skyrimkinkmeme | Meme Announcements!

Meme Announcements!

ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017

Happy Holidays, fellow Kinkmemers! I have returned and have no reasonable excuse for my absence except LIFE. I will be working on updating the archives. If anyone sees anything amiss, please let me know.

I am also hoping to find another Mod and an Archivist.

The more dedicated people we have in this Meme the less chance of it dying. I admit that being the sole keeper of the Meme is not great for the fandom. If something were to happen to me, for good, this place would go the way of the Fallout Kink Meme. Let's not let that happen! If anyone would be interested in Modding/Archiving, please drop me a line. Thanks! <3

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Agreed F?Dragonborn??? OK no problem I like slash anyway so keep going!!!

Where the Nord hid so much in public, he let loose while he kissed him, felt him all over. He was unchained and teasing, batting his eyes and sucking on his lower lip. Hair was spread pleasantly across his chest, It was as if the man was exposing himself in a mating dance, offering himself. The bosmer moaned in arousal simply watching him, stunned by the animal passion Vilkas kept hidden away.

Vilkas' lips descended down his stripped body, the Nord having torn his shirt to discover the elf's surprisingly broad and firm chest. He was perfectly hairy, running his warrior's hands through brown strands, stroking his inhuman scent to life. There was pale, raised scars across his body, a perfect symmetry among old wounds- ritual scarification. Vilkas stared at them in hunger as his mouth wrapped around the mer's lovely cock.

He wetted him, made the shocked elf shudder and thrust before an iota of concern came to him. “Vilkas, you don't have to..”

He only sucked harder, pulling away to stare up at him, his voice deep with need “I'm getting you wet, how else are you going to fuck me?” The mer's cock jolted , swelling in Vilkas' mouth making the man purr with appreciation. “That's what you want, right?” He moaned, sounding bitter under his arousal. He couldn't lie. He wanted to, and Vilkas spread his legs open before him, laying on his back.

“Come on,” Vilkas whined when he felt the cock rest at his hole, whatever he was going to say next came out as a silky, wonderful moan.

Vilkas found pleasure in the pain, head thrown back and mouth agape while the bosmer carefully pierced him. He didn't stop until he felt hips against his ass, seeing the mer staring down at him in heated concentration.

“Are you alright?” Vilkas gasped in response, he wasn't, but he would be. He moved again, the nord's passage feeling a tremendous heat that made his entire body shake. He did it again, and then again. Their tongues tangled and the pace of their dance was set.

Fucking him was like poetry, his body jolted and writhed, twisted around him like beautiful words making the mer's own body dance up against him, unabashedly whorish and desperate. Vilkas' back curled if his hands where bound, not allowing their lips to separate from a kiss that was almost overwhelmingly passionate for him to adjust to. Vilkas desperately ate his face, tasted him and seethed between his teeth when he had a lip sunken between his teeth.

“Are you going to fuck me, or what?” He would gasp out, his accent so thick. “Don't just lay there like a fool. I want it harder.” Vilkas' legs tangled around his waist, humping up on the mans hips and urging him. “Bless you!” he cried in heated exasperation, fucking him as if his life depended on it. The elf didn't know that fine breadth between the man and the beast in Vilkas while they rutted, it was wonderful.

Looking into that face, eyes soaked in pleasure and bloodshot, he didn't think he was going to last. Vilkas was tighter than he could imagine, the nord started to gasp and shudder, spreading his legs wider to take him in. “Gods, you need to keep going-” Vilkas moaned up to him, shaking and unable to do anything other than feel the cock inside him. “Do you want to cum for me?” Dragonborn whispered, feeling hot breath puffing his ear. “Yes,” Vilkas gasped “Gods yes!”

Vilkas heard the sound of the artist spitting, warmth on his cock and delicious friction of a hand pumping him. He palmed the head, teased his slit, did everything to send Vilkas over “-like that, don't stop!” He warned, the elf hoping to Dibella he'd last to please the Nord. A few more agonizing moments of Vilkas feeling him inside he breaks, throwing his head back and snarling with release. It comes in waves, his back arched and shivering moans escaping him while he watched the Bosmer above him “Come on, give it to me!” He shook, opening his legs and feeling the mer's seed flood into him, hot and stinging.

He gasped as the mer collapsed on him, Vilkas' arms moving to their sides. His world spun as he tried to bring breath back into his lungs, feeling dreadlocks spread across his shoulder like a draped hand. His hole contracted and throbbed around the bosmer's softening cock, trembling under his solid weight. The elf faltered in thought, but carefully reached a bare hand up, stroking his pale shoulder and chest. It was comforting not to be pushed away.

Vilkas let him lay there, buried deeply inside him, until they both felt the sweat dry off their bodies and their breath return. The artist had his eyes closed, his face resting against the Nord's chest which he stroked and palmed “You're not going to make me leave, are you?” He finally spoke up.

“No, I won't.” Vilkas said, his voice hoarse and low. His mind had been surprisingly empty until it came to him about everything that'd just happened. He felt as if a vice around his heart had been loosened, a constant coldness let out to warm. Was this relief? Acceptance?

“You've been so good to me,” He admitted “And I've been stubborn, Pathetically so.” The Bosmer chose to let Vilkas sort his own self out “I failed to see just how bad it's become, I've been in the dark for so long...It took a friend like you to see me through it.”

“You're not out of it yet” the elf looked up, reaching forward to touch Vilkas' cheek, seeing his face stained with his runny paint. The companion took the time to actually enjoy his face- his pouty lips covered in bites, the fascinating bone structure, his hawk-like nose. He called him friend, but the turmoil that stirred inside him merely looking at the elf felt more like a lover's doing.

Vilkas sighed when the elf heaved himself up from his chest, withdrawing slowly and Vilkas had the full view of the dried mess clinging to his stomach, of the mers flaccid cock. A tan hand massaged his thigh, moving achingly slow up and over his sack. Vilkas shuddered to the touch but not unyielding “What are you doing?” he whispered, feeling a chill rush over his spent member.

“Just relax..” Vilkas stared at him, uncertain but then his eyes drifted shut, arms relaxed.
“Rest your mind, Vilkas.” He began to feel the artist's hands map his body, comfortingly and sensuously. Soon Vilkas' eyes refused to open with his mouth slack in exhaustion and physical contentment- the Bosmer smiled when he heard the young Nord's first snore. He was out, probably for the first time in more than a week..

He couldn't leave this spot, seated on his knees with Vilkas' legs wrapped around his thighs. The wolf man would wake up even if he tried to leave, so he stayed. All night the artist sat motionless aside from a gentle stroke or touch on Vilkas' body, writing poetry in his mind of him. Please let this be the start of something better for him, and for them.

((Well that winded up a lot longer than I thought it was going to be, but I had fun writing it. I wasn't honestly expecting Vilkas to turn out such a dark character, but the bosmer did meet vilkas during a very rough time in his life. Thanks for reading!))

Sorry forgot to add the tags yeah I'm not good at this LJ thing.
Relationship: slash
Characters: Vilkas, Farkas, M!DB
Kinks: unrequited affection, angst, hurt/comfort, masturbation, oral, anal, angry sex

This was fantastic Dyce!Anon, and a greatly enjoyed it from beginning to end. :3

So the Dragonborn saves the world and all of that, but what happened afterwards? What are they up to twenty, thirty or forty years later? Did they get married? Are they still married? Are they a grizzled wanderer still righting wrongs, or did they settle down and now have twenty grandchildren? Are they a grizzled wanderer who goes home to twenty grandchildren? Are they still in charge of their faction?

I'll take anything - any race, any pairing or none. Make it funny, fluffy, angsty or utterly heartbreaking. Smut is also welcome; silver foxes/vixens can apply here. Just wanna see what some DBs are up to when they've got a few wrinkles and grey hairs.

No noncon/dubcon/bathroom stuff please.

So, according to some in-game lore, the werebear is apparently the most numerous kind of lycanthrope in Skyrim. Alas, we didn't get to see it and it looks like it's above modding skills.

Requesting a fill with a Dragonborn who sometime prior to joining the Companions became a werebear and is using the Ring of Hircine to both control his/her transformations, and any kind of conflict this brings during the Circle initiation, namely the DB being fine with being a bear. Admittingly would prefer M/F with a male Dragonborn and Aela since she's the one that's really devoted to staring a werewolf. Could go for fluff or mating season, no squicks beyond watersports and scat. Rough sex in particular would be great.

Any takers?

Oh yay! Honestly I thought you vanished since the fill is kind of old and I couldn't find any other fills with them. Never been happier to be wrong, though :3 Squicks would be just bathroom business... Anything else, I'm game for/open too. And certainly this anon wouldn't be opposed to more beast!Serano.

Um. Yeah, like I said, whatever you want to do, this OP would be simply in love. I'd obviously love to see a continuation, what with Serano's reaction to Romlyn wondering if he wants kids, or post-that, and then of course there would be any prequel stuffs or... Yeah. I just am so in love with them T.T

In a nutshell: OP will happily take whatever hand outs you feel like giving, though if suggestions are preferred, then either something dealing with the does-he-want-kids scenario, or some pivotal something or another of some sort pre-Needs. Doesn't have to have smut if the writing just doesn't work with it, since OP's main thing she loved was the character development, but naturally OP won't be opposed.

...that wasn't very nutshelly at all.

I will wait forever. ~~Plus, I know them feels. RL, sadly, comes first~~

Multifills are like gifts from the aedra themselves.
The more the merrier
-OP
:D

In the fewest of words, crack literally ensues.

Elaborating a bit, our favorite hero is perfecting their alchemy through the wonderful process of "eat ingredient to learn effect." Unfortunately--or maybe fortunately--they have an unexpectedly bizarre and ridiculous reaction to something, which results in what I'm sure will be hilarious to read about.

Bonus points if it involves the Thieves Guild, a spouse, the Dark Brotherhood, Teldryn Sero, or any dragon ally (Paarthurnax, Odahviing, Durnehviir, etc.). Extra points for a female Breton DB.

If you somehow use all of them, you are some kind of divine made flesh.

I shall kick things off with a little self-fill, since I am apparently incapable of self-control. A sequel to Locate, Observe, Report which is found here: http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/3603.html?thread=3363091&#t3363091

Summary: Markus finally goes home.

“Dads! Hey dads, wake up.”

“What? Is it wolves again?” Markus opened his eyes and reached for his sword, while Quaranir spread his hands, lighting arcing between them.

Hroar shook his head and laughed. “No, nothing like that. Look.” He pointed with one brawny arm at the horizon ahead of them. Markus’s breath caught as he saw, for the first time in nearly thirty years, the White-Gold Tower gleaming in the afternoon sun.

“Ah, we’re nearly there.” Quaranir smiled. The Altmer looked as he had always done; beautiful and unruffled by the passage of time. But his devotion to Markus had not faded, even as the years had turned the Imperial’s hair grey, and thickened both his voice and his middle.

The rumbling of the cart wheels and the clopping of the horses hooves and lulled them to sleep, but now that their destination was in sight, all thoughts of dozing in the sun had fled, and they picked their way through the goods piled in the tray to sit next to Hroar as he drove.

Hroar was nearly as tall as Quaranir now, and Markus had to squint to see the scabby-kneed orphan he’d once been. It was only a matter of time before he left; Markus had told him he could seek his fortune when he could afford a proper set of armour, and he knew he’d been saving up. Hroar didn’t know it yet, but Markus was planning to give him the legendary sword and shield he had wielded against Alduin, confident he’d use them well.

This was their last chance to visit the Imperial city before he left, while he was still their son and not quite yet a man.

“I just hope I can remember where everything is,” Markus said. “With a bit of luck not too much has changed.”

“It’s huge,” Hroar said, as they crested the rise and came in sight of the rest of the city. “Are we really going to be able to see everything in three weeks?”

“We’re going to try,” Markus said. He planned to spend a lot of time catching up with his family, but Quaranir and Hroar would not lack for things to do in the meantime.

“Mm, there’s an excellent library here,” Quaranir mused. He dutifully continued his research in the laboratory Markus had installed in their home, and sent and received great numbers of reports from his fellow monks. The lack of reference materials in Skyrim irritated him greatly, and Markus was constantly pressing his trading partners for rare books to give his husband.

“Really? A library? Is that the best you can do, Da?” Despite Quaranir’s best efforts, Hroar had not shown any interest in scholarship.

“Books should be respected.”

“Yes, Da.”

They fell silent as they joined the heavy traffic flowing into the city, and had to concentrate on where they were going. Markus found himself inundated by the sights and sounds and smells of his youth, from the food the street vendors sold to the unmistakable stench of the Imperial City’s overused waterways.

Hroar was a bit overwhelmed by it all, as was their horse, and Markus took the reigns and let Hroar gape at the scenery while Markus calmed the old girl down.

Markus’s sister, Domitia, put them up. They barely recognised each other at first, but once the family in-jokes started coming and the reminiscing began, it was as if he’d never been away. Markus could tell she was impressed by Hroar and somewhat nonplussed by Quaranir, but she welcomed them both and plied them with food and wine.

“We’ll have a big family dinner tomorrow, and you can meet your nieces and their families,” she said. “But I thought you might be tired from your journey.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Quaranir said.

“Oh, I thought we could go out tonight,” Hroar said, somewhat downcast.

Markus chuckled, “Easy, pup. The nightlife will still be there tomorrow.”

Domitia gave Hroar one of her children’s old rooms while Quaranir and Markus got the guest room. After much food, drink and conversation they retired, and Markus listened to the sounds of the Imperial city outside; the guards calling the hours, the lapping of water in the canals, and the sounds of voices and music that never quite faded away, even in the earliest hours.

Maybe he’d slept too much on the cart, because despite the late hour he remained awake, looking at the ceiling.

“You didn’t tell her, did you?” Quaranir was awake too. “About the Dragonborn thing.”

“Of course I didn’t. How do you say something like that? Besides, I don’t want my family to see me as some great hero.”

“Your family already does,” Quaranir pointed out, a touch sharply.

Markus sighed, “That’s not what I mean. It was enough that I took off for Skyrim and never came back. I’ll always regret not coming home before my father died. If I tell them now, it just sounds like an excuse.” He heard Quaranir move under the covers and felt the mer’s long, cool fingers wrap around his own.

“I don’t think they’d see it as an excuse,” Quaranir said. “But it’s your decision.”

“I’ll think about it, I suppose. If Hroar doesn’t accidentally spill the beans to his cousins in the meantime.”

Quaranir chuckled.

Markus loved his laugh. It was all the more precious because it was rare, although over the years he heard it more and more often. He rolled closer and Quaranir opened his arms and embraced him.

“You know I don’t really feel all that tired,” he said.

He felt Quaranir smile and shift against him, “Neither do I.”

“Well then...”

They didn’t need light. They knew every inch of each other’s skin. They’d been virgins when they’d first fumbled around in that Winterhold Inn, but they’d pursued mastery of each other’s pleasure with great dedication in the months and years following. Quaranir acquired books on the subject and Markus had the courage to suggest they try what was in them. Some nights all they managed was helpless laughter.

Tonight was not one of those nights. Tonight they simply stroked each other and kissed, drawing comfort in a place that was strange to Quaranir and unsettlingly familiar to Markus. And when they were spent they fell asleep and slept late.

Some noise from the street woke them, and then they realised there was a lot of conversation in the rooms below.

“Are they here already?” Quaranir asked, yawning. “I thought they were coming for dinner, not lunch.”

“I thought so too. We’d better get up and see.”

They got dressed hurriedly and walked downstairs, in time to hear Hroar saying, in the dramatic tones of a true Nordic storyteller, “Dragonborn!” to a presumably enraptured audience.

Markus and Quaranir paused on the stairs and exchanged a glance.

“I called it, didn’t I?” Markus said.

“You did,” Quaranir replied with a smile. “Ah well, time to face the music. Don’t worry, I’m right behind you.”

Tags: char:M!DB char:Quaranir relationship:slash kink:fluff

Am I wrong to say that this is a sandwich I'd love to be in the middle of? o_o Dear God someone fill this already!

Legate Fasendil and Legate Sevan Telendas would be a great sandwich, if you're into hunky Imperials.

Omg..this is too funny. OP, I'll do this because you worded it so well. Expect a chapter soon.

Lovely and would love to see you write their visit to his brother. Was that a subtle enough hint? :)

You *Are* a gutton for punishment. Crazy Dyce!anon.

But I'm not going to complain when this is the result. Is there anything sweeter and sexier than an established couple who can laugh at themselves? No, I don't think so.

I can't look at Quaranir in game anymore without blushing wildly. That's all your fault, My kids look at me like I'm nuts- "He's just a see-though Elf, mom," this say, eyeing me weirdly. But I know the real story behind Quarnir-how sweet and loving he is, how he burns for his dragonborn lover.

And now, how he's introducing the family to the family. I love how Markus's house is an Imperial, an Altmer and their Nord son. That's perfect! I always knew you had a sweet and fluffy side underneath all that angst.

Thanks for this! I'm going to go and put on some pink perfume now.

Here it comes, the beginnings of Nahkriin crack on a silver platter.I hope this fits the bill, OP.

Summary: Behind that mask, lies a gentle soul. Really. And now that Nahkriin’s fallen for the Dragonborn, her life—for better or worse—will never be the same again.

tags: F!PC, nord, het, nahkriin, crack/humor

A Warrior’s Heart

Skuldafn was a dump. There was just no better word for it. In the vast amounts of time that he had passed there, relegated to his post by strict order of Alduin and under the watchful eyes of the many dragons that roamed the eyrie, Nahkriin found himself wishing for the good old days when he had been dead. At least, when nothing happened, he did not know.

A draugr deathlord ambled by and Nahkriin could not resist a disdainful shudder. Talking to those walking corpses had been a mistake. If they weren’t yelling “Unslaad Krosis!”, a phrase he found dismally suitable for describing his current duty of guarding a big shiny column of light that led to Alduin’s buffet grounds, or “Aav Dilon!” which he just found ridiculous because they were all dead, mind you, they were usually trying to disarm him because he had floated up behind them and tapped them on the shoulder, very lightly mind you, they did nothing but patrol the hulking, broken down stone structure. When he had taken to scraping his staff along the walls by way of signalling his approach, they would amble off and find another quiet corner to mutter in before resuming their patrols. Day and night, hour upon hour, minute upon maddening minute. Nahkriin huffed loudly and because of the mask that concealed his face, he pouted too. He was so lonely and bored that he was beginning to long for the presence of the other priests. At least they would talk. Sort of. Even if it was to breath threats at him or scoff or laugh.

Rubbing his head, Nahkriin looked up as a huge shadow fell over him before it glided on by. The whole place was crawling with ancient dragons. There was a small army of draugr deathlords and wights and scourges just waiting for the fabled Dragonborn to show up. Personally, Nahkriin hoped he or she never would. If the Dragonborn showed up, he would be forced to fight, and if there was one thing Nahkriin hated, it was fighting. He was as competent as any Dragon priest when it came to the magical arts but it did not mean that he enjoyed combat. Fighting was messy. It made one sweat. It made one bleed. Granted, that was hardly going to happen now; he grimaced at the sight of his pale shrunken flesh beneath the battered priest armour and ragged robes he wore. The least Alduin could have done as a compensation for rudely waking him from his rest was to clothe him decently. He so missed his silk robes and brocade sashes. But those, along with Bromjunaar, had been burnt to cinders and ash. What a sinful waste of excellent clothing, he thought mournfully. That Frost Spider silk was something to dream about—

“Ahh!” He screamed and tumbled through the air as a huge claw swatted him. Nahkriin crashed against a stone pillar in an unceremonious heap. Several chinks from his armour fell off and he let out a pitiful groan before he could shut his mouth. “Lord Alduin!”

“Daydreaming once more, are you?”

Well, if he was so sure, then why ask, Nahkriin thought snarkily even as he scrambled on his hands and knees to prostrate himself properly before his lord. From behind his mask, he studied the huge black dragon that loomed over him. Maybe Alduin had been spending a bit too much time gorging himself in Sovngarde. He was starting to look a little thick around the waist…

“FUS RO DAH!”

The Dragon priest tumbled back, resignation piercing him rather than fear, because he knew that no matter what, Alduin would not kill him. He needed one priest here to secure the portal and Nahkriin had been the dubious recipient of that honour simply because he had been resurrected in the middle of nowhere and when Alduin demanded to know why Nahkriin had not seen to it that his body was planted in front of a Word Wall, if only to protect the secrets of the Dovah, Nahkriin could only grin sheepishly and shrug his shoulders. He wasn’t about to explain that he had been on his way out of Skyrim, fresh after hearing the news of Alduin’s defeat, only to have run into a crazed pack of salivating Nords, some of whom had known how to Shout. The details of his demise still eluded him but Nahkriin did vaguely recall some entreaties to them to be reasonable which were then followed by a great deal of lightning. He had put up an excellent battle for self-preservation, of that he was certain. Of course Alduin had only seen the shrug and angrily, had proceeded to beat half the life he had put back into Nahkriin before tossing him on the back of a lesser Dovah and commanding it to spirit him away here.

When he had finally bounced to a stop at the bottom of the temple, Nakriin closed, moved his fingers and toes, the ones he still had, before gingerly picking himself off the ground. In a minute or two, the levitation, a seemingly permanent side effect of having been risen from the dead by his ancient and eternally cranky boss, kicked in and he was able to float his way back up the stairs, head held high in spite of the audible snickering of the dragons. Of course he was in pain, as much pain as an undead, semi-decomposed man could be in. If only he had bothered to apply himself to the School of Restoration, he thought sadly. Instead, he had embraced the School of Destruction and when his phenomenal magical talent made itself known, he had been singled out for training as a priest and as he had not wanted his (then) blond head to roll from its neck by politely refusing, he had said yes and when not fending off the backstabbing tactics of the others, spent the rest of his time regretting it. Especially when he saw what the servants had done to decorate Bromjunaar.

“Whatever were they thinking,” he muttered peevishly, watching from a safe distance as Alduin wiggled his great bulk into the portal and began to vanish from sight. Pairing brown and orange together was an unforgivable crime. It was a hideous wrong that could not be borne. Which was why he had gotten his servants to repaint his chambers and dye over the carpets. The warm sand tones of the wall complemented the azure blue of his curtains and carpets, and the rich white of his tables and chairs. He had even gotten a special lamp affixed with glowing crystals that threw the light of the candles in spectacular splashes on the walls at night.

Nahkriin was so busy pining for his old home and mourning the lack of beauty in the ruined temple he would probably spend an eternity in that he did not hear the thunderous roars of the dragons until it was too late. “Oh fuck,” he swore when a golden dragon fell from the sky in a blaze of blue. No wonder Alduin had run off to stuff his face.

The Dragonborn had come.

Well, she had tried sex as a scholarly endeavour, or so Arielle had convinced herself at that time. The truth was, she had been madly curious about the act that her mother and aunts kept so carefully screened from her and her sisters; their blushes simply incited her desire to find out even more and when it became clear that she was as likely to get the information from them as she was to singlehandedly conquer the Aldmeri Dominion, Arielle turned to books. Those books had pictures and instructions, some of which she felt were anatomically impossible to carry out. So, when that handsome Imperial scholar had showed up in town and made known his interest in her, she had leapt at the chance and never looked back again after that terribly disappointing encounter.

“Arielle.” This time, he growled softly.

It was a command and given the position she was in, who was she to argue with him? It had been a long time ago and she had burned the book in a fit of pique but there was something that had intrigued her which she had not quite been able to forget. Turning her head quickly before she could change her mind, she brushed her mouth against his tentatively, trying to fit their lips together. Her entire face felt hot and she realised that she was blushing. It was bloody absurd, to be blushing over a kiss when the man was already inside her but then again, she was the only Greenhart of her generation who would do the unexpected and at times, borderline ridiculous.

Her tentative kiss pleased him immensely. Although it was quite clear that someone else had taken her maidenhead, Arielle was unschooled when it came to making love and that was what he chose to focus on, instead of the muted but violent response to hunt down her previous lover or lovers and rip them to shreds. He ran his tongue over the seam of her lips, licking and teasing until she opened for him and slowly, he explored her mouth, careful not to frighten her as she shyly touched her tongue to his. Her moan was a sweet reward for his patience as she stroked and caressed him, letting him draw her into his mouth; it was also hell on his already stretched nerves. Threading his fingers with hers, he squeezed as a shudder ran down his spine, the pleasure of the kiss finding its way in a wave down his body which ended in a maddening desire to thrust and keep thrusting so that he could build that wave into a sea deep enough to drown them both in.

His kisses were making her head light—Arielle could have sworn that she had sighed into his mouth several times already—and more alarmingly, she was beginning to feel very warm somewhere in the southern vicinity of her body. Instead of distracting her, his mouth and tongue on hers were making her acutely aware of the sharp sensation of fullness between her legs and she mewled as Sinding’s body stiffened and she felt him grow even harder, pressing in against her walls.

“Sinding…” she whispered against his lips, only for him to go perfectly still above her. Arielle opened her eyes curiously and a frisson of fear made her swallow as she contemplated the narrowed yellow eyes boring into hers. The wolf was here too, and terribly possessive if his earlier words were anything to go by. “I have no other name for you, for that side which is the wolf… I’ve always addressed you as such, regardless of your form.” She laid a pleading hand on his cheek.

When the fierce frown that slashed his brow eased, she let out a breath she did not realise she had been holding. “So long as you know who claims you.” This time, his kiss was demanding, put pressure on her lips so that she opened her mouth for him to thrust into. Arielle wrapped her free arm around his shoulders, tangling her hand in the thick mane of his hair and the kiss went wild.

This may be the best description of a kiss that I've ever read. Please keep going A!anon.

Esbern is a really nice old dude who's had it rough. Living in the Ratway, chased by Thalmor, trying to be the only sane man in a room full of lunatics during the peace treaty and the only thing he has to show for it most of the time is to end up in Sky Haven Temple alone with Delphine after the Dragonborn tells both of them to fuck off after being commanded to kill Paarthurnax.

I'd like to see Esbern get some loving, especially in the form of a blow job. It doesn't matter if the DB is pro or anti-Blades, if the Haven if full of initiates or not. Any race or gender is fine, but I tend to favor humans and females. OC or NPCs are welcome. A possible option is a Dibellan priestess has been hired to give the old man some worship of Dibella time.

Bonuses: Blowjob, age difference, Esbern being very pleasantly surprised by this turn of events. I'm looking for something light and fluffy while Esbern gets to bust his nut.

Squicks are non-con and anything bathroom related. Not looking for anything bondage related for this fill.

Brand-Shei - The main reason I never join up with the Thieves Guild. The one time I tried, I stole the ring and then threw it away. I just couldn´t do it to him.

The only time I joined up with them when I played a total asshole character, I almost cried when I had to do this. I´d much rather beat the answer out of Brynjolf or just search the whole Skyrim for Esbern on my own without help than frame Brand-Shei.

Not OP, but you've made this Anon so happy, you have no idea. I only discovered this two days ago, but I lovelovelovelove everything you've done with this prompt. Reading this was one of the most wonderful things ever. I was actually considering writing something for this prompt as well, and your story has inspired me to actually seriously start working on it. Great, great job, and I really hope I meet your nameless Dragonborn again someday soon!

Oooh, I love this idea! I was going to prompt a similar thing not too long ago. :3

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Alchemist!DB - "The Learning Process"

Reunion 1/2 M!DB/Quaranir

Reunion 2/2 M!DB/Quaranir

Re: M!Altmer/F!Bosmer DB/M!Dunmer sandwich

Re: M!Altmer/F!Bosmer DB/M!Dunmer sandwich

Re: Nahkriin crack?

Re: F!DB/Ghorbash: "A Languid Afternoon" 4/4

Re: Reunion 2/2 M!DB/Quaranir

A Warrior's Heart

A Warrior's Heart 2/

Heat 10/?

Re: Heat 10/?

Esbern needs loving too

Re: Brand-shei

Re: Muses and Mead 16 FINISHED!

Re: Voyeuristic Cicero