroke and you could tell by the way he ripped you off of him that he was reigning himself in, denying himself an early end down your throat. When his head rolled to look down at you, he looked wrought with pleasure. Eyes lidded, brow puckered, lips parted around the ghost of his groaning.

“You’re a heretical little whore, aren’t you.” He gritted his teeth and growled down at your tear-smeared face, your head yanked back to look directly up at him. His free hand slapped against your cheek, not enough to hurt but plenty to arouse. In the months of your entanglement, slapping had been a topic you broached for your own pleasure, something he only took to with some encouragement. You were pleased he pulled that ace from his sleeve now. “Speak, whore.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You think you can put that amulet on and get off easy? No, I think not.” He’s practically spitting at you now, years and years of some untapped religious hang-up bursting forth as if it lay there beneath his skin all along and your actions tonight had been the one thing to tap the well.

“I’ll show you exactly what happens to heretical whores like yourself. Get up.”

You stood and he pulled you into a kiss, licking into your mouth with his tongue. You met him head on as he backed you against the table again, his hands squeezing at your curves as you struggled to keep up with his relentless advances on your mouth and body.

"The Thalmor know how to deal with Talos worshippers." He broke the kiss to hiss against your lips, his greedy hands staking claims on your ass.

"You will not," his teeth nipped the flesh of your earlobe, gusting humid breaths down your neck, "find my reproach..." lips bumped the ridge of your clavicle as he gathered you up against the table, slotting himself between the spread of your soft thighs as he sat you on its edge.

"Lacking." He finished as he bent into your chest and licked a thick stripe over one nipple before pulling it between his lips.

"You will not persuade me to blaspheme my god, Justic-oh-" your train of thought broke around the teeth that bit into your nipple.

"Own it." He raised his head to growl against your cheek, "hail your god aloud if you're so proud to worship his falsehood."

"Hail Tal-" you attempted to whisper, but a broad hand clamped onto your jaw, wiring it shut.

"Say it like you mean it." Ondolemar gritted, and released you with a rough jostle. You felt him push against your cunt, his cock sliding over your folds, the tip pressing into your clit with every stroke.

You took a stabling breath.

"Hail-" the catch of him at your entrance caught you off guard as he lined himself up for the plunge.

"Talos." You breathed, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He sank in steadily on the last syllable, inch by inch stealing your breath with wild eyes and hands gripping down on your pelvic bone at either hip.

He set a brutal pace. His hips slammed against you, cock deep in your heat with every connection, driving any thought but the sensation of how he filled you out of your head. Your spine tingled, low between your hips where he ended and you began, as he punched into something wonderful, something other lovers had rarely succeeded in finding.

"Say it again." Ondolemar panted, fully given to the unexpected pleasure. You gave a gasp, unable to fill your lungs adequately under the driving force of such vigorous pounding.

Summoning what effort you could, the words come out weak but they come all the same. "Hail Talos."

"Again." It sounded suspiciously close to a plea.

"Hail Talos."

He gave a near feral grunt, "again. Louder," he ordered, a slender thumb venturing down to stroke at your clit as he thrusted.

"Hail Talos." You managed to whine, so loud it filled the air in Vlindrell hall, almost sounding like an honest prayer

"You filthy fucking heretic!" He hissed.

Ondolemar’s free hand slid up your front, hooking into the chain of the Talos amulet for leverage. You fully expected the links to give beneath the force of his grip but the necklace was sturdy and withstood every thrust he pulled against it.

You had read stories, filthy candlelight novellas written by faceless pen names, with motifs homogeneous to tales like the Lusty Argonian Maid, in which people fucked with “wild abandon”. And you were no prude yourself, despite your grandmother's best efforts. You’d sat upon a cock or two in your time, had been fucked with what you would previously have called “wild abandon”, but that was nothing compared to the way Ondolemar wrecked you upon your dining room table. He truly was wild and he truly did abandon anything tethering him to any kind of compunction. Gone were any scruples of the noises being made or whether anyone could hear them. Similarly gone was his usual hesitation to mark you, if his bruising grip on your hip was any tell. And completely gone was his pious dedication to repulsion at anything dealing in the ninth God of the Nords, as he fucked the fabricated heresy out of you, leaving you screaming to the nine and to Talos himself beneath him.

His fingers on your clit rubbed violently, the pleasure peaking and scrubbing your mind clean of any thought but that of your burgeoning release. You tensed and your body fluttered around him, ripping a breathy growl from his mouth and only serving to heighten his urgency.

Ondolemar announced his orgasm in barely enough time to pull out of you and release in sticky ropes across your stomach. He panted and gasped as his hips still thrust into the open hair, the shaft of his cock grazing lightly against your pubic bone as it throbbed.

“Auri-el’s mercy, what have you done?”

It wasn’t a question, not really, but a statement of disbelief as he panted and regarded you with wide, conflicted eyes. He leaned on the table to regain himself, pining you where you lay, covered in the evidence of his base indulgence. His sin.

“Commander, I think you may have a kink.” You accused slyly, fingers reaching up to toy with the straps across his mantle. He didn’t react at first but just as a hesitancy was beginning to take hold (had you overstepped?), his mouth pulled into a soft, conceding smile.

“Not another word.” He groused playfully.

Mood light, body already feeling the first signs of soreness, you pulled the amulet chain around so that you could take it off and set the thing aside, ready to be collected as evidence and taken back to the keep. As your fingers found the clasp though, Ondolemar’s hand took your wrist, and when your eyes met his, the look there gave you immediate pause.

“Leave it,” he ordered, tone tipping back towards that of the wrathful commander once again. “I’m not even close to finished with you yet.”

A fresh bolt of arousal poured down your spine and he followed it with his trailing lips as he set to work pulling as much blasphemy from you as he could with your knees thrown over his shoulders.

#skyrim smut #ondolemar x reader #ondolemar skyrim #ondolemar #something something altmer thalmor supremacy something something down with talos

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