T.W. R*pe. Please proceed with caution!

"It's really quite simple, if you know what you're doing."

Mercer examined the golden plate that barred their entry, hunching his shoulders and leaning into the door in a way that prevented Cora from seeing his infamous lockpicking trick. Behind his back, she rolled her eyes.

She'd never liked Mercer, though not for lack of trying; everyone in the Thieve's Guild was a little prickly at first, predictably, but they'd all come around after months of Cora raking in gold and slowly restoring the guild's name across Skyrim. All except for Mercer, who still continued to look at her as if she were a fly in his stew. A fly that he ensured took on the most perilous jobs, which Cora performed beautifully time and time again. Her triumphs boosted the guild, but with each succession, Mercer's scornful glare hardened into something darker. When they spoke, he barked only orders and stared through her, as if he couldn't bear to look at her face. She still couldn't understand why he'd brought her of all people along on such a personal mission—to find Karliah, the backstabbing murderess of the previous guild leader.

Cora waited for Mercer to unlock the door, tightening her grip on her ebony bow. She'd never seen Karliah, had only heard accounts from both the reports of her fellow guild members as well as the stories Brynjolf whispered in the night across their shared pillow, drawing her closer into his warmth—

"That should do it," Mercer mumbled, stepping back and snapping Cora out of her reverie. He glanced at her before she could mask her expression, noting the flush of her cheeks. "Don't lose your head," he snapped. "You're good, but Karliah's better. Keep your wits about you."

"That may be the closest thing to a compliment you've ever given me," Cora remarked. Mercer only snorted and looked back at where the door had been, now a straight tunnel that led into a spacious, dimly lit room.

Mercer had instructed Cora to lead, and so she did. Cora gritted her teeth and crept forward into the darkness in which Karliah had hidden herself, expectant, waiting for them—

Cora saw the arrow before it tore into her armor, lodging itself into her left shoulder with a whisper. She stumbled and landed on one knee, then turned her head to stare in wonder at the wobbling shaft and the faint green liquid emitting from the wound. She opened her mouth to form a warning to Mercer before promptly fainting.

In the blackness of near-consciousness, voices emerged, hazy, and then developed so that Cora could understand what they were saying.

"... always were a quick study."

"Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive." The second voice was foreign to Cora's ears, soft and almost enchanting. Cora struggled to open her eyes, searching blearily for the forms of Mercer and Karliah.

"Gallus had his wealth, and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way," Mercer growled. Cora finally spotted him, graceless yet strong, crouched in an offensive stance. And across from him was…

"Did you forget the oath we took as Nightingales?" Karliah burst, passion lacing her words. She was a dark, slim figure, and Cora could make out her burning eyes from across the room. "Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?"

Mercer challenged Karliah, the cry of steel echoing as he drew his daggers, and Cora focused her efforts on standing. With a wince of pain from the arrow, she tried to move her right arm, to bend her knee—anything—but her body had all but shut down. Poison, she realized with horror. She had been poisoned.

"I can promise the next time we meet, it will be your undoing," Karliah warned Mercer before vanishing from sight. Mercer yelled after her, clenching his weapons tightly. After a moment, he straightened and turned slowly to where Cora lay sprawled across the ground. Even through the pain and disorientation, Cora felt fear strike her heart as Mercer stepped towards her. His entire aura had changed since encountering Karliah. Before, he'd been unpleasant, but now he was downright menacing.

Mercer towered over her and began to play idly with his weapons, like a taunt. "How interesting," he murmured, smiling sickly. His pants were bulging, she noticed. "It appears Gallus's history has repeated itself. Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place."

Comprehension flooded Cora's senses. With a grunt, she attempted to heave herself upwards, but the poison administered by Karliah's arrow held her captive. Mercer knelt down, sliding the edge of his dagger along her neck so that she could just barely feel the sharp nick of his blade. She snarled at him. "Fuck you."

"Do you know what intrigues me the most?" Mercer continued, unfazed; his voice had deepened, lowering to a husky whisper, and he pulled her up roughly by the front straps of her armor to face him. "The fact that this was all possible because of you."

He shoved her, hard, onto the ground again and unceremoniously yanked the arrow out of her shoulder; when she cried out, eyes filling with tears, the bulge in his pants grew. Mercer tore at her clothing, ripping the fabric of her armor with his blade and tugging her pants down her legs. He glared at her, pushing down on the limbs she twitched in desperation. "The more you struggle," he growled, "The more I'll enjoy this."

Mercer slid his hand in between her thighs and rubbed, watching Cora's face as she gasped and trembled at his touch. "Do you know," he hissed, "how many fucking times I've had to listen to you cum? How many nights I lost sleep because you and Brynjolf were fucking like animals just beyond a wall?"

"I'll kill you," Cora spat, glaring up at him, shaking.

In response, Mercer shoved her undergarments aside and plunged a finger into her glistening slit, drawing out a quiet, but telltale groan. "You dirty slut," he sneered, "You're already wet."

While he worked her with his fingers, Mercer used his other hand to unbuckle his pants. His engorged member, swollen and ready, sprang up unrestrained. Cora's eyes widened in horror and she thrashed in protest, or tried to, her body barely rocking off the hard ground, and Mercer was climbing onto her—

"No!" she cried.

Mercer clasped her face in between his large hands, forcing her to meet his gaze -his eyes darkening at the sight of her uncharacteristically vulnerable expression—and then, with a single fluid motion, forced the full length of his cock into her.

He was big—bigger than Brynjolf, even, stretching her walls to accommodate his size. Before she could adjust, Mercer began driving into her, greedily taking his own pleasure; he grabbed her breasts roughly, pinching her nipples, and when she whined in response, he took one in his mouth and bit down.

Cora's thighs were coated with her own wetness, and Mercer teased her, ramming into her harder when she tried to fight back. He continued to thrust, picking up speed and groaning lowly as his dick slid faster into her heat, slick with her arousal-

"What would Brynjolf say if he could see you now?" Mercer growled, wrapping one calloused hand around Cora's pale throat. He squeezed. "What would he do if he knew you were dripping for my cock?"

Cora moaned against her will and flushed red with anger and shame. The sound of her pleasure made Mercer throb, and as he knelt down to capture her bottom lip with his teeth, he moved his other hand to her clit, circling the nub with his quick fingers. When Cora started to keen into his mouth, he laughed harshly and smacked her across the face, then flipped her over so she was laying on her stomach.

"You'll burn in Hell," she gasped, fighting against the rigid pain in her joints to move. "You sick, slimey bastard-"

She broke off with a scream as Mercer buried his cock into her and fucked her ruthlessly, driving her knees and elbows into the ground with the force. She was building up, she could feel it rising, she was whimpering—

Mercer pulled out just as she was on the brink. "Don't worry," he crooned, and then she felt his hands caressing her, spreading her. "I'm not done with you."

"No!" Cora shouted, "Not there!" Her panic only spurred Mercer on, and with a grunt, he pushed himself into her ass.

Pain tore through her body; Cora screamed, but did not recognize her own wild cries as Mercer continued to fuck her raw, hitting her, abusing her, and all the while her sex continued to drip. With one hand he smacked her, leaving large, red prints on her ass, and with the other he grabbed her hair and yanked back, forcing her head up so he could revel in the look on her face when she came, and he was pounding into her, their skin slapping, so deep inside, and she was, oh gods, she was coming, she was wet, coming, white hot, she was-

When Cora climaxed—moaning, gasping, crying—Mercer shuddered violently and shot his cum into her ass, filling her with his thick, hot seed. Once he'd finished, panting, he pulled out of her—semen trickling from her hole and running down her legs—and stumbled over to where he'd tossed his pants.

He returned to Cora with daggers in hand, once more towering over her ravaged, trembling body. She opened her eyes, looked at him, and silently promised death.

"I'll be sure to give Brynjolf my regards," Mercer said before slitting her throat.