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

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

OP never even asked for sex, just plot. But it seems like asking for plot where people fight back against institutionalized homophobia is the only thing that turns you into a scumbag on this meme, so oh well. Fuck this place.

A!A: I have no idea how long this is going to be.

For Mods: The tags will be listed at the end of the next chapter, just wanted to keep some things a secret, sorry for the inconvenience.
----
Riften was a small settlement, and - more importantly - a gossip's paradise. Word spread quickly, things remaining unsaid or untouched by the populace and their judgments was a....well to put it nice and simple: it never happened. Everyone knew about the rumors surrounding Bolli's faltering marriage, about Maven's connection with both the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves’ Guild, and about each and every 'poor' skooma addict that walked by on their way to work. The people of Riften were insatiable, and craved gossip like Haelga craved a good cock. So, it did not take long for shreds of information to weave through the grapevine about a mysterious visitor who had bypassed Brynjolf's 'visitor's tax' at the front gate.

"I heard they used magic!"

Brynjolf slowed in his pace, ears straining.

"It couldn't be, what sort of magic could control someone like that?"

What indeed?

"I don't know...the last thing Riften needs is a mage."

The word 'mage' slipped past his lips like it had some foul taste to it. Brynjolf walked on, slinking past the door to the inn, eyes inscrutable as he scanned over the riff raff. It was the normal morning crowd, Marcurio sitting in the corner, by the door, Keerava and Talen-Jei speaking in hushed tones by the counter, Letrush awkwardly eying everyone else in the room. With so few people in the Bee and Barb, it did not take Brynjolf long to spot the unfamiliar figure on the other side of the room.

They sat at a table, a cup of warm mead in their hands. From what he could tell, this was a Dunmer he would be dealing with....a foreigner, most definitely. Although he did not know the differences between Ashlanders and the more civilized citizens of Morrowind, he knew that the mer hailed from there based on the clothing they had. Their hands, the only visible flesh he spotted from under the large cloak and hood, clutched the cup of mead tightly, the mer's head bent down in thought toward it. Brynjolf bit his lip, this was a risky thing to ask of someone he didn't know the capabilities of...but a mage in the Guild? One who knew the power of compulsion? That was something he couldn't pass over.

Brynjolf smirked slightly and loomed over the Dunmer's table, casting a shadow. The mer shifted, turning her head toward him, but not upwards so he could see their face. "You really know how to cause a stir, lass."

The Dunmer tenses, but says nothing.

"Now, now, lass - I'm not here to cause you trouble..." Well actually maybe a little bit if she mucked this up. "I'm here to make you an offer -"

"I'm not interested in what you're selling." The Dunmer raises her head slightly, Brynjolf can see up to her nose. Her voice is coarse, yet husky. Slow and but calculating...like a predator.

He sits down across from her. She lowers her face again. Brynjolf continues on, unperturbed. "I'm not selling anything, lass...I'm offering you work...and from the looks of your pockets, you could use it." He waits. She listens.

The Dunmer lifts her head after a few contemplative seconds, showing up to the tip of her nose. "How could you know that?"

"It's all about sizing up your mark, lass. The way they walk, what they're wearing...it's a dead giveaway." She goes quiet again. "I can tell you don't make your living the honest way either, that's where we have something in common..." he trails off suggestively.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I have a bit of an errand to perform, but I need an extra pair of hands...and in my line of work, extra hands are well paid."

"What must I do?"

"Simple, I'm going to cause a distraction and you're going to steal Madesi's silver ring from a strongbox under his stand. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing."

"Who are these people?"

"Madesi is the Argonian selling jewelry and Brand-Shei is the Dunmer."

She takes a long gulp of mead. "When."

"Right now."

The Dunmer had seemed hesitant, but left the inn with him regardless. From what he could see of her face, she seemed uncomfortable and possibly disoriented. Brynjolf slowly began to regret recruiting her. Nonetheless he picked up the 'Falmerblood Elixer', his accented bellow drawing the crowd in Riften's market place to him. She stood at a side entrance, close to the Orphanage and did not move toward Madesi's stall so quickly. She paused and waited causing Brynjolf's apprehension to steadily increase. He continued with his spiel though, as calm and charming as ever.

Then the Dunmer disappeared from his view entirely.

He quietly eyed the guard who was now waiting for the end of his little ‘spiel’. This had all been previously arranged; he would slip the ring into Brand-Shei’s pocket and signal the guard to arrest him…the Dunmer was simply a scapegoat in case things went wrong, it wouldn’t get back to him, the corrupt guard, the guild….or Maven. It would get back to Brynjolf if the ring was never in Brand-Shei’s pocket... He bit his lip, too late to stop now.

Something catches his eye, a warped, invisible shape moving between Grelka’s and Madesi’s stalls. Brand-Shei shifts in his seat on a crate, the shape looming near him. Even though Brynjolf has a…limited knowledge of the abilities and constrictions of magic…he begins to realize that the mage did not abandon him, but his paranoid mind is still reeling. He finishes, the crowd disperses, and things begin to roll. Madesi realizes that someone has broken into his stall and goes to a guard, the guard goes to Brand-Shei…

There is a pull at his sleeve. Brynjolf turns to see the hooded Mer, a small smirk playing on her lips as Brand-Shei is pulled away toward the keep.

“Seems like I picked the right person for the job…” He muses, pulling out of her grasp. “How did you do that, lass?”

“A good mage never reveals her secrets.” She leans against his stall, only half her pale face visible to him.

“I can respect that…” He reaches into his pocket, fishing out a purse, fat with coins, and hands it to her. “Your payment, just as I promised.” She lets out a small hmph and takes the purse from him. He gestured for her to follow him, she doesn’t seem to see it and stands there as he takes a few steps away. A few seconds pass and the mer begins to look for him, suddenly surprised, Brynjolf clears his throat awkwardly…

Once she realized her mistake, the mer followed Brynjolf down into the shaded lower tier of the city. His footsteps echoed against the wood, but hers were silent. He liked that.

The Nord leans against a stone wall. “The way things have been going around here, it’s a relief that our plan went off without a hitch?”

“Our plan?” She chuckles, face still hidden, much to Brynjolf’s displeasure.

“Give yourself some credit, lass, it wouldn’t have gone so smoothly without you.”

“You’re a charmer, aren’t you? You probably say that to every woman you recruit.”

“Guilty.” He watches her turn away, her lips twisted into an amused smile. The thief points to the coin purse in her gray hand. “There’s more where that came from,” Brynjolf shrugs casually. “If you’re up to it.”

She frowns. “You just met me.”

“You show potential, your skills – once groomed – would be an asset to my people.”

She lifts her head up, glowing-orange eyes burning into his. “I wouldn’t be a problem…?”

Brynjolf opens his mouth and then swiftly closes it. The pair stare at each other for what feels like years. The Nord clears his throat. “That’s…that’s…”

“Vampirism is a deal-breaker isn’t it?”

He pauses, looking at her intently. “As long as you don’t make a meal of anyone in the Guild…or our marks, I’m ready to give you another test.”

The Vampire nods, pushing back her hood completely. She had rough features – wide jaw, a bump in her nose, a half-shaven head with symmetrically cut black hair…she was certainly no House Telvanni bride-to-be. She had a primal beauty to her, though it may be hard to see that until you get over the fear those orange eyes burned into your soul.

Brynjolf crosses his arms over his chest. “The group I represent has its home in the Ratway a little ways from here,” He points behind him. “A little tavern called the Ragged Flagon…get there and we’ll talk.”

Couldn't fit them in, hopefully it's all right if I just post them like this?

tags: char: f!pc, char: Brynjolf, race: Dunmer, relationship: het, kink: vampire

More to be added as the story goes on, if that's okay? ;a; [worst A!A ever]

Aww, that was so sweet. Not OP here, btw.

Somehow, an idea popped into my head when I read that last sentence. Was it the Thalmor Justiciar who sent the ring back? That would be... amazing :D If for ONCE a Thalmor did something good. If a prayer for a sick/dying husband moved one of them to do something nice. Just once.

But I like it.

And there is no call for meanness, nastiness and wank.

*hugs for OP*

EEEE!!!!

A vampire Dunmer! Awesome! I love Dunmer.

Thank you so much, A!A. This OP loves it already. Seriously you've made my day.

Hear hear.

For the record, I'm queer and a damn Empire-lover to boot - and I liked this prompt. I'd love to read a response to it. Any well-written story involving LGBT characters and a happy-ish ending is fine by me.

I love Marcurio. I'd just love to see some real interaction when I brought this wizard to the College in Winterhold--but I didn't, so I let him go and played the College faction solo.

Also, I discovered if you go back to him in Riften, he's all smug and flirty. "I knew you'd be back" and "Admit it! You were lost without me!" ring anything for you?

So I want a newly declared Archmage!DB hiring Marcurio because they missed him. And then Marcurio finds out they're the Archmage and questions why they'd need him, even though he's (of course) vastly superior.

Fluff, smut, platonic romance/friendship, whatever. I just want a fill. Would prefer M!DB, but female is certainly welcome.

forget the wank. Thats like the only bit of nastiness I've ever seen on this meme. You can request what you like! :(

Seconded so hard!

I made him steward in my main Hearthfire home, and it just makes me feel all warm when I come home and he goes "Look what the horker dragged in! Still wandering all over Skyrim causing trouble? :)". I love him.

Wow. Yeah. I'm one of the slash writers on the meme, also queer as fuck in real life, and I thought the prompt was adorable when I saw it on Delicious last night. I really have no idea where some of the hate is coming from.

You're absolutely right - although YOU can be gay, the only canon gay couple is already dead. It's even worse than in Oblivion - at least there, you met the gay couple when they were still alive, although you only found out about their relationship after their death (Viranus Donton/Eduard Hodge, killed during the Fighters Guild questline).

I'm sorry that people are giving you grief over this. Really.

I don't understand how you can assume that this is a fetish. Perhaps the OP is having problems with their queer relationship in real life, and wants to read about the same subject in fiction to cheer themselves up?

How on earth can you call the OP a fujoshi when she, he, or they were happy to read about F/F relationships as well as M/M? Seriously.

Also a letter in the famous acronym, also chiming with hugs and sentiments of solidarity. There is a lot worse on here if we're going to be judgemental (both politically and lorewise-and I really hope we aren't getting judgemental because hey I wrote some of it), but I think it's a lot better if we aren't judgemental and also don't make assumptions about peoples motivations, because why should we feel we have the right to, given how little information we have?

But seriously, if you see this before this all gets deleted op, it's not always like this here. Hope this isn't your first foray into our little corner of the internet, because well that's just a harsh intro, and you have my sympathies.

Of course it is highly possible that the person/people complaining have been going through some harsh times and just got triggered by the prompt, so maybe we should have trigger warning for homophobic prompts in future?

Can't we all just get along and make stories?!?!

I vote getting along and making stories~

The Dragonborn is fifteen.

He's gangly, covered in pimples and can't shout without his voice breaking. On the occassions his voice is behaving, he can't pull his eyes away from the nearest woman long enough to look at what he's doing.

Please anons. This is crack that begs to be written.

(alternatively, flatchested F!Dragonborn is more focused on getting Vilkas to seeherforthewomansheIS!Noreally!she'sawomannow! Than she is in killing dragons)

i want bawdy humour and ridiculous teen stereotypes, with the end result of Skyrim breaking open its best mead and going: "Welp. We're fucked."

:')

A Altmer? Dear author, I love those sexy high elves!
Maybe... maybe you can do something moar about Einar, please?

Don’t worry, anon! You haven’t done anything wrong. Actually, I LOVE this idea! I am a big fan of both Paarthurnax and the asexual-but-romantic relationship dynamic (although it doesn’t work for every couple, it can be very interesting). :) I second this prompt!

This is the possible authornon from above. I wanted to say that I am still working on this fic. Basically there was a death that left me feeling down and altogether uninspired for a while, AND THEN I got sick. (On top of my usual trouble with writing, no less.) I am still working, I have a buttload of notes and ideas but they are not yet in fic form. If you are curious, here is some stuff that will be in the fic:

a) I had no idea what Sanguine’s realm looked like so I made something up, and went kind of overboard.
b) Sanguine discusses which Daedric Princes he has had sex with before.
c) Sanguine is quite literally tossed out of Apocrypha (his first attempt)
d) Sanguine manages to get Mora to ENJOY the sex (astonishing absolutely everyone) (his second attempt...he is persistent)

She was here.

Lust hit him like the biting lash of a whip, an instant flare of burning need that twisted his belly into a writhing, aching knot, every muscle held tight as if expecting another blow to fall on flesh made tender and raw.

He had not thought she would come. Had not dared to hope.

Though he had dared thinking to force her, when news had reached him that she’d finally surfaced in Whiterun, but it had not come to that.

She was here, of her own accord, making her way past the long central table of the throne room, which was filled more than usual considering the dinner hour was upon them.

Silence followed in her wake, and then, murmurs and whispers and heated exchanges. When she finally stood before the base of his throne, all eyes were upon her.

And none more intent than his own hungry gaze, as he drank in her features, changed but so achingly familiar. They had no right to be, but he had long ago stopped trying to figure out his absurd desire for her.

Her hair had been cut to no longer than the length of his fingers. With the heavy mass of waves removed, the remainder seemed to take joyful abandon in new-found freedom, framing her gamine features and the heart-like shape of her face in a tangle of silky curls.

The overall effect might have left her looking achingly young, but her eyes shattered that illusion. Their haunting depths, usually glittering with fury and other, darker emotion, were as cold and untroubled as the frozen waters of a mountain puddle.

They were empty, and thwarted any attempt at the reading of them.

She did not wear armor, only a simple tunic and breeches and an overlarge cloak that dwarfed her small frame. A new scar, swiping over the bridge of her nose to extend across her cheek, provided the only visible reminder of her status as seasoned, well-tested warrior.

The hall had grown silent during his study of her, and he stood to greet her.

“Warm hearth and welcome, Dragonborn. Long has it been since a queen has graced the Palace of Kings, and never one such as this.”

His pronouncement garnered additional loud murmurs of assent and greeting, but she did not seem to appreciate the sentiment, nor the attention.

He watched as she quickly angled her body so that her back was less exposed, keeping careful eye on the noise behind her. She was tense and ready to strike, her nostrils gently flaring.

He almost expected her to bolt, so much did she looked like a creature of the wilds in that moment, but those eyes, so vacant and unsettling, swung back to his face as she hissed, “Can we not have a private conversation?”

She was not one for the waxing of words, his wife and queen. He might have smiled, if his raging lust was not making speech difficult for himself as well. At the moment, he was more than happy to oblige her request.

He descended the stone dais of his throne and preceded her to the lower room of the wing leading to his personal quarters, gesturing to Galmar to remain behind.

He felt her close on his heels, and as soon as she was past the swing of the door he shut it behind her, closing them off from the throne room. And then he pushed her against it, pressed his body into the smaller length of hers, and covered her mouth with his.

She did not protest, or perhaps did not have opportunity, because at her small gasp he pressed his advantage, plunging his tongue between her lips. He was desperate to get closer, his mind lost to all thoughts but the need to mark and claim and fill her.

He felt her body snap taut like the tightly drawn string of a bow, an instant before she arched into the curve of his own. He could not say if it was simply surprise at his aggression, or her own need that moved her, but at the feeling of her response he could have wept.

Wept, as he was certain his hard and throbbing cockhead wept, pressed too tightly within the constraints of his breeches. He wedged his thigh between her legs and pressed the heat of his arousal against her belly, not caring if she could feel the full extent of his desire.

Let her know what she did to him.

For he knew he did the same to her. He could feel it, in the way she melted against him and shifted her body and exhaled a please on a soft whisper of sound.

And then, more forcefully, “…stop.”

Serano’s patience was running out. “I will only repeat myself once: Get out of my way.”

The threat was as obvious as it could possibly get; Serano even rested one of his hands on the tip of his sword. Every fiber of Romlyn’s being screamed to just step down, just let him go if he wanted it that much. Anything else would not end well for him and their relationship.

“No.”

Just once. Romlyn wanted to make this man listen to him just once. It didn’t matter if Serano would hate him for this later, if he would never speak to Romlyn again or if this argument ended in violence. Romlyn didn’t care as long as his husband would be safe.

“FUS… ROH DA!”

There was no time to react; he wasn’t even sure what exactly happened, even though he probably should have seen something like this coming. One second he was standing in the middle of the room, and the next the Shout sent him flying until his back collided with the door. He hadn’t even felt a force pushing him back; it was like Serano had willed him to move out of the way and the laws of nature strove to comply. Suddenly he was down on the ground, wheezing pathetically as if all air had been knocked out of his lungs.

Serano hadn’t moved; the altmer simply waited for him to catch his breath and get back on his feet again.

It sounded much easier than it was; his legs trembled and refused to move the way he wanted them to. It was the first time he had experienced a Dragon Shout himself, even though he had heard it before during the Stormcloak’s siege.
It didn’t feel like he had seriously injured himself; the Shout had simply forced him to the ground.

It took him a few minutes to stand up again. When he looked up he caught his lover looking down at him. Serano could have used the opportunity to simply walk past him and head on to Solitude; but he had stayed. The reason was probably fairly simple: Romlyn had overstepped his boundaries and now Serano wouldn’t leave until he was certain that he had learned his lesson.

“I don’t want to hurt you”, Serano declared. Maybe he even meant it; Romlyn didn’t know. Most of the times he had no idea what went on in Serano’s head.

The problem was that Serano could hurt him. He was perfectly capable of killing him just by using his voice.

The Shout had been another warning, most likely the last. Didn’t he see that Romlyn just wanted to help him?

“You idiot”, he muttered and wasn’t sure whether he said it to his lover or to himself. “You stupid, thick-headed idiot.”

He was so hopelessly in love with this man. He wanted to protect him. He wanted to help him somehow, even though he wasn’t sure how. There was no way he could follow him into battle and fight by his side. He barely knew how to wield a sword, didn’t know the first thing about dragons or how to defeat them. There was nothing at all he could do to help Serano.

And he had tried so hard, too. Romlyn had spent weeks learning some basic alchemy to be able to brew health potions – just to have his man go off into battle without them. He had read all of Serano’s spell books four times already in the hope of improving his own skills even though he had no talent for magic. Three Thalmor agents had come to his door searching for Serano, and he hadn’t just managed to ward them off, he had laid false trails for them as well, making sure they headed into the opposite direction of where he thought Serano had disappeared to.

But nothing he did mattered in the long run.

He was just so sick of it. Sick of his own impotence, sick of his lover’s arrogance and control issues, sick of the Stormcloaks and Alduin and Skyrim in general. Sick of sitting at home waiting for his husband, sick of doing whatever this man told him.

He barely registered raising his arm.

Serano wasn’t prepared for the blow at all. He didn’t even try to dodge or block, so Romlyn hit him square on the jaw. His relaxed stance could not brace him against the impact, so he even stumbled backwards a little.

He awkwardly touched his face and stared at Romlyn in disbelief.

Romlyn himself wasn’t sure what had happened; just that he had done something incredible foolish.

“Go on. Hit me one more time.” The altmer’s voice was calm, his expression unreadable; the only thing that spoke of his anger were small flames licking at his fingers. The sword was still inside its sheath, though, so Serano had not yet decided to tear his head off.

Honestly he was surprised that the altmer hadn’t ripped him apart. Yet.

The only possible course of action was to throw himself on the floor before his lover’s feet and beg for forgiveness. Maybe he should also take his clothes off while he was at it; maybe he could prove that it held certain advantages for Serano to allow him to keep his head attached to his shoulders.

But he wouldn’t back down; he just couldn’t.

When he prepared to strike his lover a second time, the altmer moved first. With two big steps Serano crossed the distance between them and caught Romlyn’s raised fist before he had a chance to react. He was being turned around; a light kick to the back of his knee forced him to lose his balance, so that Serano could easily shove him to the ground.
It only took seconds, but suddenly Romlyn was on his hands and knees with the body of his lover draped over his back. One hand was still holding on to his right fist, the other hovered over his throat, ready to strike him with a fireball.

“So tell me, what are you going to do now?” The altmer’s voice was filled with mirth.

He was trapped. Serano was panting lightly somewhere above him close to his ear. He pressed his weight down onto him, so that Romlyn could feel the outline of a slowly hardening cock straining against his thigh.

If the last ten days hadn’t happened, Romlyn would waste no time rubbing his backside against it. It was the easiest way to get back into Serano’s good graces: Maybe they would fuck right there on the floor, without any lubrication, until he howled from pleasure and pain, until the wooden floor had abraded his knees so bad that he bled; and afterwards Serano would feel like he had taught Romlyn his place, and one warm healing spell later they would pretend the argument that preceded it had never happened.

It was the only thing he could do. He could barely move, at least not in a way that could potentially harm Serano. This was it.

And afterwards Serano would leave, and this time the Stormcloaks might get him for real.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

There must have been something about his choice of words that made Serano pause. Or maybe it was just the way he had said it: Immediately before biting hard into the tense, burning fingers near his throat. Serano gasped in surprise and lost control of the spell for a second. Bright orange flames shot up in front of Romlyn’s eyes, and he pressed them shut by pure instinct. He thought it would be painful, but the spell quickly diminished when Serano managed to rein it back. He barely felt the heat before the magic died completely.

“Have you lost your mind?!”, Serano screamed while inspecting the bite marks on his hand. “If my control had waned I could have blown your head off!” Seconds later Romlyn was hit by a powerful wave of healing magic that was entirely unneeded and only succeeded in making him feel strangely lightheaded.

“Are you okay? Let me see your mouth.”

The change in attitude from vicious, arrogant bastard to gentle, concerned healer was so abrupt that Romlyn wasn’t sure how to react. He barely fought back when Serano pried his mouth open and twisted their bodies around – which was certainly no easy feat in their position – so he could take a look at the damage. After a few moments the altmer breathed a sigh of relief and started stroking Romlyn’s cheek absentmindedly.

Then his expression turned serious again. “Do you even know how lucky you were? You can’t just bite a mage when he’s casting! Are you trying to get yourself killed?!”

He still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that this was the reason for Serano’s anger.

“I thought you were going to kill me”, he admitted a little breathlessly.

His husband snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never hurt you.”

He wasn’t sure what to think about that. Serano was blunt and inconsiderate at times; when they had sex the altmer liked to humiliate and tease him; but he was never abusive. He had never hurt Romlyn outside of the bedroom, and anything that happened during sex, well… he really couldn’t complain about that. The altmer also tried showering him in healing magic every time afterwards – just like he had done now.

Even this time Romlyn had been the only one that had tried to physically hurt his lover.

Serano gave a tired sigh and leaned back again. The altmer was still draped over his back, but didn’t hold him down forcibly anymore. His hands stroked along Romlyn’s thighs, as far away from his mouth as possible. The gentle caress calmed him somewhat, even though he was still confused.

“What’s this all about, Romlyn?” His voice was barely above a whisper and the altmer never stopped running his hands over his body. His breath was hot on his ear and Romlyn couldn’t help but shudder. There were times when sensitive ears were extremely annoying.

“Can’t you just stay here for a few days longer, until you’re feeling better?”

“No. As Dragonborn I am the only one who can stop Alduin and his kind. Every day I spend not fighting those big lizards people are dying out there.”

Romlyn shivered again, but this time not because of the wet tongue near the tip of his ear.

A lie. Serano had just lied to him.

He probably didn’t know that Lydia had told him that before Serano found his sudden love for the Empire he had hunted Forsworn in the mountains on another one of his own personal quests for revenge. The altmer hadn’t gone after any dragon in months. Lydia had also mentioned that a woman she only knew as Delphine frequently complained about his lack of progress on that front, fearing that they were running out of time. But now the altmer seemed prepared to end the Civil War in the near future before he went after Alduin. That was a noble goal in and of itself, but between a small provincial dispute and the dawning end of the world one might complain that the altmer needed to get his priorities straight.

Romlyn couldn’t find fault in Serano’s decision to stay away from those flying heralds of death; but he knew for certain that what Serano tried to pass off as a noble cause was merely an excuse to be able to travel the country some more.

He had no idea what the altmer wanted to hide from him. But the simple thought that there was anything to hide resurrected all sorts of fears in his heart.

He steeled himself and forced himself to speak past the lump in his throat. “I don’t care. I just don’t want you to die.”

The altmer sighed in annoyance. “We’ve talked about that, Romlyn. When I die you have to go to the tavern in Riverwood and talk to Ognar. He will know how to contact a woman called Delphine. I gave her some money for you; you should use it to get as far away from Skyrim as possible and buy a small house somewhere else.”

“This is not about money!”

“Then what is it about?”

It was hard to put into words when asked so directly. He had to find a way to make this man understand without sounding too pathetic.

The priests in the temple of Mara had always described marriage differently. And even though he knew that the form of love they preached was something that only happened in fairy tales, this was not how it was supposed to be. His husband shouldn’t have to be knocked unconscious to spend more than a few days in the same house with him. Romlyn shouldn’t have to fight tooth and nail to keep his lover from fleeing from his side as soon as he was able to walk again. They should be able to talk about such things without it ending in violence.

But that might have been his mistake: Falling in love with a mercenary, vagabond, adventurer, whatever the man insisted on calling himself. Serano’s lifestyle just didn’t work well with what Romlyn was expecting.

He just didn’t want to lose this man. He didn’t want to be alone again. He wanted something normal.

“I just want us to be like… a real family.”

Of course, the altmer didn’t get it. “Is that why you asked me about children?”

“Just… Please just forget about that. The idea was stupid. You made it fairly clear that you weren’t interested.”

He thought back on that night a few weeks ago when Serano had held him so gently and Romlyn had been so sure of their relationship. For once the altmer had been affectionate and kind; in his warm embrace Romlyn had found the courage to share something of himself he had kept hidden for far too long.

But of course the moment hadn’t lasted very long. As soon as the words had left his mouth Serano had laughed his ass off. He had laughed so hard Romlyn’s ears had been ringing.

“Well you have to admit, the very idea is preposterous.”

Right. Preposterous. Of course.

---------------
A!Anon: Sorry for the short update and that I didn't get to the smut as I promised. I just didn't like the cliffhanger from the last update and felt like I should at least put something up. The problem with those long scenes is that I can never find a good place to stop, but please bear with me.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 51 of 270

Meme Announcements!

Re: Forbidden love

Run Right Back [1a/?]

Re: Run Right Back [1b/?]

A!A: Tags

Re: Struggle (9/9)

I'm sorry OP has had a hard time with this prompt

Re: Run Right Back [1b/?]

Re: I'm sorry OP has had a hard time with this prompt

Marcurio/Archmage!DB

Re: I'm sorry OP has had a hard time with this prompt

Re: Marcurio/Archmage!DB

Re: I'm sorry OP has had a hard time with this prompt

Re: Forbidden love

Re: Forbidden love

Re: I'm sorry OP has had a hard time with this prompt

Re: I'm sorry OP has had a hard time with this prompt

Adolescent Dragonborn.

Re: Journal of an old warrior 4/?

Re: DB/Paarthurnax - A more platonic approach

Re: Sanguine/Hermaeus Mora

Never Our Tenderness (F!/DB Imperial/Ulfric Stormcloak) – 11a/?

Alone (M!DB/Romlyn) (8/?)

Alone (M!DB/Romlyn) (9/?)

Alone (M!DB/Romlyn) (10/?)

Alone (M!DB/Romlyn) (11/?)