skyrimkinkmeme | Meme Announcements!

Please make this a Slash fic whre Vilkas was panting for someone else but a new hunky but absolutely beautiful and handsome Male welp shows him he ain't missing much in the other LI. Oh and please make Vilkas really enjoy t he hurt/confort sex a lot!! thanks

High Elves are soooo hawt! I need this like spaghetti needs meatballs.

Kink:size

Yes, it's that important.

Anyway, hopefully there will be more words from this anon tomorrow.

I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS

Having a stay-at-home husband is nice when the Dragonborn returns from her journey. They cook her meals, rub her feet, and smother her with love and affection. But let's be honest, there is nothing hotter than fighting side-by-side with the love of your life! Helping him cut down dragons and giants, and seeing him covered in sweat and radiating testosterone is the perfect aphrodisiac. So I implore you, Kinkmeme! I would love a fill where a F!DB (no pref. to race, I'm even open to beast races) and her husband (no pref. again! Though I do have a soft spot for Farkas or Argis) have just taken down a beast together, be it a dragon or a troll. Husband-dear is there with his weapon, looking Alpha as Hell, and DB just pounces on him right there!

Bonus points:

~ Competitive sex, fighting for who gets to be on top.

~ Maybe husband is a little nervous about the whole "out in the open" love-making thing, at first.

~ Someone happens upon the two of them rutting and is horrified/embarrassed/runs away screaming/teases them about it later (but no joining in please)

~ Biting and dirty talking is always a mega-plus!

Squicks!!!

~ Anything done in the toilet

~ If you do fill this prompt, I'd rather it be a beast that they killed rather than, say, a bandit camp. Something about screwing around a bunch of HUMAN dead bodies makes this idea kind of disturbing...

Very excited to see where this is going Dyce!Anon :D

Nope, no real preference! My own Bosmer!DB was crushing on Brelyna from the College, but I'm more curious to see how someone else might interpret their own Dragonborn's melodramatics.

Go with whoever feels right for you, potential A!A. :) There are a lot of fine men and women to swoon over in Skyrim.

Speculate away, it's very entertaining. ;) And Vex would be hilarious, although she is an Imperial.

Ulfric's not easy, but I got a bit better handle on him after watching the Hobbit.

Are you the OP?

I'm so glad this is getting filled! Please update soon!

Awesome I am glad you liked it. Will have the rest of the story posted this weekend. At the end there might be some fluff, not sure yet. If that is alright with the OP

Hmm, a size kink, yummy. Would love to do with Argis being large but his THane has already seen his equipment,so I'll have it so that its the Thane who as the equipment. If that works for you?

So we've all heard the story of the Christmas truce that happened during World War I in 1914, yes?
I would like to see the Skyrim version of such an event. Perhaps a small group of Stormcloaks and Imperials call an unofficial truce for the Saturnalia holiday. They share food, mead, song and warmth throughout the day/night. Even though they all know they will have to resume fighting the next morning. Bonus points if Ralof and Hadvar happen to be a part of these groups.

Sexytimes are not necessary but I don't mind if they happen. I guess I just want to see the men and woman involved in this war being... human (or Mer!) I'd like some fluff and some sadness. Make me smile and then make me hurt, oh wonderful anons!

This is great so far! And I wanna know who Ulfric's daughter is sooooooo bad. I hope it's Astrid! 8D

A!Anon--> *does happy jig* yay! There is more on its way, but work...And I've discovered it's damn near impossible to write good smut when listening to 'My Little Pony' blaring in the other room...please be patient, I'm not done yet! :)

Vilkas' warm tongue gliding up her thigh brought her sharply back to the present. His teeth nipped the delicate flesh of her inner thigh, then his hands had both her cheeks enfolded, nails scraping across her shivering skin. His lips left her flesh, leaving her breathing in quick gasps. Her back arched, pushing her ass toward her husband as he stepped back.

“Why do I have to remind you, Dear?” his hand rose and fell, then again. She whined and cringed away slightly, then pushed her hips back as his palm smoothed over the two newest marks. Feeling himself straining at the laces of his pants, he sat down a moment, leaning back on the bed near his pouting wife. Her blue eyes moved over his face while he sipped his mead, over his strong chest, lingered a moment on the wedge of dark hair that plunged under the waistband of his pants. Took in the obvious state of excitement he was in and groaned. A pleading look entered her eye for a moment, while she rolled her hips, arching her back so her pretty, flushed behind was visible over her shoulders.

Vilkas took his time finishing his mead, made her squirm and wait, then set the cup aside. “Now where were we? You were beginning to remember that Companions are not thieves, aye.” He pushed himself from the bed, and stood near her, hand on her hip.

“It might sound familiar.” She quipped over her shoulder. He was quick, she would give him that, another slap to her burning bottom. She cried out in surprise and bit it back as soon as she could.

“Quiet, love. Keep your pretty mouth shut or I'll stop again. Count.” He was still pissed she could tell, but he was well practiced by now in keeping his temper when spanking her.

“To what?” She asked. Usually he gave her a number to count to, if she missed one, he would start over after a long wait, in which she could only anticipate the next round.

“I'll tell you when you get there.” His finger traced down her back, between her cheeks and down further into the dampness beading there. As he probed a little deeper, she arched up just right and he pulled his hand away, to lick it clean again. “Delicious as always, love.” smack.

“One!” She called out softly, head rolling onto the bed.

Vilkas made her count, varying his tempo, leaving her wondering when each stinging smack would land, not knowing when his palms would smooth the heat across her whole ass, or kiss a particularly red mark. She quivered and moaned softly as she counted, sometimes begging, trying to bargain. His fingers would slide down and tap gently at her swollen clitoris, scratch through the tiny patch of hair on her mound before pulling away again. And still she counted.

Vilkas made her stop at thirty. She was weak kneed and trembling head to toe. Sweat beaded on her body. Leaning against the bed for support, she moaned and writhed in torment. Her behind was burning, sensitive, bright welts rising here or there.

“Good, I'm proud of you, lovely. You didn't lose count, you stayed quiet, and most importantly, you didn't let go.” His voice soothed her mind in the same way his circling hands were soothing her inflamed bottom. He whispered soft, sweet praises for taking her swats so well. Eventually, he went and sat at the edge of the bed. “Come here, wife, I'm still thinking we need to talk about these things that keep happening.”

He watched as she pushed herself off the bed with shaking arms, slowly unfolding her nails from the leather they had bitten into. She released the straps and straightened up, letting her dress fall back around her knees. She crawled onto his lap, straddling his hips, while she nuzzled under his chin.

* * *

This prompt came to me in a vision (aka a dream)
Mercer Frey is a giant asshole on two legs. A nasty bad boy aged to perfection yet rotten to the core.

And I want to see him suffer. Humiliate him, break him, make him cry in pain. He's a short Breton and can only take so much rough handling, but nothing turns me on more than a tough man taking a nasty beating (and a ton of dicks).

It's up to glorious A!A's devices, but I'd like to think he'd be disarmed, bagged and dragged or drugged on something (Maybe some slipped Skooma? He'd be helpless)

Headcanon: Mercer's straight, virgin tight and utterly clueless to the pain/pleasure of getting reamed. It hurts- by Nocturnal it hurts, but his body starts responding. The Guild Master's rock hard and moaning loud with that sexy, raspy voice.

kinks: MANLY men, pain, angst, dirty talk, sloppy orgasms
Squicks: pretty much none. No Argonians/Khajiit/Orcs

Falda ordered a drink from the barmaid and chose a long table with a bench in the corner, listening to the bard and thinking through all of her options for dinner conversation with the soldier. When she had heard as much of "Age of Aggression" as she could stomach, she finally spied her victim at the front of the inn, scanning the crowd for her face, and waved at him.

"I'm glad you found clothes to fit you," he said, and she could tell he was trying his damnedest not to let his eyes linger on the swell of her breasts above her neckline.

"These places always have something hiding in their cupboards," she replied easily as he took a seat on the bench beside her. "They won't miss the dress for an evening." She took a sip of mead. "Did you get checked in at the castle okay?"

He nodded and signaled to the barmaid. "I'll have whatever she's drinking. Do you need a refill?"

Falda smiled. "Please."

Gaius gave the girl a few coins. "We'd also like supper, if it's not too much trouble."

The barmaid flashed her widest smile. Most folks in the Winking Skeever didn't come for the food, Falda suspected. "We've got fresh horker stew and bread from today's market."

Already stale, Falda thought.

"And we might have some salmon steaks, if we haven't run out."

"The stew will be fine," Gaius replied, dropping more money into her hand. As the barmaid shuffled away he turned back to Falda.

"Thank you for supper," she said before he could speak. "You're sure I'm not keeping you?"

"You're not. My evenings are free to do with as I like. I'll work tomorrow."

She smiled into her mug. We'll see about that.

As the barmaid brought Gaius his mead and Falda's refill, Falda put her elbow on the table, propping her head up on the heel of her hand. "So, Gaius, where are you from originally?"

"Cyrodiil. The Imperial City. I've only been in Skyrim for a few months, mostly in Dragon Bridge."

"Dragon Bridge isn't terribly exciting, from what I hear. Though rumor has it you've been having trouble with a cave up in that area. Strange lights at odd hours and whatnot."

He shrugged. "Probably just some mages practicing their craft. Never was one for magic, myself. I prefer a sword in my hand."

"And I prefer potions."

"What about you, Maggie? Where are you from originally?"

"Windhelm," she answered as the barmaid returned with a bowl of stew for each of them.

"A Nord from Windhelm and you're not following Ulfric in his little rebellion?"

She smiled. "Ulfric wasn't around much when I was growing up. He was off fighting the Thalmor, and then he was off fighting the Forsworn, and then I'd left by the time he took his father's place as jarl." She shrugged. "Don't get me wrong, I don't dispute his views on the Dominion and Talos. I just don't agree with him about the Empire." She gestured to her split lip. "And now, of course, I have even less reason to sympathize with the Stormcloaks."

Gaius tentatively put his hand over hers on the table. "I'm sorry about what happened to you."

"I'll be alright," she replied, smiling. "I'm just glad I ran into you." She feigned shyness and went back to her stew.

They chatted amicably for a while, and Falda was grateful she hadn't spent enough time in Solitude to be recognized on sight. Which was, of course, why she had chosen to ambush him here.

When their bowls had been emptied and cleared away, they shared another drink. Falda was far from a lightweight after spending months drinking with the Companions of Jorrvaskr, but she played tipsy well, giggling more than might otherwise be appropriate and letting her hands move carelessly. She could tell he liked her touching him, so she began running her fingers along the back of his hand as they spoke.

They were good hands, she noticed. Larger than her own, with blunt fingernails and callouses you only got from hard work. Shame to let those hands go to waste.

As the din of the tavern died down, she knew the man was gearing up to leave.

"I need to get back to the barracks," he said, sighing. "There's a lot of work to do in the morning. Is there anything else I can get for you? Food? Money? I'll have some guards sent out to check on that camp."

"I'd just like to get my mind off of it," she said, covering his hand with her own. "I think I'd like a nice boy" - she leaned in to his body and whispered in his ear - "to fuck me three ways from Sundas."

Gaius pulled away just enough to meet her eyes. There was enough puzzlement in his gaze that Falda thought she might have played her hand too quickly, but behind his surprise was something darker, a hunger that told her she had won.

"That might have been too forward," he said slowly, but the thickness in his voice betrayed his words.

"Is that a no?" she asked teasingly as she slid a hand over his thigh, and she could feel his cock hardening through his breeches.

Gaius swallowed hard and drank deeply from the last of his mead before he leaned over to her, his breath hot in her ear. "Where is your room?"

Nummy, num,num!! So the thane will have the "ample" equipment eh? So be it!! :-) Can't wait to see what you come up with, thanks!

“So he’s an Imperial,” Dyce was explaining to Ysgarald. “But he was raised by Nords in the true Nord fashion. It’s actually a bit of a mystery, I’m sure he’ll tell you.”

“Uh huh. Does he want to join the Stormcloaks?”

“I don’t know.” Dyce winked, “You should ask him.”

“Look, I know you mean well, but-”

“Can you just please tell him I’m here? I don’t want him to go home. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Go on.”

Ysarald relented, shaking his head.

“Perhaps you should concentrate less on matchmaking and more on strategy,” Galmar suggested.

“Be honest,” Dyce said. “Which would you prefer to be doing, matchmaking or strategy?”

“Strategy!”

“Well that’s great,” he grinned. “You handle the strategy and I’ll handle the matchmaking and everyone’s happy. Anyway, here are the reports, have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Well, he got you there,” Ulfric observed, as Galmar tried to marshal some defence to Dyce’s logic, all far, far too late.

Galmar didn’t have time to argue about it, as he was making last minute decisions before he left to begin the next offensive. Ysarald returned several hours later, grinning and slightly drunk and he had to confess Dyce hadn’t stayed very long and he didn’t know where he was.

When a guard eventually reported that Dyce was at the New Gnisis Cornerclub, Ulfric wasn’t entirely surprised. His Thane clearly loved slumming, even by the standards of Bretons, and was often seen sitting around the fire with the Khajiit who sometimes camped outside the city walls.

“Well, go and tell him he’s needed here,” Ulfric said.

The guard returned alone. Ulfric sighed, “Well, let’s hear it.”

“He said uh, that if you wanted to talk to him, that uh, you’re welcome to join him. At the New Gnisis Cornerclub...” the guard trailed off.

“Right. Dismissed. I’ll deal with him and his doubtlessly massive hangover tomorrow morning.” Ulfric looked out down the hall. Galmar had gone, and Ysarald had stumbled to bed. Jorlief was sitting at the table, looking tired and dutiful. It was very quiet. “Go to bed, Jorlief,” Ulfric said, rising from his throne. “We all need rest.”

He felt old as he ascended the stairs to the sleeping quarters. His palace was full of old men, he realised. Save for Dyce. He took off his jarl’s armoured robes and sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall.

“It’s my city,” he murmured. “Why the hell not, if he can?”

Still he was not remotely foolish enough to put his robes of office back on. He found some nondescript clothes in the closet and a long fur cape and hood, the latter he pulled down low over his face. How many of the Dark Elves might recognise him he had no idea. It was better to keep a low profile.

Ulfric heard Ysarald snoring in his room as he hurried past, the guards nodding at him as he left the Palace of the Kings for the swirling snow and dark night outside. For a few moments he stood there, feeling the cold pinch at his face and burrowing his bare hands deeper under his cloak. It was very late. Guards were patrolling, and a drunk was singing badly somewhere, but otherwise the city was quiet.

It grew less so as he ventured into the muck of the Grey Quarter. People were still awake here; he could hear conversations behind closed doors and out in front of the New Gnisis Cornerclub, from which spilled light and conversation and the smell of strange cooking, several Dark Elves were lounging around despite the cold.

Ulfric ducked his head and pulled his cloak close as he stomped past them, vowing to make them regret it if they started something. They didn’t. They watched him go past with mild interest and returned to their conversations.

It was not like a normal inn in here. For a start the air was thick with smoke, and the kind of cooking smells that made Ulfric’s eyes water. No one was singing, or fighting. There was a lot of noise though; intense conversations, the clatter of wooden or bone dice across the tables, and the clink and scrape of glasses and chairs. Everyone was in constant motion; once a point of conversation had been concluded half the participants stood up and went to different tables to start the next one.

loving this! and love dyceee.. and the kink meme needs more M!DB/Ulfric<333

ULFRIC is in the GREY QUARTER?

Camping! In my tent! Which is warmed by the thought of sexy man-love. Oh yeah.

They didn’t give Ulfric a wide berth simply because there wasn’t room, but he was watched by a dozen or more red, oval eyes as he made his way slowly around the room, looking for Dyce.

He found him sitting at the bar downing Cyrodilic brandy and telling unlikely stories to a pair of elves, one of whom was playing with his hair. Ulfric got the satisfaction of making Dyce’s jaw drop when he pulled back the free stool next to him and sat on it. Dyce shut his mouth and grinned.

“Well if isn’t my old friend, uh, Griz.” He draped an arm around Ulfric’s shoulders. “We’re old hunting buddies,” he explained. Ulfric found himself the recipient of knowing, amused looks.

To hell with it then. If he was going to be undercover, he may as well put some effort in.

He wrapped an arm around Dyce’s waist and pulled him sharply against him and the Breton nearly fell off his stool. Dyce’s blue eyes gleamed with amusement; he didn’t seem to mind any, although Ulfric realised his cloak and hood were far too warm for a crowded bar.

“Are you here for a drink or just a cuddle?” he asked.

Ulfric pointed at the bar in front of him with his free hand. Gratifyingly fast, the Dark Elf behind the bar slid across a ceramic tumbler of brandy, and it went almost as well as mead did. Dyce suggested he leave the bottle and given no money was in evidence Ulfric deduced he was a regular customer.

“I was really not expecting you to show up,” Dyce said, pouring himself a drink with the exaggerated carefulness of someone who’s been drinking most of the evening. “You should meet some people. Everyone, this is Griz, and he’s shy.”

Ulfric did not like the sound of elves laughing at him, and he had another drink. He wondered if Dyce kept his arm around his shoulders in case he tried to do something. However, the elves soon lost interest in him; he was bad conversation, but vouched for, and so he was basically ignored. At that point Dyce unwound his arm and rested his elbow on the bar instead.

Ulfric didn’t move his arm. That leather was something else. It invited stroking. Ulfric caught his hand moving against Dyce’s side a couple of times and stilled it. He probably couldn’t feel anything. Dyce was warm. Ulfric could feel him shudder when he laughed. Ulfric drank and let the noise wash over him.

Talos, what was he doing here?

“Are you hungry?” Dyce turned to him. “I am. Food! Ambarys! Feed us!”

Ulfric found himself staring at bowl of what looked like jellied egg yolks. Steam was rising gently from them. Dyce was sprinkling salt over his, spoon in hand.

“What are these?” Ulfric asked.

“Kwama cuttle,” Dyce said, slurping one off his spoon. “House speciality.”

Talos, what was he doing here?

Ulfric was not a fearful man. He unwound his arm from around Dyce and copied him by sprinkling salt over the dish. Then he braced himself, picked up a spoon, and dug in. He managed to eat about half of it as fast as he could before pushing the bowl away.

“I already ate,” he said. He poured himself another drink, while Dyce smirked at him.

“Well, you tried. I’m proud of you.” Dyce ate all of his cuttle and the half a bowl Ulfric had been unable to stomach. “If you’re looking for an acquired taste, try the scrib jelly,” Dyce said. “Still can’t get the taste for that.”

“Why would you care to?” Ulfric asked.

“Why not?” Dyce asked. “The more things you like the richer and more varied your banquets. It works for sex, too,” he added casually.

Ulfric choked on his brandy.

Dyce yawned, apparently sated. “Well, I suppose I should get some rest. I’m sure someone important will want me to do something tomorrow.” He stood up and started bidding people goodnight. Ulfric followed, although he said not a word to anyone.

The cold air outside the Cornerclub was like a slap in the face. Dyce shivered and tucked his hands under his arms before starting to tromp back through the dirty snow up the slope towards Windhelm proper.

Ulfric wasted no time following. It was depressing down here, now they were out of the warm, and he was tired and a bit drunk.

He wasn’t the only one, up ahead he could hear shouting and he spied a familiar figure stumbling down the street towards them.

“Spies! You’re all...filthy Imperial spies. Come out’n fight! Like Nords!”

“Rolff,” Dyce growled. “How many times have I gotta-”

Ulfric put his hand on Dyce’s shoulder. Dyce waited as Ulfric pushed his hood off his head.

“Rolff,” he said. “Rolff Stone-Fist, do you recognise me?”

Rolff frowned, “Yeah. You’re...you’re th’ Jarl. Whatt’re you doin’ here?”

“You’re making a nuisance of yourself. Go home and sober up.”

“Yesh, yesh my Jarl,” Rolff made an attempt to salute and reeled away.

“And stop causing trouble!” Ulfric called after him. In a lower tone he added to Dyce, “Let’s see if he takes any more notice of me than he does of you.”

Dyce was smiling at him.

“What?” Ulfric pulled his hood back over his head. “This is my city. I should keep down the troublemakers.”

Dyce chuckled indulgently and they strode on in companionable silence.

“Why do you like them so much?” Ulfric asked eventually. “The elves.”

“They’re sarcastic,” Dyce said. “It’s hilarious. Most of them are into pretty kinky stuff; one of them showed me part of Vivec’s Lessons once. I was speechless. Nice voices. Nice people. Divines know I wouldn’t put up with it if I was treated the way they were.”

“They don’t have to put up with it; they’re welcome to leave,” Ulfric said.

“Could you just for one minute imagine what it’s like for them?” Dyce waved his arms. “For someone who wants to be king, you suck at identifying potential allies.”

“And for a blow-in from Highrock you claim to know an awful lot about governing Nords. Nords are my people; they are who I fight and if need be will die for. Not elves.”

“What if the Dragonborn had been an elf?” Dyce asked.

“Bretons practically are elves,” Ulfric huffed irritably.

Dyce looked thoughtful, in a drunk sort of way. “I suppose there’s hope for you yet then.” He gave Ulfric a crooked smile, “I’ll tell them what you did, you know. About Rolff.”

Ulfric didn’t know what to say about that. He certainly didn’t feel grateful. It didn’t matter, as Dyce patted him on the shoulder as he walked past him towards Hjerim without waiting for a response. It was only once he’d gone, and Ulfric was halfway up the steps to the Palace of Kings, that he realised he hadn’t actually passed on the orders he’d originally summoned Dyce to receive.

Tomorrow then.

Only tomorrow was in no hurry to arrive. Ulfric lay under his furs, eyes shut, but every time he tried to relax the sound of the Cornerclub seemed to echo in his ears. It was maddening, and the more he tried to block it out the worse it got. Eventually he gave up and went with it, going back there in his mind, the taste of brandy still in his mouth.

Dyce’s leather under his fingers.

This time he was free to stroke, to slide his hand down Dyce’s ribs. He felt his cock stir, the familiar sensation of his blood quickening in his veins. He didn’t move, not yet. Behind his eyelids, Dyce turned to him, affectionate, obedient. Ulfric licked his lower lip and heaved a sigh, concentrating. The sounds of the Cornerclub finally faded as he concentrated on Dyce, making him real, remembering his freckles, the size of his hands.

From there he was obliged to imagine, to guess, as he peeled away the leather. He wasn’t in the Cornerclub now, but his own bed, Dyce pliant and eager. Have him taste like brandy. Have him lean and hard. Have him hot.

Ulfric was hard now, he could feel the weight of the furs pushing his cock against his stomach. He shifted, moving his hips, feeling the sheet slide against his skin, a wrinkle catching on the end of his erection. Not comfortable, he slid a hand down his chest and stomach, his blunt fingers barely registering the scars as he concentrated on pretending it wasn’t his hand. Dyce cupped his balls, weighing them, thoughtful then pleased, and encircled the base of Ulfric’s cock with his finger and thumb.

Ulfric slowly stroked up his length and squeezed the head of his cock, imagining Dyce on his knees, sucking and squeezing, looking up at him with big, adoring eyes even as his cheeks hollowed and spit ran down his chin. Like that, taste it. All of it.

Meme Announcements!

Re: Any/Any - Heartbreak healing

Re: Thalmor loving anyone?

herp derp A!A forgot the most important tag:

Re: F!DB! Bosmer/Vilkas "So I married a thief" 7/?

F!DB/M!LI: "You're so hot when you kill things"

Re: What's a Thief to a King? M!DB/Ulfric 7/??

Re: M!DB+Thieves Guild "Operation get the Guild Master Laid"

Re: What's a Thief to a King? M!DB/Ulfric 7/??

Re: Any/Any - Heartbreak healing

Re: Before the Dawn 1/?

Re: M!DB/M!LI - A Sight To See ch 1b/?

Re: M!DB/M!LI - A Sight To See ch 1b/?

Saturnalia Truce

Re: What's a Thief to a King? M!DB/Ulfric 7/??

Re: F!DB! Bosmer/Vilkas "So I married a thief" 7/?

Re: F!DB! Bosmer/Vilkas "So I married a thief" 8/?

Mercer Frey M/M Noncon to Dubcon

The Soldier and the Magpie 4/?

The Soldier and the Magpie 4.5/?

Re: M!DB/M!LI - A Sight To See ch 1b/?

What's a Thief to a King? M!DB/Ulfric 8/??

Re: What's a Thief to a King? M!DB/Ulfric 7/??

Re: What's a Thief to a King? M!DB/Ulfric 8/??

What's a Thief to a King? M!DB/Ulfric 9/??

What's a Thief to a King? M!DB/Ulfric 10/??