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argisthebulwark · 3 months

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Cleanse Me With Pleasure

summary: second chance! you've known them and lost them, but fate brings you back together. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used feat: Miraak, Hadvar, Vilkas warnings: very mild body horror (miraak has too many pupils), depiction of overstimulation (vilkas)

Miraak

He was your first love, the one meant to outlast all else. He became the one who shattered your heart. Your shared power as Dovahkiin should have brought you closer - your fates as the First and Last intrinsically twined together, though Miraak seemed intent on severing it. His refusal to share power turned to distrust, a fracture your relationship never recovered from.

He became obsessed. Blinded by his need to rule over Tamriel, you found yourself growing apart until you could hold onto him no longer. Miraak forgot all else when he became lost to his hunt for power, casting aside love and humanity as he lusted after forbidden knowledge. He forgot about you, his fellow Dragonborn. His beloved.

As the ages have passed, you now find yourself unfulfilled. You’ve seen much of the world in your time, taken fleeting lovers and leaving few traces. The dragon blood in your veins keeps you stationary while the world shifts around you, able to inflict little change upon the matters of men. Civilizations develop and empires crumble before your eyes as you search for the place you belong. No matter how much you love this world you still seek the place that feels like home.

After many years spent unsuccessfully settling into a small village you decide to leave Skyrim. At least for a short while. Too many eyes are on you after your influential part in the civil war. You need somewhere quiet. Hoping for the comfort of an old friend or a Telvanni tower your eyes turn to Solstheim. It’s been far too long since you’ve walked its shores, perhaps clarity awaits there.

Your wish for peace is unfulfilled as always. Rumors of locals wandering off into the ashen wastes reach your ears in every tavern. Just one night, you promise yourself when you fall into a cheap rented bed. Just one night of rest and I will investigate in the morning.

A voice you’d forgotten ages ago invades your dreams. His mantra shocks you to your core - he was behind those horrid stones? Scrambling for your pack you set off into the night fueled by anger, old and long forgotten. You don’t care how powerful he’s become in your time apart - it matters little if he’s finally ascended to godhood, you’re going to give him an earful.

Sharp spikes and dark towers loom over the horizon - his palace. The elegant arches are beginning to crumble with no sign of repair. Perhaps all of his loyal subjects are too busy tending to those awful stones, minds stolen away by Mora’s influence. Stomping through his castle you’re horrified by the years of dust and grime accumulating on every surface. Much like yourself, it seems that this palace has spent ages stuck in a time the world has forgotten.

Upon a spiraling staircase, the railing is surprisingly clean. Tracks of fingers trail through the dust and a shiver runs down your spine. Weak light flickers from above and you steady yourself for whoever lurks in this ancient place. It may be a sign of life but you cannot decipher whether that is a good thing.

You should have known. The only visible light emanates from the heart of Miraak’s palace - his library. Tomes written in dead languages give way to the common tongue, each shelf meticulously cleaned. Your footsteps are careful, though you can do little to calm the erratic racing of your heart as you wind through his maze.

A dark cloak is draped over hunched shoulders. His quill scrapes over the parchment without pause. Blazing light from the fireplace illuminates his silhouette and for a moment it’s far too easy to forget about how everything ended - the fighting, the screaming, and that uncrossable distance that grew between you. When Miraak’s head tilts you catch sight of stubble across his jaw, the once black hair now peppered with gray and white. There is the sharp angle of his nose and lips that had once spilled nothing but admissions of love. For one moment he is the man your heart still screams for.

“You must be brave if you dare to enter.” His deep voice rumbles through the library and you’re shocked back to reality. Deep green eyes sweep toward you, pinning you in place as too many pupils assess your interruption. “Remove your hood and state your business.”

“What have you done?” Miraak’s fingers clutch the edge of his desk, revealing sickly black veins creeping under pale skin. His eyes narrow and in a dramatic flourish he stalks toward you. Old rage builds with each step that draws him closer; that sneer on his face, the condescension in his tone, the terrible way that power has warped him.

“How dare you speak to me like this?” He seethes, teeth practically bared when he glares you down. Standing only inches away you can feel it, the terribly oily power infecting the rest of Solstheim. It is like nothing you can recall dealing with. Attempting to move swiftly you remove your hood, brandishing a reliable dagger between your bodies to hold him off.

Something you cannot read shifts in his eyes. He blinks too many times before one hand reaches past your weapon. You consider slicing into his arm, calculating how likely it is that Miraak could cast some horrible spell upon you when cool skin cups your cheek.

“Darling.” Your heart squeezes when Miraak draws you closer, completely ignoring the blade pressed to his chest. “My love, where have you been?”

“I left.” Your voice is harsh, cutting through the strange softness of his tone. You cling to the rage that fueled you to find him, grasping for something to keep you upright when his thumbs trace so lovingly across your cheeks.

“I have searched this world for you.”

“What?” You sputter, taking a step back. Your heart slams into your ribs when he looks at you, such adoration in eyes you have not seen in centuries. “You let me go. You forgot me.”

“I was wrong.” Bravely, he attempts to move closer. “I cannot do this without you - I do not work without you, my love.”

“I do not wish to rule.” Your voice quivers and you steady the dagger. Miraak makes no move away from you, still carefully holding your face. “I have never wished to rule.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I have told you.” You insist, obnoxious tears pricking at your eyes. It’s terribly hard to remain angry when he’s so close. “You never listen.”

“Tell me once more.” Miraak gulps, unnatural eyes never moving from yours. “Please, just once more.”

“I want,” your voice falters as you consider your options. Rationally, you should drive the dagger into his chest and free the world from his influence. You should kill Miraak while he is distracted. You should end him before he does further damage to this world.

But you cannot. Sweaty fingers clench around the blade but your muscles have turned to stone. He may be different, hell he may be awful, but you cannot bring yourself to kill him. He is still Miraak. Your blade stills over his heart, the only one that has called out to yours. Despite the inky black stains these are his hands, the ones you’ve imagined each time you’ve taken a lover.

“I want you.” Fat tears coat your cheeks when you relent, speaking the words that have been a thorn in your side for too many years. Old desires wash away the anger, each night spent missing him fresh and new in your memory. You remember speaking the same words during your last argument with him, one final plea for him. “I want to find somewhere quiet and grow old with you.”

“I am sorry that it has taken me so many years to agree. I am yours, entirely, if you will have me.” Miraak’s nose brushes yours and through your bleary vision, you see him. His vision is no longer clouded with obsession, eyes focused entirely on you. Something wrenches deep in your chest and time seems to grind to a halt.

It is all you’ve ever wanted from him. There is fear in Miraak’s eyes while he awaits your response though he makes no offensive moves - he’s left himself open if you decide to strike. There is no defense, no shield to hold you off. Miraak has made himself vulnerable to you.

Joy and grief and all other emotions swirl together as your blade clatters to the ground. Desperate hands dig into the back of your cloak and you feel his sigh of relief against your chest, unheard promises whispered into your skin.

Hadvar

Training. Guard rotations. Research assignments. Reconnaissance. Palace guard duty. Shift changes. Too many responsibilities and not enough time, yet for so long you managed to cling together. There was never time for anything more than falling into bed together, a shared cot and the comfort of one another.

Schedules shifted every few weeks, never amounting to much more than a change in when you're afforded time to sleep. Without bothering to open the envelope for your new assignment you’d hobbled back toward the barracks, muscles aching from a day stuck near the city gate.

A sharp bark of your name stopped you short. A harsh explanation that you were heading off to some newly established camp in the Rift. No time to change or grab your supplies, they’ll have clothes waiting for you at the new camp. Your heart was in your throat when your commanding officer bundled you into the back of some carriage and sent you to another Hold without a chance to tell Hadvar.

In the shuffle of everything, you lost each other. No letters could be sent as you had no idea where he’d been stationed or who his superior became after the new assignments. Though your nights were lonely, over time you accepted that he’d simply slipped through your fingers.

Leaving the army was a difficult but necessary choice. That strange power seemed to grow with each day that passed yet you had no clue what it was. Something terrifying was happening inside you and you snuck away from your camp, deserting in search of answers.

Your many attempts to diagnose whatever lay inside you remained unanswered. It felt like some sort of serpent, often dormant and rarely flickering into life. Presently, you find yourself glaring into the horizon and regretting that shitty mug of ale. Falkreath has yielded no answers and although you’ve tried to avoid Skyrim, the College of Winterhold may be your last resort.

It all happens so fast. The clanging of armor and harsh shouts ringing through the forest. Dozens of blades are pointed in your direction and before you can think your hands are cuffed, pack ripped from your back and you’re shoved into a cart of fellow prisoners.

The ride is quite short but one man insists on chatting, drawing the attention of the soldiers. Imperial soldiers. Your stomach turns sour as you rush to come up with a story - it’s been years since you deserted, no one will recognize you. You can claim to be a hunter. The forest has enough elk to make the weapons in your pack plausible.

Staring straight down at the tips of your boots, you avoid acknowledging what is happening only a few yards away. The pleading words, the blade cutting through the air, the sickening thump. You shuffle through the line of prisoners intending to recite your half baked story, steadying yourself when you finally look up.

“And who are,” Hadvar pauses, still staring down at his parchment. Your heart stops when he finally looks up, face bright red as recognition lights his expression. “You?”

You’re fucked.

“I’m a hunter.” You lie as another guard ushers you toward the block. “I was looking for elk. Just a trader.”

“Yeah.” The guard snorts, guiding you to kneel. “I’ve heard that one before.”

There is nothing more to say, no words that will change their minds. Dew coats your knees and you can feel Hadvar staring at you, blue eyes sharp and mouth still parted with questions. You try to take comfort in the clear skies and calm breeze. If you are destined to die today, there is something nice about knowing that the last thing you see will be Hadvar.

“Dragon!”

Your world is a blur of fire and smoke. The executioner’s blade thumps to the ground, mere seconds from taking your head. Rough hands drag you to your feet and you stumble along, unsure if you’re alive. On all sides Helgen is burning, shrieks of the dragon blend with screams of humans into one horrible sound that drowns all else out.

Time slows to a crawl when Hadvar wheels toward you, soot staining his features as steady hands check you for injuries. For one brief moment the world is quiet, Helgen’s Keep miraculously still upright.

“Are you alright?” All you can manage is a nod. Hadvar passes you a sword and plants his helmet on your head, instructing you to stay close. Falling into line with him is too easy - ducking when you feel his muscles flex to swing his sword, backs pressed together as you cut through Stormcloaks and spiders.

The road is quiet, its usual sense of peace only heightening your nerves. Acrid smoke clings to your nostrils and burns sting at your skin but you continue walking, unsure of the destination. Hadvar’s steps are sure through the small village, explaining the situation with only a hint of the panic still lacing your veins. You anticipate questions he does not ask, explanations cluttering your mind but he doesn't breathe a word of your desertion.

His family is wary but welcoming. They don’t ask questions when you refuse to part, sides glued together as you recount your stories. You feel their curious eyes as Hadvar leads you downstairs to where you’ll be staying. He doesn’t pause before unbuckling his armor and falling into the sole bed, one arm open in silent invitation.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” Hadvar murmurs, allowing you to curl into his chest. You can hear the racing of his heart as one arm rests around you, perfectly aligning with all those memories. He’s warm and still smells like fire but you block it out, focusing on nothing more than Hadvar’s hands combing through the mess of your hair. “I’ve lost you so many times, I don’t know if I can let you go again.”

Vilkas

Although Whiterun would always be your home, somewhere deep down you’d long harbored a distaste for how crowded it was. Too many sounds and smells, elbows jostling you and siblings to keep track of. Food sizzling and water gurgling from the nearby fountain, it all turned into one overwhelming wave of sensations. High walls kept out the breeze and often you found your skin felt too tight, ears ringing as you ran off toward one of the abandoned watch towers.

From far below you heard the delighted shrieks of your younger siblings as they frolicked through the market. Your head pounded although the breeze cooled your overheated skin, lessening the sensory terror of the crowd.

“Mind if I sit?” Your eyes shot open and you saw a boy no older than yourself standing on the final step to your hideout. “My brother’s down there but it’s - well, it’s too loud.”

“Sure.” You agreed, scrunching your legs closer to make room. He didn’t say a word, merely plopped down and began reading the book he’d tucked under his arm. His presence was nice, silent and uncaring as you unwound. A breeze whistled through old shudders carrying a welcome chill.

“I should get back to my brother, he’ll start to worry.” He carefully placed a bookmark before standing. “My name is Vilkas.” He only introduced himself upon parting.

Your friendship was easy. Afternoons spent in comfortable silence, tidbits of information swapped once your ears stopped ringing. Vilkas’s way of speaking was refreshing; his tone was always even and getting right to the point. You never had to puzzle through the hidden meaning of what he said not did he push past your limits.

There was no way to know one meeting would be the last. Vilkas was recalled to Jorrvaskr and sent on some mission by his superiors and your mother was being shipped off to Solitude to serve the Jarl. Between packing up your entire life in a few chests and wrangling all of your siblings there was simply no time to find Vilkas, you never got a chance to say goodbye.

Now, the title of Dragonborn grows hefty. You’ve carried it for years but it never seems to get easier - there are constantly people asking for favors or wanting to hear stories you’ve told dozens of times. Although many years have passed you often find yourself wanting to regress to that child that hid away in abandoned guard towers, wishing you could simply curl up in some corner and let the world forget you for a while.

Too many eyes are always on you, watching your every move and telling tales of your heroism. Taverns herald your arrival, merchants offer special deals for your presence, fighters either want to duel or be in your employ. It seems that quiet is simply not in the cards for you.

Trekking across the plains, the buzz of conversation finally ceases. Most civilians aren’t motivated enough to follow you out of their walled city. You walk until your legs are numb and collapse, back pressed to Whiterun’s massive wall as you stare out across the heavens. There's no telling how much time passes - elk skip over the hillsides and shadows grow longer yet you remain, unsure if you are ready to face the bustling city once more.

“You alright?”

There's no hiding your groan at the interruption. A gruff voice breaks through the quiet of nature, ruining the ruffling of wind through tall grass. Biting back whatever truth threatens to spill from your tongue you turn to the offender, intending to ask for a bit of time alone when you pause.

His brown eyes have hardened, now lined with the telltale signs of many sleepless nights. Dark hair has grown out over the years and stubble lines a strong jaw, hands that once carefully balanced books now perched precariously on the hilt of his greatsword. Relief washes away all the annoyance as he silently eases to sit at your side, eyes cast out over the plains.

“You look different.” You dare to observe, a nervous smile breaking out at his snort of laughter.

“You’ve been gone for quite a while.”

Everything is so easy with him. Conversation comes and goes in waves, hours spent catching each other up on your lives lapsing into a comfortable silence. As the sun dips below the horizon and Whiterun’s plains are ablaze in deep shades of orange and pink the tightness in your chest lessens, noise from of the city quieting as its inhabitants seek shelter in homes and taverns. You remain there with Vilkas for far too long, both relieved to reconnect with the one person who understands their need for quiet.

#i'm working on a couple more but figured this was getting too long lmao #skyrim #skyrim x reader #writing #miraak #hadvar #vilkas #x reader fanfic

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