Comment!Fic Page 1 - "Oh, a little bit of this...a little bit of that."

[skyrimkinkmeme]

OPEN FOR PROMPTS AND

OPEN FOR FILLS

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HELPFUL TIPS
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Welcome to the new Comment!Fic Thread. Some of you may know what this is, and others may not - comment!fics are small one - two comment (the LJ word limit for comments) fills based off of one word or one sentence prompts. All ES games are welcome here, as well as the DLC's. Please don't disclose spoilers for Skyrim's DLCs in your prompt, and if you have them in your fill please place warnings.

Comments

Dyce/Stormcock

[(Anonymous)]

Word for prompt: Horker

Spat: Dyce/Stormcock 1/1

[(Anonymous)]

"It's traditional."

"I don't fucking care!"

"You buy that other stuff from the Khajiit caravans. You don't know where it's been."

"Yeah, well, I know where that is going; into the fire and not up my arse."

Ulfric didn't like being defied, but he knew better than to try and force Dyce into something he didn't want to do. Maybe reasoning would help. "Can't you at least give it a try? You said you liked trying new things." He wiggled The Stormcock at Dyce in what he hoped was an inviting manner as it glistened among the furs of his almost-royal outfit.

"I meant things like positions. Or pastries. Not...that."

"Just have a little taste," he wheedled.

Dyce sighed. Anything for a bit of peace. "Fine." He knelt in front of Ulfric and stuck his tongue out. Anyone else would have been executed on the spot for such a gesture, but Ulfric only pressed the tip of The Stormcock to Dyce's waiting lips. That warm, velvet tongue, those enticing lips-

Dyce pulled a face. "Okay, that is really gross. I tried it. And now I'm pretty sure I won't feel like sex for at least half an hour. Thanks Ulfric." Dyce got to his feet and pulled his pants on and Ulfric's heart broke to see that luscious arse disappear from view.

“What am I supposed to do about this?” he asked, gesturing to the dripping Stormcock.

Dyce shrugged and gave him an unsympathetic glare, “How should I know? It's your own fault for covering it in that disgusting stuff to start with. I'm going.” He shrugged on his jacket and stalked out.

“Send Galmar in, would you?” Ulfric called.

“Yeah, yeah.” He slammed the door behind him. “Galmar! Ulfric wants to see you. I hope you like the taste of horker fat.”

Any het

[(Anonymous)]

But would love some Dunmeri goodness. No non-con.

Word for prompt: stars and moons

Stars and Moons 1/?

[(Anonymous)]

After a few hundred years in Tamriel, there was very little left that could make Seravyn feel anything but apathy. She had long since gotten used to the distrusting looks of Nords and the haughty smirks of her "higher" cousins. To these faces and attitudes she could only ever muster disdain and little more. No weather or storm could drive an arrow from its course if she held the bow, and shadows enveloped her as lovingly as a lovers arms. Weapons and armors and enchantments had become afterthoughts, minor considerations, where once a single day could be fraught with managing and studying them all. She saw the secrets of men and women and could end a dozen lives without ever being noticed.

It was in this way that she became a walking shadow within Skyrim. Her allies in the Thieves Guild and her followers in the Dark Brotherhood had been dismissed oftentimes for being too noisy, too unwieldy in her delicate tiptoeing across narrow bridges within vacant caves. Companions and brothers in arms and mages all dismissed as well for not being swift enough in plains-wide chases on whimsical hunts for bear pelts or mammoth tusks or mudcrab chitin. So often she walked and ran and hunted and slept alone. Laying on the grass in the middle of the plains of the Reach, or huddled in a thick fur under a tree in Haafingar hold, she slept alone. And though she had homes in many of the holds, and company in her housecarls at each, she preferred her solitude in the open. Under the stars, staring up at the old, familiar constellations and moons to remind her of home. Nightmares had driven her from her Morrowind home not a week before the Red Year had begun, and since then she had lived homeless, travelling and learning and exploring.

The stars alone stayed constant in her life, and so she could not sleep without them, her one reminder of comfort and constancy.

So it was quite unexpected when on a small rescue mission for the heavy-handed Companions that she felt not only an immediate attraction for the captive she rescued (for prurient wants and behaviors were common in the mental development of Dunmer women), but a warm, deeply affectionate admiration for him the moment she laid eyes on him.

Ulfric x Fem!DB

[(Anonymous)]

Prompts: Defiance Adoration

Untitled, Ulfric/Female!DB

[(Anonymous)]

All right, Anon, here's what sprang to mind from "defiance adoration." It's rather pre-pairing and came out more as a character sketch than a full on story. Alas. I hope you enjoy it anyway.




An angry Dragonborn would be enough to make lesser men shake in their boots; the faintest shimmer of sparking energy that Ulfric can see curling around the length of her fingers would send them ducking for cover.

But Ulfric stays. Somewhat amused and, he admits to himself, entranced by her anger.

The last time he saw her like this had been the night of the battle for Solitude. The Stormcloaks had been victorious. (Only just, Ulfric admits to himself. Had the Dragonborn not taken a treated arrow during the midst of battle, well….it may very well have swung the other way.)

Feverish and sporting fresh stitches, she’d been storming down the main thoroughfare of the city. In only her nightshift. So determined to see to her home, to the vagabond children inside—left in the tender care of her housecarl—that even the smoking husk of the city and the Stormcloak guards (who’d been advised not to impede her movements but to let Ulfric or Galmar know when and where she went) wouldn’t stop her.

She wears the same take-no-prisoners look now—though, Ulfric thinks, her Arch-Mage robes aren’t nearly as fetching as her night shift—as she comes to a stop feet from his throne, stares him in the eye.

“Jarl Ulfric.”

“My Dragonborn.”

The same dance. She, ever politic and impersonal and he pushing the boundaries of propriety.

She is not his.

But time will see to that. He’s certain he hasn’t been wrong in the signs he’s read.

“You must do something about the security in the Gray Quarter.”

He exhales. It’s a months old argument.

Since the taking of Solitude, the celebrations across the country have been…exuberant, to say the least; and none more so than those in the heart of the land. Windhelm’s streets have been awash with food and drink, with songs that echo into the night, and the crash of colorful spells set off by the priests of Talos.

Some of those celebrations have led to the damage of property in the city, most notably that of the Dunmer. And once Wuunferth had released the Dragonborn from her period of rest, Ulfric had heard more about the plight of the Dark Elves in a fortnight than he had in years.

“—Stone-Fist is completely out of control. Fayel’s arm is broken. Revyn has a sprained ankle. And the damage to the Corner Club will take months to repair.”

“Where is Rolff now?”

“Still drunk,” she says. “He’ll keep in a cell until morning.” She frowns, puts a hand to her head, and for a moment it’s as though someone has drained the spark from her. “This is not the way to begin anew.”

He sighs. “Seirian, would that I could spare the men. We’re still in the process of rounding up stray Legion, not to mention Imperial spies and rebels who are trying their damnedest to impede rebuilding in the holds. We’ll have to make do with the secondary city guard unit.”

Her full mouth thins and her eyes narrow; the faint line of violet paint—leftover from some long ago Breton magical-coming-of-age ceremony, Ulfric has been led to believe—across her nose and cheeks shimmers in the firelight, gives a strangely ethereal quality to the grey of her eyes, the paleness of her skin.

“You’ve been feeding me that line for the last month.”

“And it’s still true.”

“The logistics? Yes.” Another sigh. “But it’s not just about warm bodies for security, though that’s a pressing need. You’ve talked of uniting Skyrim. You may want to start with your own city. Your people—and that includes the Dunmer living under your mantle—need to see that you take an interest in their well being.”

“You think I don’t know how to care for my people?” There’s an edge in his voice. Sharper than he intended, because her words cut.

Farkas/Vilkas.

[(Anonymous)]

Word for prompt: dominance.

Erik the slayer/Cosnach

[(Anonymous)]

Word for prompt:Hangover.

Re: Erik the slayer/Cosnach

[(Anonymous)]

"What happened last night?"

A mound of blankets and furs moaned to the left of Erik.

To the right was what appeared to be the upper half of a horker, with the bottom portion of the beast nowhere to be found.

Erik had been hoping for stories and great adventures, not waking up hungover in the Dragonborn's Markarth home, amid the remains of a horker, and... something in the blankets next to him.

"...im naked and you're not... whyss that?" the lump of blankets mumbled to Erik, or possibly the horker... as horrified as Erik was, he hoped the comment was directed to him.

"I don't know why im... ugg" Erik's head swam as he stood up taking stock of the empty mead bottles spread on the floor.

"Huh" said the lump, poking his head out of the blankets, "that's better then naked, anyways"

Erik looked down at his body only to see that he was wearing a full set of women's tavern clothes.

as his mouth opened in a silengt scream, a loud BANG was heard as the front door to the house was slammed open by a very angry housecarl.

"WHY IS THERE A HORKER'S ASS ON THE FRONT STEP!!!"

The man in the blankets hiccuped.

Erik fainted.

Erandur/Ulfric

[(Anonymous)]

supercrackship! I know

word(s) for prompt: Mara's love

Re: Erandur/Ulfric

[(Anonymous)]

Oh I am so tempted to do this...

Any pairing.

[(Anonymous)]

Words for prompt: Courtship and healing

Fill: Courtship and Healing (Vex/Sapphire)

[(Anonymous)]

Vex snapped out of deep sleep as soon as she heard almost silent footsteps glide into the Cistern. Holding her breath, she listened keenly to the echoes of the people sleeping around her.

In a few moments, a pair of cool arms slipped around her and she felt her lips stretch into a smile. She resolutely kept herself still until she felt Sapphire relax behind her.

It took them months to get to this... this level of affection between them.

Sapphire was prickly and defensive and often cold and aloof, even to the other members of the Thieves Guild. Vex knew something about her past, something the Dragonborn accidentally let slip during a moment of drunken weakness. It made her rage and want to kill someone. Anyone, really.

In a way, Vex was jealous. Sapphire has yet to tell her anything about her past. But then, one evening in Frostfall, Sapphire had turned up in the Flagon with an unreadable look in her eyes. She had been clutching an amulet of Mara. She had looked at Vex. Only at Vex.

And so they began their little dance. A slow burn if you will.

There was respect, there was the hesitant tendrils of affection, in time, trust began to follow.

Sapphire did not like to be touched. At first.

She did not like overt displays of affection. At first.

And so Vex learned how to let go. How not to push and yet show her interest anyway. It was a delicate balancing act. But she's not a master at Lockpicking for nothing. She knew that the strongest locks require a careful touch, a slow twist, a gentle dance and a lot of patience.

She held back a gasp as a cool hand slipped under her shirt to grasp the amulet of Mara she had obtained stolen to show her willingness for marriage. She had never seen Sapphire wear hers. (It was kept in her pocket, she had checked.)

Her nipples stiffened into points when the smooth palm brushed against them. It was torture, pure torture as Sapphire settled down, hand on her amulet, wrist against her breast heart. She could smell lavender and rain on Sapphire. She felt herself grow wet.

Sapphire merely kissed the nape of her neck and shuffled closer, her breasts pressed tantalisingly at her back, round and full and...

Vex started cataloguing all the possible sweep jobs she might need to send the Dragonborn to. Yes, that priest of Talos in Whiterun. She closed her eyes and recalled the spittle flying from that priest's mouth in his passion as he delivered his sermons to the world.

With that image firmly in mind, Vex snuggled up against Sapphire and fell asleep.

Theirs is a rough road to tread. No one in the Guild thinks they will last. She knows better.

Ysarald Thrice Pierced/General Tullius.

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt. POW Grudge-fucking.

F!DB/Alduin or F!DB+Alduin

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt: Family.

[(Anonymous)]

Can I just get some male khajiit/male nord up in here? I'm drunk and having feels about assassin/jarl type of ships and I'm sure someone out there on this big blue world shares them.

Nerevarine/Champion of Cyrodiil Sheogorath/Dragonborn. Drinks.

[(Anonymous)]

Because when you save the world from crazy immortals, avert the destruction of a daedric realm and kill the world eater, well you want your drinking buddies to be equally epic.

Re: Nerevarine/Champion of Cyrodiil Sheogorath/Dragonborn. Drinks.

[(Anonymous)]

OP, you've had to wait for longer than half a year for a fill, but a fill you shall have! It'll be here in a day or two. Hopefully my OCs are okay...

Any!DB/Cicero

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt: Cicero's 'juggling balls'.

F!DB/Astrid/Arnjolf

[(Anonymous)]

I need some Dark Brotherhood smut in my life, and I just think Arnjolf and Astrid have the type of relationship where they can introduce third parties for awesome sexings without jealousy. My preferred Dragonborn would be Nord female, but, honestly I'll be happy with anyone you like.

Re: F!DB/Astrid/Arnjolf

[(Anonymous)]

I totally meant to say Arnbjorn. My brain is on the fritz.

F!DB/Aela or just F!DB thinkin bout Aela

[(Anonymous)]

I had an odd thought while I was clearing whichever dungeon has ancient nord armor. The female version of the armor is what Aela's got. I started wondering how it felt wandering around in an outfit where the chest and nethers are rubbing against leather while the back and legs are constantly exposed. Especially when crouched and in cold, breezy caves as often as you are forced to be.

So my want is the Dragonborn finding and wearing this armor and discovering this sensation, admiring Aela while travelling and such yumminess, or any other foreseeable scenario involving Aela, Fem!DB and adult-type touching, self-inflicted or otherwise. :3 I also have a thing for assassin-type Dunmeri ladies, but any dark-haired stealth type with an affinity for bows and whatnot will do. ;)

F!DB/Balgruuf

[(Anonymous)]

After the Stormcloaks win Balgruuf really turns on the Dragonborn. I want her to be sorry that things turned out so badly for him; I always felt sorry that the forst person to try to really help her got screwed over by the nationalistic Stormcloaks. And if there are FEELS then so much the better.

Re: F!DB/Balgruuf

[(Anonymous)]

SECONDED SO HARD.

M'aiq the Liar

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt: "M'aiq's kink meme one-liners"

In fact, I'll start, just to get the idea across:

"Dyce? Who is this Dyce? M'aiq has rolled many dice when he was a gambler in Senchal. Perhaps I will get lucky with this one as well."

Re: M'aiq the Liar

[(Anonymous)]

Another one:

"A place for people to request sex? M'aiq has always heard them called 'brothels'. Perhaps M'aiq is missing something."

DB/LI fluff

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt is: Lovers' tiff.

Any DB. Any LI. Slash, het, femslash, it's all good.

F!DB/Ghorbash: "Lovers' Tiff" 1/1

[(Anonymous)]

tags: series:endra, char:f!pc, char:ghorbash_the_iron_hand, kink:fluff, race:nord, race:orsimer
summary: Ghorbash and Endra clear out a bandit cave. Takes place between 'Bravery' and 'In Hot Water'.

Lovers' Tiff

Ghorbash knew he'd done something wrong when he wiped the blood from his axe and turned to see Endra brushing her hair from her face.

She only did that when she annoyed. And that was rare.

So he'd definitely done something wrong.

"What?"

"Don't you, 'what' me." She grumbled, pushing past him and stepping over the bandit chief who lay dead on the floor.

Ghorbash's spiked eyebrows shot up.

She let him stew in silence as she disabled the trap on the large chest and then knelt down to pick the lock. He stood behind her, wanting to talk but not quite daring. And not quite knowing what he wanted to say. Words had never been his strong point.

"Can you move? You are in my light."

"There is not any light. We're in a cave."

She practically growled and Ghorbash realised why others sometimes found her so frightening. He knew her as his companion, the dragonborn, his lover...never as an enemy.

He sighed and sheathed his axe. "What is it? What have I done?"

She threw the chest open and began rooting through, scooping out a sapphire and a garnet.

"Nothing."

There was another long pause before she huffed, stood up, slammed the lid of the chest down and threw herself upon it.

"I just cannot believe you do not know!" She burst. "You do it EVERY TIME."

He was floored. "Do what?" He was trying to retrace the past ten mintues.

She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Every time we get into a fight, you stand in front of me and each time I am terrified that I am going to behead you or set you on fire or freeze your ears off - "

He pulled her up off the chest and held her against him as he chuckled lightly and she half-heartedly hit his torso a few times.

"You worry about me too much."

"And you do not worry about yourself at all."

"Of course I don't." He said, smiling as her arms wrapped around his waist. "I don't have time with all the worrying I do about you."

(I couldn't resist writing some fluff for this prompt! For anyone following 'In Hot Water', I will be updating soon, I promise!)

Hofgrir Horsh-Crusher/F!DB

[(Anonymous)]

I just want to see a size!kink with Hofgrir Horse-Crusher and any race F!PC. I mean, it can't have been just me who got all hot when he talked about how big he was. Crushed a horse? Crush me, how about? YUM.

Pls no: Non-con, BDSM

Yes pls: Size kink, hetero, con or dub con

(Sorry, this is my first time on the ESKM. <3 I deeply apologize if I'm doing this wrong.)

Re: Hofgrir Horsh-Crusher/F!DB

[(Anonymous)]

UUGGGH SECONDED! Loved to see this filled.

F!DB/Thieves Guild Gangbang

[(Anonymous)]

Female!DB gets gangbanged in the Cistern by male members of the Guild. No preference for F!PC's race. No noncon (dub is acceptable). Make it filthy.

Kinks: Triple penetration (oral, vag, and anal at the same time), tit fucking.

Squicks: Scat, watersports, character death, dark themes.

Bonuses if F!DB is a wanton slut.

Re: F!DB/Thieves Guild Gangbang

[(Anonymous)]

I've actually just finished writing something like this, without seeing this prompt, but it's most likely not a comment!fill. It's pretty long. Would OP still appreciate that?

any/any nechrophilia

[(Anonymous)]

word: beloved

Re: any/any nechrophilia

[(Anonymous)]

I...I actually really like this.

F!DB/Farkas

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt: Farkas knotting inside DB while partially werewolved.

Re: F!DB/Farkas

[(Anonymous)]

Holy mother of Hircine. I didn't know I needed this until now.

Dirty Skyrim Limericks

[(Anonymous)]

It's poetry time. Submit yer dirty Skyrim limericks, everyone!

Selfish prompt because I'm already having a blast writing them today and I felt the need to post them somewhere:

(on cicero)
There once was a Cheydinhal man
Who Kept his Ma's corpse in a can
A real girl should screw 'im
And folie à deux 'im
Just think what he'd do with his hands!

Two out for a marketplace stroll
One Aerin, the other named Mjoll
The man, DTF
His roman à clef
Would be titled, "Impossible Goal"

There once was a priest named Erandur
Not given to vices or slander
With so moral a stance
Does he even wear pants?
I'd lift up his robes for a gander!

Re: Dirty Skyrim Limericks

[(Anonymous)]

A couple more from me:

There once was a Dunmer named Sero
Who was quite a fine caballero
Though rarely unmasked
Admirers still asked
If he had someone "looting his barrow"

A wizard resided in Mithryn
With no time for fussin' or ditherin'
What knowledge obscene
Might Neloth have seen
With ethics more slithery than Slitheryn



I CAN'T STOP WRITING LIMERICKS, HELP

M!KhajiitDB/OC

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt: Barbed Cock

M!Werewolf/F!DB knotting kink, multiple orgasms

[(Anonymous)]

I'd love a smutfic with a werewolf character (not transformed) rutting with the F!DB for the first time since getting the beast blood and suddenly knotting inside her, and coming again and again seemingly endlessly.

Bonus points: Doggy style position,

Werewolf panicking that he's hurting F!DB,

F!DB bossing him around and demanding an equal number of orgasms as he had

Re: M!Werewolf/F!DB knotting kink, multiple orgasms

[(Anonymous)]

Seconded like omg.

DBDunmer/ForswornBreton

[(Anonymous)]

Prompt words: Blood. Seduction. Impregnation.

Squicks: Non-con, death of main character, scat, golden showers.

1/?

[(Anonymous)]

He was beautiful.

In the way he slashed and scorched Rianele’s Forsworn brothers and sisters to mutilated pieces of meat. She was deeply intrigued by such precision and excellence within the deadly art of his swordsmanship; something she had never dreamed of accomplishing with her twin savage swords of leather and bone. His fighting manner was more of a dance than of a striking savagery as of her brethren’s.

How he can be so graceful yet brutal in his kills goes beyond her understanding. Perhaps he is a seasoned assassin who takes rightful pride in his works of blood and gore.

The Forsworn weapons clunk to the gravel below, forgotten, as the woman cautiously approaches him.

His appearance was equal to the splendour of his massacre. His eyes were red as the fresh blood spilt from the fallen Forsworn around him. His deep grey-blue flesh brings to mind of lifeless corpses of the lone Breton’s own kills. How the effects of death leave behind such a lovely colour on the decomposing bodies inspired her war paint to be akin to death’s shade. His long ivory hair cascades over his broad shoulders, partly sprayed wet from the crimson dripping off the soaked locks, his long narrow face and lean, strong physique. The shock of his hair reminds Rianele of cleaned bones, polished to have as prized trophies from animals and people. His eleven ears were as sharp as his blade.
He was the embodiment of death.

His head snaps towards her. His eyes narrow as he grips the pommel of his ebony sword - slender and dark and powerful as he - drawing it to use against his last opponent. The lone Forsworn halts. Placing her fisted hands atop her thighs she bows her head in show of her submission to him. She is not his enemy.

The Dark Elf replaces his sword to his side. His stance has not yet relaxed, however, as he is still suspicious of the lone Forsworn’s intentions. Rianele was not sure anymore as the waiting predator was of herself in approaching him. All she knew was she could not waste an incredible opportunity to know such a unique being as he. All she knew was that she wanted to have sex with him, blood and all, amongst the cooling carcasses of her late companions. The Breton wanted to bear the offspring of this beautiful, lethal man.
Rianele falls to her knees, the grass pillowing her legs. She slowly reaches up to the knot that holds the top of her revealing cuirass in place. The strips were loosened, allowing her to pull her armour of deer pelt down to her hips. The submissive battle-mage continues with removing each article of her garb until she has left herself overly vulnerable and at the utter mercy of her impassive spectator.

Her loins burn intensely with such delicious heat the Forsworn had not experienced before.

Her hair piece is the last to be removed, freeing her short tresses that fall below her elfish jawline. The Breton looks onto the magnificent Mer before her, who is now just a few steps away from where she kneels. Her doe eyes stare longingly into his wondrous orbs of crimson. Her womanhood throbs hotly as her juices trickle down her inner-thighs from solely being studied by him. No man before had left Rianele in such a shameless and utterly insane state of arousal.