skyrimkinkmeme | Meme Announcements!

Mercer finding himself FRUSTRATED AS FUCK in the middle of them eyefucking like woah but never doing anything... yeah.
Haha, I love that mental imagery.

I think having a well done damaged character is the best kind. Joie actually strongly reminds me of the exact perfect character one of my online friends identifies with and I wonder if you had her in mind when you wrote this. =3

A!Anon, if you want to archive your stories at Deviant Art or Fanfiction.net, I would favorite you in a half second! This fic has left me smiling like a loon all day long. My only regret is the thought that there won't be more.

Oh gosh. Now that you mention it. I do have an old Deviant Art account. It's cluttered with my HORRIFYING drawings (no, I'm serious, they're BAD), though. And thinking about it there's real life buddies following me there for some reason, so that could get awkward.

And didn't fanfiction.net ban graphic sexual content? Can't remember well. If that's true, it's probably out, sadly ç.ç

Would it be okay if I made a tumblr account? I've wanted to try that out for a while.

Because you just know that none of the Daedric Princes would be willing to pass up laying claim to the Dragonborn in the afterlife.

So, basically, say you have a Dragonborn that did all the Daedric quests in Skyrim. They became a Nightingale, partied with Sanguine, had tea with Sheogorath, the works. Hell, they even joined the Dark Brotherhood and got on Sithis' good side (yes I know he's not a Daedra, but the fact remains he still has a claim if that action was taken.)

So when the Dragonborn dies, what else could all these powerful beings do but fight for the right to claim his or her soul? Nothing really, they're all quite bored.

I want this to be as cracky as possible, dear anons. I don't care who wins in the end, I just want some comedy. Because you know all of the Daedric lords have a few screws loose.

Actually tumblr would be perfect!

I have a tumblr, Deviant Art, and Fanfiction.net account all under this id - Heiwako. If you could send me a note to let me know you made your account, I'll add you. Or if there's another way that's better, just let me know!

I've personally posted all of my SKM fills on FF and have not had any problems. YMMV

Tumblr it is, then. Made an account under the name mmedemerteuil. I'll come looking for you ;)

Update: this stuff will officially be collected at mmedemerteuil.tumblr.com

I'll be expecting you, fellow anon. I'll be expecting you.

Not to mention the "Agent of Dibella" and "Agent of Mara" titles. ;)

Seconded...

Not OP, but you can in fact get two cocks in there at once. The internet will be happy to prove it, hehe.

Typically double penetration needs a whole lot of stretching and then the bottom pretty much rides one guy who is on his back whilst the second guy comes in from behind. You kind of sacrifice getting all of the length of your two lovers for the extreme girth.

Hope that was helpful.

I enjoyed poetry Mercer Sooooooo much! Loved it, loved it, loved it!

I had forgotten about those. xD
Poor Dragonborn is going to be stuck in purgatory for years at this rate, you just know nobody is going to let them move on until one of them gets a stake in his/her soul.

It’s dawn when they leave Windhelm.

Kathryn is up and dressed before he is even awake. She kneels on the bed beside him and pokes him until he’s awake enough to swat her hands away. She laughs, and he grumbles, catching her around the middle and tugging her back down into bed beside him. And damn but isn’t she the best thing he’s ever felt in his arms. She’s soft and warm and she smells so good. He doesn’t want to get up, doesn’t want to leave this bed.

“Roliand,” her voice is stern, but she’s snuggling closer. Her ass rubs against his morning wood, and he groans. His lips find the bare skin at the nape of her neck, and he hears her breath catch. “Roliand, wake up.”

This time she is tugging herself out of his arms, and he reluctantly admits that it is perhaps for the best. Things are complicated enough already, without him acting like some besotted fool. He kicks the blankets away, and squints at her.

She’s half-dressed, wearing the combination of leather and cotton that she layers under her armor. He sees her contemplating the elven cuirass, and he realizes that she’s been waiting for him to help her into it.

The smell of bacon draws his attention to the bedside table, where she’s placed a slice of cheese, and a rasher of bacon wrapped in a roll.

“For you.” Kathryn’s smile is nervous, and he finds it frustratingly endearing. He doesn’t like the way his stomach flops when she looks at him like that. Instead of contemplating the reactions she evokes, he stuffs the roll in his mouth and begins digging through his bag. He doesn’t have much, just some necessities and his armor.

He wears scaled armor these days, and every time he gets into another fight, he’s grateful for that. It’s significantly better than the hide he wore once. It’s strange to think of how being on the “right” side of the law is less profitable, but he has better quality belongings anyway. His armor is actually crafted to fit his body. That’s probably the best part, right there. He isn’t just wearing the castoffs he’s picked up from his latest victims.

Once he’s fully dressed, he helps Kathryn into hers. He’s as careful as he can be, yet he still hits her hand at least once, eliciting a hiss of pain that makes him wince. He wants to take her into his arms and kiss her until she doesn’t remember her pain, but this is not the time.

He easily lifts his pack, settling it across his shoulders, and when she is done doing the same, they are ready to go.

As they leave the city, Roliand gets some perspective on just how well known Kathryn is. She’s greeted by a fair number of guards, some of them more friendly than others. They’re most of the way across the bridge out of Windhelm when he makes the connection between the friendlier guards and how easily she fell into bed with him.

His gut twists.

She’s had sex with those men, and he can tell from the casual way she reacts to them that she has no feelings for them. He wonders if they’re as in love with her as he is.

Because he is in love with her. The jealousy that wrenches his heart, and the pain that he feels when he realizes it is probably not mutual confirms it for him as nothing else can. He’s in love with her, and to her he’s just a good lay. One that can protect her on the way to Whiterun.

His lips set into a line. He’ll get her there alive, because that is what he’s agreed to do, but as soon as she’s in Whiterun, he’s leaving her behind.

“A horse would halve the amount of time it takes to get to Whiterun,” he points out as they near the stables.

“No, I don’t think so.” She pales, and her eyes dart over the creatures in the stables. He’s too angry to laugh as he realizes she’s afraid of horses. Of all the ridiculous things... but he doesn’t press the matter. Just because he’s done something stupid and fallen for the girl doesn’t mean that he’s got any right to be mean to her.

As tempting as that might be.

He lets the conversation drop, and Kathryn seems to sense something, because she’s eyeing him quizzically.

He smirks at her, and then they’re on their way. They follow the river south for a few hours, walking along the road in relative silence. It’s not awkward, precisely, but he wouldn’t say it’s an entirely comfortable silence. He’s too busy thinking, berating himself for being so stupid, and she seems to be off in her own world.

That’s when the Troll attacks them.

It goes straight for Kathryn, and she’s throwing fire at it. He didn’t even know she was a magic wielder. Roliand files that mentally in the category of “things we need to discuss” before he steps in and decapitates the distracted troll. Kathryn steps back, and wipes some stray blood off her cheek.

“You’re a mage?” He’s bewildered, and it’s clear in his voice. He doesn’t understand why she hasn’t said anything about it, why she’s unable to make this trip alone. And yet, he’s still grateful that she’s asked him to escort her, because for all his hurt and confusion, he’s glad to spend time with her.

“Uh,” she hesitates, and looks away, as if she can’t quite face him. “Yeah, I know some basic spells.”

“Oh.” He starts walking, and this time she’s the one trailing behind him. He wonders if he should explain that he’s not angry, or if he should let her think about it before he says anything.

The silence has become painfully awkward when they see the abandoned shack with the bear inside. Roliand looks back at Kathryn, and sees her readying a crossbow. A crossbow. The woman is as deadly as she is stupid, clearly, because a single crossbow bolt is certainly not going to fell a bear.

“Kat,” he whispers the warning, and she glances his way sharply. When her eyes are on him, he shakes his head and places his finger to his lips. Discretion is the better part of valor, and while he’s sure he can handle the bear, he’s not big on starting fights he doesn’t have to.

Which is funny, if you consider his previous line of work.

They’re safely out of range of the bear in the shack when they encounter another bear. Roliand rolls his eyes, and draws his sword, taking a few long steps. Before the bear is even aware of his presence, his sword is digging into the soft spot at the back of its neck, and stabbing through its head easily. The bear is dead almost immediately, and as painlessly as he can manage.

Kathryn stares at him, her green eyes wide with surprise. He’s not sure whether he should be insulted, because he’s fairly certain she’s surprised he’s such an efficient killer. A man in his line of work doesn’t stay alive for long if he’s not efficient though, and Roliand is better than most at killing. He’s not sure if he can explain that without sounding like a monster.

“That was,” she pauses, seems to be thinking. “Impressive.”

Then she’s digging in her bag with her left hand, and coming up with a small dagger. She pries at the bear’s claws, and he watches as she loses her grip on the dagger, her left hand as clumsy today as it was yesterday. But this dagger is a lot more likely to hurt her than that spoon was, so he steps in.

“I need those for alchemy,” she says, and once again he is surprised. Apparently there’s a lot about her that he doesn’t know, and could not have guessed.

“Alright,” he removes them and gives them to her. She’s a bit clumsy putting them into her bag, but he doesn’t interfere. It’s not his place.

They pass Mixwater Mill just before noon, and he’s optimistic that they’re going to make Whiterun by nightfall, so he doesn’t have to face direct temptation. That is, until she sees what appears to be a damaged tower falling into the river, and insists on a detour.

“You’re in no condition,” he warns her, but she laughs, and presses on. He’s tempted to stop her bodily. Imperials aren’t known for their size, and Kathryn is true to her race. She stands a good 6” shorter than him, and her build is slight relative to most other human females. Her hand is on the door when he decides that really is the best course of action.

He swoops in grabs her, and tosses her over his shoulder. She’s light enough, even in armor, that he manages to walk away with her without a problem. She struggles, flailing a bit. One hand beats against his back, she kicks her feet a bit. He hefts her a bit better, and moves his hand so it’s resting upon her ass. The next time her fist hits his back, he slaps her butt. She gasps.

“Put me down, you oaf!” She’s using her haughtiest voice, and he just can’t take it seriously. He knows she’ll get her revenge for this indignity somehow, but right now he just doesn’t think it matters.

He crosses the river carefully, doing his best to ensure that her head stays above water, and then he’s climbing the hill on the far side, using one hand to maintain balance while he moves. His other hand is up under the “skirt” of her armor, where the only thing between his palm and her flesh is the thin leather of her pants.

“There’s a body over there in that house!” She says, squirming against him once more. He smacks her rear, feels her tense, and hears the gasp.

“Hold still or I might drop you.”

“You wouldn’t.” She’s so certain of this that he feints it. She shrieks, and then she’s clinging to him, and he’s laughing. “You bastard!”

“Aye, princess. A right bastard I am.”

About a quarter mile down the road, he gingerly sets her on her feet. She glares at him, and makes as if to slap him, but he catches her hand, turning it over and kissing her palm.

“You are in no condition to go exploring ruins right now.” Kathryn is looking at him with this blend of indignation and fascination that he finds disconcerting. “If you’d like to come back out here once you’re healed, you’re welcome to explore ruins to your heart’s content, but my job is to get you to Whiterun alive, and my professional opinion is that it is in your best interest to stay on the road.”

She stomps her foot, pivots on her heel, and storms away from him. If any other woman had done it, he’d have called her a spoiled child and left her there, but somehow, from Kathryn, he thinks it’s just adorable.

His heart aches for the farewell that he knows is coming in a few short hours. They’re not far from Whiterun. Not far at all. They’ll be there by sunset, and then he’ll be saying goodbye for the last time.

He’s made this mistake before, spending all his time, money, and energy trying to woo a woman who just didn’t feel the same way about him, who would never feel the same way. The difference between the foolish child who fell into that trap and the man he is now is a dozen years and a lifetime of experience.

He knows the landmarks as they approach and pass them. Recognizes each one. Some of them he knows because he’s been there, others from stories. He slows before they reach Valtheim towers, just inside Whiterun Hold. There are archers up on the catwalk, and doubtless other bandits inside. He wonders if Jameson still runs the crew there, and then he wonders if that matters. There’s bad blood between them, and with Kathryn hurt, he has no room to bargain.

“Stay put,” he says, drawing his sword once more. She makes a move to follow him, and he steps back. “Stay here, dammit. I’m going to go take care of this.”

Her lower lip juts, and he wonders if this is about to turn into a battle of wills. But then she sits, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She nods, and then he's gone.

Loving this so much!

OH! You guys are talking about double stuffing. I gotcha. When OP listed DP, I was thinking like with a girl, how there's one in her front and another in her backside, but I understand now.

Thank you? xD

The minutes crawled by. One minute, two, five, ten.

Fifteen minutes later, the waiting had gotten to her. She was fidgeting. Pacing. Muttering to herself about stupidity and arrogance. If he’d gone and gotten himself killed, she’d never forgive him. The impatience gave way to fear. She was genuinely concerned about his safety. He’d gone into what was likely a well-defended bandit’s nest, and while he was more than competent, all it took, sometimes, was a bit of bad luck.

She weighed her odds.

She knew some rudimentary spells, and could maybe handle a crossbow left-handed, provided she only had to shoot once. She couldn’t throw her daggers, and probably wasn’t going to be able to stab anyone with them either. But they didn’t have to know that. She could maybe bluff her way through, if she could talk to any of them.

That was a big “if” considering what she knew of bandits. The only reason she’d gotten to say so much as a word to Roliand when they’d first met was that he’d been intrigued by her before her sword had broken. It was a one-off, not something to count on. Most bandits were on Skooma, or likely to go into blood-rage. She hated fighting bandits. They were unpredictable, and dangerous.

But she was going to try to bluff her way through. With every passing minute she became more certain that Roliand was in trouble. He couldn’t be dead, that wasn’t allowed and when she tried to think it her brain just went sideways. No, Roliand was alive, but maybe incapacitated, or cornered or... okay, so that last one wasn’t actually much better. But he needed her help, and there was only one way she could give it to him.

Gingerly she unwrapped her hand, stuffing the bandages into her bag. Trying to move her fingers was still agonizing, but it was moderately less awful than before. Kathryn took a deep breath, readied her crossbow, and strode up to Valtheim Towers as if she had every right to be there. As if she were not afraid she was walking into certain death. As though she could kick ass.

Silence greeted her, and she momentarily wondered if she’d misread the situation. But there was no time to worry about it now. She passed a body laying near a cooking pot. That was a good sign, right? It meant he’d made it this far. Into the first tower she ventured, up the interior stairs. She glanced around the corner, to the pathway. A bandit stood up there, pacing, apparently unaware of her presence.

She waited until he was turned away to dash up the ramp and into the building behind him. She heard footsteps above. Roliand had been grabbed? Killed? Something had happened to him before he’d gotten this far. Quietly she crept up the stairs. A quarrel to the throat and the archer was down before he could react. She took what cover she could and loaded the crossbow again.

At least one more to kill. She climbed up to the archer’s perch, took careful aim, and hit the bandit on the walkway in the thigh, knocking him off balance enough that he tumbled into the White River below. Once more she took cover, loading another quarrel into the crossbow.

An arrow landed in the wood near her head with a ‘THUNK’ and she jumped. She peeked her head up. There, across the river, at the apex of the further tower waited another bandit. He drew his bow, took careful aim. She ducked. Things had just gotten a lot more complicated.

She mentally ran through the spells she knew. Theoretically, at least, she knew how to reanimate a corpse, and the idea of having this bandit fight one of his own seemed better than trying to get across the walkway alive. A few murmured words, and a wave of her hand had the archer she had so recently felled rising. He cocked his head sightlessly, and then rose, taking aim at his partner across the river. She didn’t stay to see if he was successful, she just took the opportunity to make a run for it.

She reached the other side of the walkway alive, which she took as some measure of success. She made it through the antechamber and up the stairs unchallenged. But as she crept up the ramp, she heard noises. A struggle? Did that mean Roliand was still alive?

She carefully poked her head around the corner. An alchemy table, a cabinet, a chest. Nothing of immediate interest. The only option was further up. Something creaked above. She cocked her head, listening, then moved up the stairs carefully, keeping herself low and hoping that she could catch whoever was still alive by surprise.

Roliand lay on the bed, unmoving. The bandit leader stood over him, her hands glowing with a paralyze spell. She moved so she was on top of Roliand, and then she was kissing him. He didn’t move. He couldn’t move. The woman was forcing herself on Roliand.

Kathryn saw red.

Her crossbow clattered to the floor unused as she launched herself at the bandit, knocking the woman to the floor. She slammed her fist into the other woman’s face, and the searing pain made her vision go white. Fury kept her conscious through the pain. A scream of rage escaped her as she grabbed the bandit’s face and slammed her head back against the ground. She did it again. And again.

Then someone had her arms and was pulling her away. Away from the woman who lay prone on the floor, likely dead. She didn’t know, but she wanted to be sure, and someone was stopping her. Kathryn struggled.

“Kathryn,” Roliand said loudly, his voice cutting through the fury. “Kathryn calm down.”

Everything caught up with her then. It was Roliand pulling her away. Roliand cradling her against his chest, running his hands along her back though she couldn’t feel it through the metal of her armor. His lips pressed against her hair as she clung to him.

As the anger faded, and the panic receded, the pain came to the forefront of her mind. Her hand. Oh what had she done. She looked down at it, saw that it was already swelling again, and starting to turn the dark and scary colors of a bad bruise. That was when the pain hit. It throbbed, and the pain was sharp and dull and stabbing and throbbing and oh how she wished she hadn’t done that.

On the bedside table sat a minor healing potion. Roliand grabbed it, and made Kathryn drink it. She tried, but her stomach was rebelling against her, and not all of it stayed down.

He was bleeding. She saw the blood on him, and that was when she vomited up the little she had gotten down. She hurt. She hurt so bad it made her whole body ache.

“Roliand,” she gasped, tugging at his armor with her good hand, trying to get to the wound. “You’re bleeding.”

“No sweetheart, that’s you. Just hold on for me.” His hand stroked her cheek, she reached up to touch his cheek. Was he crying? Her right hand lay across her stomach, and through the pain she felt moisture. When she lifted it away, she saw blood. He was right. It was her blood.

Why was she bleeding?

She hadn’t been stabbed, had she? When had she been stabbed? Was it the bandit leader? Maybe that bitch had stabbed her before she’d finished slamming her head into the ground. It was all so blurry now, she was having trouble concentrating.

He pressed another potion to her lips.

“Drink it,” she tried. She may have even swallowed some. She wasn’t sure. The edges of her vision went grey, and she could only hear Roliand as though he was speaking to her from a distance. She wanted to ask him to speak louder, but she was so tired. She just needed a little nap, and then she could ask him to say it again, because she was sure what he was saying was important.

Her eyes fell shut, and the world faded away.

Hooomama that was awesome! Just smokin' hot and absolutely ah-mazing from top to bottom. I so love you right now A!A

Wow, just WOW! This may be one of the hottest things I've ever read. I'm amazed I didn't pass out from all the blood rushing to my face. I have to say, I would love, love, love to see a couple of Mercers other proposed scenarios written up, but I'll try not to get drool on your shoes from groveling too hard!

I hope you write a whole bunch more stuff, because I totally <3 you right now.

So, you can destroy the dark brotherhood but not the thieves guild, but we write fic of things that don't happen or never should happen so let's change that shall we?

The Dragonborn is asked by Jarl Laila Law Giver to destroy the thieves guild, and considering that the Dragonborn has just had one of their homes burgled and one of their children has lost the only mementoe of their parents that they had, well they agree.

They descend upon the ragged flagon and butcher everyone who doesn't run, and afterwards they have bloody adrenaline laced sex on mercer's desk and all over the cistern.

I don't dislike the Thieves guild or anything, i just wish there was an option to destroy them sometimes. I'd say five survivors would be enough to re-establish the guild somewhere else, but Mercer has to die and horribly at that, especially if he's encouraging people to steal little girls mementoes.

Slash preferred for the sex, but het works too.

Love the development between these two, well done A!A!

Oh, this is so lovely!
KATHRYN AND ROLIAND, YOU NEED TO TALK. LIKE NOW.

If these two don't end up living happily ever after in the most fluffy of ways, I swear I'm going to the Throat of the World and jumping off.

She felt the blood dripping from her chin as she wiggled out of her bottoms before turning to his belt, her eyes growing wide when she finally free him from his restraining trousers.
She pulled herself away only when she heard him talking, his voice husky and heavy with arousal as he took in her bare form. She gasped as she found herself flipped to her back, his body between her legs and his length brushing against her thigh. Every drip of blood from his wounds made her back slightly arch, her breaths grow heavier as his grin widened.

"Sweet Cicero could stare at that face for an eternity." He purred as ran his hand down her body, letting it taper off as he hit her thigh. "May I?" He asked as he pulled the dagger from her hand.

"Cicero, you could be infected. I lost control, I'm so sorry." She whispered as she realized what she had done. That she was in fact out of control and still losing herself with every sound he made.

"Cicero wouldn't mind. It would simply be a lifetime with you." He chuckled as she smiled, her hand resting against his cheek as she nodded. Her back arched the blade bit her smooth flesh, a moan
echoed off the cave walls as he lowered his head slowly and gently ran his tongue over the fresh wound. Her fingers pressed into his bare shoulder as his tongue continued down, tasting her own essence
before his arms hooked her legs and held her thighs apart. She cried out when his tongue found her sensitive nub and pressed. Her hips arched towards him as he chuckled and held her in place.
Every motion was calculated, teasing and cruel as she gasped and tried to break free of his grip. She cried out his name as two digits roughly entered her, his growl vibrated against her core as
she bucked towards him.
Her stomach coiled tightly as she begged for release, almost screaming in anger when he pulled away and laughed. "Cicero, I've waited so long." She pleaded as his brows rose and his smile faded.

"Don't be cruel, Laena." He whispered as he latched himself roughly on an erect bud. She cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure as he bit down, his fingers teasingly stroking her core once more.
"Can the Listener fall in love with her Keeper?" She groaned as he pulled away and studied her face with curiosity, looking for a sign of untruth.

"Why not? The Keeper loves his Listener." He pulled her to his lap as he sat up, her legs wrapping around him as he sheathed himself in her slowly, watching as her head fell back and she was crying out. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he filled her, her mind racing to decide if it was too much, if it was painful or perfect and then she was filled completely and panting his name.

Their bodies were slick as they rubbed together, each thrust painting their flesh with the deep red liquid. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she rode him, unsure of the words leaving her mouth as she raced towards her end. She fell mute when his teeth clamped on the tip of her pointed ear, his fingers bruising her backside as he roughly buried himself in her. It was too much, too perfect, she quickly decided as she felt herself tightening around him. His length stretching and claiming her as he continued to take her, the sound of wet skin pressing together was her doom as she screamed his name and her teeth were breaking through his flesh once more, marking him as his teeth clamped harder and she was filled with his warmth. His body tensing as he held her in place, spilling his seed as he moaned through clenched teeth, his breath washing over her sensitive ear as they slowly descended from their highs. She clang to him, her cheek pressed against blood slicked skin as her body pulsated and she struggled to breath. Soft fingers traced over her back, brushing back locks of dark hair to pepper her with kisses as she tried to stop her legs from shaking.

Meme Announcements!

Re: One last dance before the end [tags + extra]

Re: One last dance before the end [tags + extra]

Tug-o-war for the Dragonborn's Soul

Re: One last dance before the end [tags + extra]

Re: One last dance before the end [tags + extra]

Re: One last dance before the end [tags + extra]

Re: Tug-o-war for the Dragonborn's Soul

Re: Questioning anon is questioning

Re: Questioning anon is questioning

Re: One last dance before the end [tags + extra]

Re: Tug-o-war for the Dragonborn's Soul

"Bandit: A Love Story" -- 5a/? -- F!DB/M!Bandit

"Bandit: A Love Story" -- 5b/? -- F!DB/M!Bandit

"Bandit: A Love Story" -- 5c/? -- F!DB/M!Bandit

Re: Sweet Cicero 2a/?

Re: Questioning anon is questioning

"Bandit: A Love Story" -- 6a/? -- F!DB/M!Bandit

"Bandit: A Love Story" -- 6b/? -- F!DB/M!Bandit

Re: One last dance before the end [tags + extra]

Re: Intemperance (Mercer Frey/F!Dragonborn) -- 3/3

Dragonborn bringing down the Thieves guild. Post battle sex in the cistern with LI.

Re: "Bandit: A Love Story" -- 6b/? -- F!DB/M!Bandit

Re: "Bandit: A Love Story" -- 6b/? -- F!DB/M!Bandit OP

Re: "Bandit: A Love Story" -- 6b/? -- F!DB/M!Bandit

Sweet Cicero 2b