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rainhidesmytears · 6 months ago

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Miraak × Companion! Reader

Fuck the Dragon Priest. Literally.

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{I couldn't resist having a legitimate spicy snippet of our favorite Priest. I tried to proofread it, but hey, were here for affection, not perfection! (May be out of character, but we're not here to ride his personality. Just him.) Sorry if it's bad, let me dream my big girl dreams!}

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In the early days of their long standing relationship, Miraak had been very well aware of his lover and how timid she had been in his presence when faced with intimacy. Be it due to his own intimidating nature or her own inexperience, the Priest held a Godly amount of patience. When he brings her in for a kiss, and she is pulling him closer and closer; he eagerly obliges. Allowing her all of his affections- only to be confused when she pulls away just before his hands roam, embarrassed and red in the face as she makes some silly excuse to escape his arms and the situation that he's only making worse.

Naturally, it is a fresh relationship. He's allowing her all of his patience, letting her get a feel for being around him in a more intimate fashion. He loves the extra kisses where she pulls him in for more, the breathless moans against his lips when his tongue presses against her own- he is eager to give her more when she wants it, as much as she so pleases. Only for the kisses to end all too soon with her suddenly flustered and startled by her own behavior. He finds it adorable, at first believing she is shy because he is her first. He lets all this unintentional teasing slide, as he is very clearly aware it is not meant to frustrate him. His woman is simply eager for him yet unsure how to proceed farther, and easily flustered.

He loves getting her breathless and flustered before she hides away in her room from him. But those hours didn't last. Especially not when she'd tried to actually AVOID him due to her own embarrasment in grabbing hold of him. Oh, no Dearheart. That won't do. He corners her before she can run off, already grabbing hold of her jaw to make her look at him- only to see her eyes dilated and her face burning.

"Where are you heading off to at this hour, Beloved?" His eyes bore into hers, swirling with the arcane powers he had so long ago gained control of. If anything, it makes the crimson hue across her features darken. Much to his delight.

"I-I have to wash my armor- There's still sand in it." He knows she's lying, but with how she's looking at him - though still trying her best not to - he's certain of the delicious reasoning behind her gaze. "You needn't be ashamed of your desires, My Love. I will give you anything you wish, you only have to ask." He's teasing her now, able to feel her pulse race under his fingertips. Even dropping his hand to her throat and carefully pressing down just to hear a whimper leave her lips. "You sound so beautiful under my hands. Would you like me to take you, Beloved?"

He watches her swallow, a very prominent habit she seemed to have before she could conjur up an answer. "But you're busy." It's so quiet from her lips that he can hardly resist kissing her. Pulling her closer by the hand secured around her throat as he tastes her to his hearts content- leaving her breathless and gasping for air when he'd finally pulled back. "I will always have time for you, My Love. I could never be too busy for you. Especially when you need me so~" His free hand is against her, feeling over the curve of her breast before catching her hardened nipple between his fingers and pulling- Oh, the moan he gets from her has his cock ready and waiting, eager to fill his lovely little companion as much as she wishes.

"Y-Yes? Um -" Her embarrassment stops her from grabbing at him, red in the face and incredibly flustered over not entirely knowing what to do with herself because he is very much the first man who has ever shown interest that her conscience wit has recognized. She has no idea what she's begging for or what she wants, but she wants him. As much of him and his attentions as he can comfortably provide, and she has no idea just how much he wants to give her.

"I-I wouldn't be any fun- I don't know what to do, I'm sorry." Her consciousness is trying to reason with her, knowing their age difference and her very clear lack of experience. But where she sees a lack of attraction for someone so unknowing, he finds the most endearing woman in front of him. She brings him gifts of powerful tomes and artifacts from ancient ruins, reads with him, and defends his home of her own free will because they're friends. Not because he's a God, not because she worships him, because they are friends.

Now, their relationship has slowly begun to change. It's more intimate. Soft kisses and embraces that swell his heart when he catches her grinning at him from across the room, even more so when she throws grapes at him just to grab his attention from something frustrating to chase her instead- he loves this woman, and he wants even more so to give his love to her in this way as well. "There is nothing to be ashamed of, My Love. I can show you everything. Whenever you're ready for my attention, I will gladly give it to you. Would you like that?" His words are soft, and his lips are warm against hers when he kisses her again, unable to resist with the way she looks at him.

"Please? I want you. I- Oh- that was rude." His laughter has her face only turning darker, pulling her closer by her throat only to drop his hands and then lift her up by her thighs, laughing brighter as his woman squeals from his actions- oh he loves this. The joy she brings to his very soul is indescribable. The chance at meeting someone who desires him and his mind and not the power or riches he could most certainly provide. Such a feat is damn near unattainable, and he covets this newfound love of his greedily. As he should.

Their first time lasts near ages. Slow in the beginningas he allows all of his patience for this woman he knows has no experience in such acts. He's easing her into being comfortable in her own skin and getting her used to seeing him naked. It was such a struggle holding back his laughter when she had covered her face when he'd began undressing, not even halfway bare as his outer robes were laying across the nightstand, watching his easily flustered woman in amusement. "Are you not enjoying the view, Beloved?"

He's teasing her, and the groan from her lips sounds far sweeter than he had thought it would. "You are a chisled work of art, and I have never seen you even remotely undressed, save for you mask and gloves." She's grumbling at him, complimenting him and making it very clear she is absolutely enjoying the sight of him as she pouts at his laughter- only for her eyes to widen at the sight of a very naked Priest.

"Oh my Stars-"

"Basking in the glory of a God, Pet?"

He teases her, flustering her and turning her face red before he's letting her touch and get a feel for him. For them. She has free reign across his skin, and he melts into her careful touches when it's clear she's admiring him. Scars, old burns from a spell gone wrong- she's leaving kisses across where she can reach, and he is doing the same. It's so soft and patient in comparison to the past lovers he's had, mainly because those lovers had at least some semblance of sexual knowledge, where she didn't. This is a very new and very delicate experience for her, and he intends to make it a good one.

He yearns for the chance at showing her how very wonderful such intimacy can be with the right partner. His touches and kisses are slow and mapped out, taking every opportunity to trace his tongue over all the places he's been yearning for - making her squirm beneath him. He knows how aroused she is and he knows he's making it worse, but he's making certain that she is ready for him long before she's allowed to have his cock. Miraak is very well aware of just how big of a man he is and how small his woman is by stature. Stars when he gets his hands on her she is so responsive. He loves how she arches into his touch, mewling and quietly begging for more- he can't resist kissing her, letting her pull him in for more and more and more because it's so addicting- especially when she uses her tongue against him.

It's such a lovely little surprise that he'd let her fuck his throat with the appendage if only she knew how. "May I touch you, Dearheart? Please?" His lips are against her. Kissing her. Biting and sucking marks into her skin that has her moaning beneath him, her breasts decorated in softer bites and her shoulders bruised just a bit more- and she teases him as he basks in his own joy of tasting her. "You're already touching me, Miraak~ Isn't it a little late to be asking?" She's joking, running her fingers through his hair only for him to bite down on her inner thigh as punishment for her response - dragging a very excited whine of his name out of her.

"I want to hear from you that I am allowed to touch you more intimately, Beloved. Either I have your words that you want this, or I will not touch you." He's already reaching up to cradle her face, pulling her for soft kisses on her lips as he explains. "You're not in trouble, Dearheart. I want to make sure you're comfortable with me, and what we're doing before I go farther. There is no shame in wanting to stop. The moment you request that I stop, I will. May you believe that I will not harm in any way that is not enjoyable."

He gives her time to absorb his words, understanding that she needs a moment or two in order to think of what she means to say before she's already leaning in to kiss him again, and he lets her. "I like it when you touch me. It sets my skin on fire and I want you to touch me more, i-if that's alright with you. Please?" She's flustered, eager for more of him and finding the words to consent like he wants. Not just because he wants it, but because she wants more of him too.

"I'd love nothing more than to get my mouth on you, Beloved. Let me know if it's too much, and we can stop. It's alright to be nervous." He's encouraging her, taking the majority of his actions slow enough for her to get a feel for what it is they are doing together so she isn't startled, and by the Gods she is soaking wet and he wants so badly to taste her; and when finally given permission that's exactly what he does. His companion doesn't have a chance to be embarrassed about her cunt or how aroused she is before his lips have already made contact with the sensitive flesh. The God has his arms around her thighs, spreading them so he can be between them, hiking her legs over his shoulders before she can comprehend what he's doing before he's already tasting her. His tongue is flat against her, making her gasp and shiver as he licks up the juices that have dripped down her thighs and her cunt, already pressing his face into her as much as he can to taste this beautiful woman in his bed- devouring her to his hearts content.

She has no leverage to keep herself up, having dropped to the bed only to arch up at the feeling of his tongue sinking into her, and the bastard is using magic to mimick her own elongated apendage so he can reach as deeply as he wants. She's already cuming on his tongue before she knows what that feeling is and it's so heavenly that her moans are breathless and broken, overwhelmed in such a good way that she doesn't want him to stop and he doesn't. He lets her pull at his hair, moaning against her at how good it feels, and this poor woman only wants more, and he intends to give it. But he wants her soaking wet before he'll even consider using his fingers. He gets her to cum twice more before pulling his tongue out of her. Though he does it slowly. Making her watch, and he has half a mind to fuck it back into her when he can feel her clenching at the sight. She's so pretty like this. Thighs trembling, her blush coating her throat and all the way down to her breasts, only accentuating all of his marks across her delicate skin. Oh, the sight is to die for.

"Do you want more, Pet?"

"Y-Yes, Sir! Please - Yes!"

He's already grasped her chin in his hand, not liking how that word sounds on her lips when she speaks to him. It is far too formal for his liking. He loves how she disregards his title, and views him as someone she cherishes- though now would be such a lovely time for her to beg him with such regard. "You may refer to me as your Master. It should give you some semblance of respect for your God~" At first it turns her pink because he's referring to himself as hers, and then it has her grinning at him in a way that has hold of his heart.

"You just want to hear me beg, don't you?" She's teasing him. That much he knows- but for some reason it just sounds so delicious on her lips. Especially when she pulls him closer to kiss him. Tasting herself on his tongue and licking his lips and chin clean of her own arousal that had gotten everywhere due to his own excitement in finally having the chance to bury his head between her legs. The growing confidence she portrays makes his cock twitch in excitement.

"Please, Master, I want more. I want to feel you, to touch and kiss you-" She only adds to her own begging when she pulls him in for needy kisses, able to hear him groan against her lips at how eager she is for him and his touch- oh she makes him want more than he thought was already possible. "I'll be good, I promise~" Her playful words cause him to pinch her cheek softly, making her whine and pout at him through her lashes.

"You're lying to me."

"But you love it when I lie to you~" She kisses him again, and he gives in, loving this playful woman and how eager she is for him and his touches. He wants her drooling. Unable to think enough to tease him- but it sounds so good that he can't bring himself to even imagine a gag. Though his hand is already against her as she kisses him, playing with her clit and pinching at that little bundle of nerves to get her attention- only to trace his fingers over the opening of where he'd just had such a lovely meal. Her cunt has a vice grip on a single digit of his and he can't help but love how it feels, sinking his finger into her and pulling it back out just to repeat as much as he likes, getting a rise out of her from the feeling.

"Oh- Stars~" Those breathless moans from this new sensation have him in a choke hold, loving the view of her squirming, trying to get a little bit more friction from him, only to be held down by her hips.

"Be still, Pet. We need to losen this beautiful cunt of yours if you're going to have any chance of taking my cock tonight." The way she clenches down on that finger at his words makes him grin, teasing her as he thumbs the bundle of nerves just a bit more before attempting to add a second finger. She only tightens around him as he's pressed two fingers inside of her, able to feel her tense and shudder beneath him. As powerful as he may be, he is equally understanding and patient with her. Pressing gentle kisses to her face and her temple, keeping his hand still to allow her time to adjust to this very new feeling. His hands are rough and calloused from years of mastering the arcane arts, and the moment he's moved them inside of her he feels a very distinct sort of popping, and she's already jolted beneath him. At first, he worries. Naturally, as this is definitely her first time, and he isn't sure if the motion of breaking past her hymen has startled her.

She has tears in the corners of her eyes from the initial sting of pain, having jolted due to surprise from the feeling of being stretched open, but the moment he slowly starts curling his fingers upwards, she had already cum again on his fingers, holding his arm in place so he wouldn't pull away too soon- as he was worried he'd hurt her and wanted to check in.

"Oh- no, please! Don't stop!" Her begging pauses his attempt at removing his hand, testing the waters by moving his fingers again, only for her to moan and drop her head back onto the pillows.

"How do you feel, Pet? Answer me, or I remove my fingers." Her whine at his words have him stretching her again, admiring the eager roll of her hips for more before being held down again.

"It feels good!" She chokes back a moan when his fingers move again, a little show of blood trickling down his hand and onto the sheets demanding he make sure she isn't lying to please him.

"Describe it to me. Tell me what it feels like." If she likes pain, he's more than happy to keep going, but if not, he'll stop completely.

"It burns, and the sting is sharp, but Stars, please - Give me more~ Please, Master~" He'd concluded that she was truly enjoying herself, and he was certainly enjoying it too, moving his fingers deeper and curling them upwards had her seeing stars before she'd cum again, mewling against his lips when he'd give in and kiss her again, letting her wrap her arms around him to pull him down for more as he massaged her tight walls.

When he'd gotten three fingers stuffed into her, it was increasingly harder for her to stay still, and it set his pride on fire. He loved holding her down and flexing those digits in her tight cunt, basking in her moans and whines and attempts to move her hips for more.

"You take me so well, Pet. Absolutely breathtaking." He praises her, trailing bites across her breasts and down her stomach only to trail back up to her lips before finally deeming her ready enough to possibly take his cock hours long after they'd started together. +

Naturally, he uses a generous amount of lube on his cock and the shock on her face at how big he actually was had him grinning, especially when he gets to watch her clench around nothing at just the sight of him. "Is that even going to fit inside of me? How the fuck did you hide that under your robes?" He's kissing her again, amused by her words as it only further stroked his ego.

"I'll help you, Beloved. You can take me. Remember, we can always stop if its too much, I won't be upset." His gentle reminders are met with soft and appreciative kisses before he has her pick what position she would prefer for their first time together.

"Do you want to be in my lap as I take you? Or would you like to start where we are and see where the night takes us?" Rubbing the tip of his cock against her wasn't helping her think, especially not so far into a all of his teasing and experienced fingering. Though the Priest found an other worldly delight in watching her try and focus enough to decide. Though when he'd press in, only to pull back out had her whining at him, pouting up at his grin- only for her to startle the God when she'd pounced on him, straddling his lap and moving her soaked cunt against his cock. His nails digging into her ass as she teased him, only met by low moans of his name before she'd finally had a chance to answer.

"Please don't tease me. It's not fair." She whined at him, only to receive hotter kisses that bruised her lips and left her breathless as she leaned forward for more when he'd pulled back to speak.

"Shall I take you in my lap, Pet? Sink as deeply into your needy little cunt as I can?" Met with eager agreement and begging had finally earned her a prize when he'd helped to hold her up, sitting back against the headboard so he'd have leverage as she began lowering herself onto his cock. The both of their heads had dropped at such a feeling. His against the wall behind him and hers against his shoulder. Her cunt is squeezing the life out of his poor cock as he stretches this woman so much more than his fingers had the chance to do so. The feeling of being so full with such a delightful sting has her gasping. The twinge of pain bordering so far into pleasure that it became intoxicating, urging her to drop herself a little too fast for his liking.

The words of scolding die in his throat as her orgasm rips through her when he's nestled into her to the hilt that neither of them can move in that moment. Her thighs tremble as an orgasm overwhelms her senses at being so very full of him in such a quick movement and he is doing his damnedest not to pour his seed into her so soon. But, oh, how he wants to. The tears in her eyes from the stinge of the stretch have him only partially worried, as her thighs are still shaking and her cunt is spazzaming around him. He would understand if she were overwhelmed in that moment. All of these new feelings coming one after the other paired with how very deeply he is sated within her and how very full she feels with him there. He kisses away her tears, praising her and telling her how beautiful she is like this, how well she's taking him and it's not helping his control when each praise goes straight to her cunt and it's squeezing him again after she had only just been able to catch her breath- oh he learns so very soon how much she truly likes it when he praises her, and he loves it.

The praise is endless now, paired with him deeming her ready enough to move on his cock- and it is pure ecstasy when she finally has his permission to move. Riding his cock with reckless abandon has him twitching inside of her, unable to keep his hands to himself as he only pulls her closer and closer, letting her fuck herself on his cock to see how she likes it before he even thinks of taking over and the view is absolutely magnificent. Her horns on display for him to grab and her wings he can caress all he likes? Oh she cums so many times on his cock that she's got his poor heart in a vice grip at this rate.

No sign of exhausting or pause has him eager to take control, only truly railing into her when she finally wins him over with her begging and pleading, wanting more of him and he eagerly provides all that she asks. The night is long, and the large bed leaves them endless opportunities as he fucks himself into his beloved companion. Stuffing her completely full and dragging all but the tip of his cock from her twitching hole, only to slowly push back in until he meets the little nudge of her cervix, drawing mewls and whines from the beautifully ravished woman beneath him.

"Tell me where you want me to spend, Beloved. Shall I fill you to the brim with my seed, or shall I paint your glistening cunt white? You must tell me, for my control is slipping." His words are slow against her ear, a groan pulled from his throat as he restrains himself enough to ask, basking in her soaking warmth as she quickly locks her ankles behind him. The both of them crying out when she pulls him forward and the action causes a rather rough nudging against the deepest parts of her.

"Fuck! In-Inside- Inside me- Please~" Her hands are in his hair. Tangled in the strands as his thrusts become rougher, fucking his aching cock into her greedily as her legs prevent him from pulling far enough out to tease her much more. Her begging is rewarded with kisses, hot and bruising as his movements become ragged and sloppy. Dragging their bodies as close as physically possible as he buries the head of his cock completely against her cervix when he cums. The force of his thrust and the orgasm he eagerly pours into her wanting cunt has her screaming his name when she arches into him, his face in her breasts as her warmth swallows him in- milking him for his worth.

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#miraak x reader #miraak #smut #rated r #skyrim fanfiction #skyrim #dragon priest

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gloomwitchwrites · 10 months ago

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Lavender: Part One

Brynjolf x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): second chances, past relationship, angst, kidnapping, denial of feelings, referenced harassment (non-graphic), suggestive themes

Word Count: 6.2k

Working as a lady's maid to Jarl Laila Law-Giver is supposed to provide you peace and a steady income, but your old life is quickly catching up to you. An old flame comes knocking, bringing you flowers and reminding you of the affection you've missed. Do you keep running? Or do you finally face the future you've always wanted but fear you'll lose again?

Part Two

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

The dawn has not yet risen. It is near, but there is still time yet before the sun’s warm glow breaks the horizon. Sunrises in Skyrim are your favorite. It is one of the reasons why you greet the day so early.

From your apron, you withdraw two tiny bundles wrapped in simple beige cloth. It is not much, but it is good to give something to the gods whenever you visit a shrine. Even a simple prayer is a gift, but today you have more than just your voice.

Before you is a Shrine of Talos, located against Riften’s eastern wall. The shrine is slightly secluded and situated in a curved corner near Mistveil Keep and Black-Briar Manor. To your left is a small graveyard that backs up to the Hall of the Dead and the Temple of Mara. Other than an occasional guardsman that walks past, there is no one else around.

It is quiet. Peaceful. Just as it always is at this hour.

Behind the shrine is a statue of Talos himself. He towers over you, helmeted head slightly bent as if he too is in prayer. Trees with golden leaves create a half-circle around the back and sides of the shrine. At your feet, near the stone base, are little flowers springing forth from the ground.

Warmer weather is coming, and they are reaching out to seek it.

Unwrapping one bundle, you gently retrieve three gold coins. From there, you deposit the gold coins into the small silver bowl before the shrine. They clink softly in the subdued dark. The candles surrounding the shrine burn low, their stunted, melted bodies showing their use.

From the other bundle, you carefully remove a small handful of flowers, placing those in the bowl next to the gold coins. Your offerings do not amount to much, but it is all you can spare.

While working at Mistveil Keep for Jarl Laila Law-Giver has given you job security, the pay isn’t nearly as good as you originally believed it to be. Most of what you earn is used to feed, clothe, and house yourself. While Mistveil Keep provides all this, a portion of your earnings is still taken as a small fee to cover those costs. When you first accepted the job, the fee didn’t bother you because that practice is standard across all Jarl residences.

But once you received your first earnings, you realized quickly how little ended up in your hands. You always save just a few gold coins for yourself. The rest is sent away to your ailing mother and cranky aunt who are far from Riften.

Although you have little, you always make the effort to leave offerings at Talos’ shrine. The practice is not for you, but for your father and brothers. They are no longer here, but they all perished as any Nord should, with weapon in hand. That is why you come to the shrine to pray.

You pray that they are happily feasting in Sovngarde. You pray that they at least have each other.

Standing before the shrine, you bring your clasped hands against your chest, head bent just like Talos. Your lips move silently.

When the final word is whispered, you breathe deep, and drop your hands at your sides. Glancing up, you stare at Talos’ face, admiring the craftsmanship of the sculptor’s work. It is then that you notice a change in the air.

A disturbance.

A subtle shift.

It is not the direction of the wind. It is an old sense. Ancient. Prey noticing predator.

You’re being watched.

“You’re not as sneaky as you think you are,” you say, glancing over your shoulder toward the small graveyard.

Brynjolf leans against one of the gravestones.

Even with his hood up and cowl in place, you know the shape of him. You know his body language, and the casualness that comes with it. He’s so relaxed in his leather armor. You remember when he first put that armor on. He wasn’t nearly as muscular then but that was many years ago, and now it fits him like a snug glove. Amongst the public eye, Brynjolf forgoes the armor for more luxurious fare, pretending to be something he isn’t.

But he never hides who he truly is with you.

Never.

Slowly, Brynjolf pushes off from the gravestone, strolling over with a swagger that brings a bit of heat to your cheeks.

“That’s because you know my habits, lass,” he replies, a tease in his tone that always flips your stomach.

You turn toward him fully, pushing your wanton anxiousness down until your heart is Skyforged Steel. But Brynjolf keeps walking, clearly intending to leave no space between the two of you. You do not budge from your spot, and he comes to a stop just inches away. Like this, he towers over you, invading your space.

“Why have you interrupted my morning prayer?” you ask, using every ounce of willpower not to touch him.

Brynjolf chuckles softly and the sound of it is a hammer against tempered metal. This man is going to break you down. “Is that what you were doing?”

You playfully shove at him, the instinct to touch him too much for your weak control. Brynjolf snags your wrist right out of the air. Using his grip on your arm, Brynjolf tugs you against him, pinning your wrist to him. Your free hand reflexively rises, pressing against one of the leather straps across his chest.

All you can see are his eyes. They shine like emeralds even in the dark.

“You come here almost every morning,” he murmurs.

“I do,” you snap, regaining some composure. “And you also bother me almost every morning.”

“Is that right, lass?” Brynjolf’s thumb rubs over your pulse point. The pressure sends a little shiver through your body. “Do I bother you?” He adds a bit more pressure and you inhale sharply. Brynjolf leans down like he’s about to kiss you, but he doesn’t lower the cowl. “I think you’re lying.”

You are lying. Brynjolf doesn’t bother you. Never has. The two of you are forever linked by an invisible teether.

You avoid the accusation. “Why are you here?”

Just above the lip of the cowl, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkling. He’s finding this exchange incredibly amusing.

“To give you these.” He releases your hand and takes a step back. With your wrist free, you immediately tuck your hands to your sides, his touch still lingering on your skin.

Reaching behind him, Brynjolf tugs on something and then brings it out in front of him. There are stalks of lavender and bundles of different colored flowers that grow in the mountains grasped in his fist. The bouquet is slightly squished and several of the flowers are missing petals.

“You only ever give me flowers when you want something,” you blurt, immediately regretting not thanking him instead.

Brynjolf doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t seem to mind at all that you haven’t shown gratitude.

“You know what I want,” he says softly. He transfers the flowers to one hand, and then reaches up, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. It is a gentle gesture, one that pushes you toward sweet memories that seems so distant now.

You shake your head. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

He knows why. The two of you have been playing this game for years.

“My family,” you insist. That is always the excuse, and it’s a poor one, because there is so much more beneath the surface.

Brynjolf sighs but it’s not with annoyance. The two of you do this dance every time. It plays out in the same routine.

“I have contacts in Solitude,” says Brynjolf. “I can have them check on your mother.”

“My mother is fine,” you insist.

Brynjolf shifts slightly on his feet. “Do you even know if she’s alive? When did you last visit?”

You hold your head high. “I receive letters.”

“From your mother? Or your aunt?”

All your stubbornness evaporates. Your mouth turns down in a frown and your face falls. Brynjolf steps into your space again, his voice becoming a caress. “Let me help, lass.”

“I’m fine,” you reply. “Been doing well on my own.”

These last few years have entirely been on your shoulders. You’ve carried the family burden, and a Voice that you’ve kept silent since the deaths of your father and brothers.

“Have you?” Brynjolf’s voice is still gentle. He is not a soft man, but with you, he’s different. Always has been.

“Yes,” you answer, still not looking at him.

“How’s the palace? The Jarl?”

“The Jarl is fine.” You glance up at him and Brynjolf arches an eyebrow. “A good employer,” you insist.

“How much are you earning?”

“Enough.”

Brynjolf grunts, his upper body retreating slightly. He doesn’t believe you, and you don’t blame him. It really isn’t enough, but you’re not going to admit that to him. Brynjolf used to be part of your life, and no matter how much he tries to fit himself back in, you know you’ll only drag him down if you do.

He holds out the flowers to you. “Take them.”

“Give them to Talos.” You nod in the direction of the shrine.

Brynjolf laughs. “They’re for you, lass.” He bends forward a bit, whispering. “And what would the Heir to the Seat of Sundered Kings do with flowers?”

“I offered him flowers.” You indicate the small bowl next to the shrine.

“So you did, lass.” Brynjolf removes a few of the lavender stalks and tosses them into the bowl. “Talos can have those, but the rest are for you.”

Brynjolf holds the bouquet out in front of him. Reaching for them, Brynjolf’s fingers brush against your own. The contact is liquid fire, flooding through your limbs.

“Thank you. They are lovely.”

Yes, they are slightly smashed and wilted, but it is the thought that counts. Brynjolf went out of his way to pick them and bring them to you even if his motivations for doing so are completely selfish ones.

You just—you can’t let him back in, even though you long for it.

Brynjolf’s fingertips lightly graze the underside of your chin. “Turn around, lass. I need to disappear.”

You giggle, giving him your back, clutching the flowers to your chest. You lean in and inhale, eyelids closing slightly in pleasure.

The wind kicks up, and the grass rustles. You exhale and glance over your shoulder.

Brynjolf is gone.

Jarls are some of the messiest people you’ve ever met.

Perhaps it’s because they have a fleet of people constantly waiting on them. They have no reason to care about what they do because an attendant will swoop in and fix it all. Someone else will always clean up the mess.

Right now, you’re staring at chaos.

There are empty bottles of wine and Black-Briar Reserve scattered everywhere. Amongst the bottles are plates, goblets, and platters. The Jarl’s private balcony is trashed, and you’ve been left to clean it all up on your own.

It’s…fine. The quiet will be nice, and the spring air is cool compared to the heat within Mistveil Keep. You’ve been helping in the kitchens all day, and this is the first time you haven’t felt like you’ve been stuffed inside an oven.

Sighing loudly, you start piling up plates and platters. Anything that still held food is long gone, likely sent back to the kitchen to be quietly distributed amongst staff to reduce waste. Sig, one of the kitchen maids, is always taking scraps to the beggars.

Once the plates and platters are removed, you begin to clear the empty bottles and goblets, washing your hands before returning to sweep. With broom in hand, you survey the private patio.

You turn. Glance up. Stifle a scream.

Between the balcony railing and wood awning crouches a man. One hand grasps the edge of the wood awning while the other holds a bouquet of flowers.

“Brynjolf,” you hiss, quickly resting the broom against the table with the intent to approach him. “What are you doing?”

Brynjolf’s hood is up but his cowl is down, showing off the rest of his handsome face.

“Bringing you a gift,” he says simply, as if that is a perfectly logical thing to do at this exact moment.

The worst part about his sudden appearance is his smile. You adore that smile. It is a teasingly soft thing with just the slightest hint of mischievousness.

“Right now?”

He shrugs, slipping to the floor, unfurling to his full height. “Couldn’t wait.”

“By the Nine, Brynjolf,” you exclaim, raising one arm in exasperation. “Sometimes you are just an insufferable—”

Your next words are snatched from your lungs. It only takes Brynjolf two large strides to intrude into your space. You have nowhere to go, and he is right there, both hands grasping your waist.

“No comment about me wanting something, lass?” he asks with a gentle croon.

That sweet sound melts your bones. “The answer is still no,” but even you don’t believe what you say.

Brynjolf murmurs your name, his head dipping.

“We can’t. We live different lives.” At this point you’re simply making excuses.

“You were almost mine once,” he says, voice a whisper.

“We were children.”

“We were young,” he corrects, lightly squeezing your waist. “But we knew what we wanted.”

You did. He did. And then you didn’t. Everything changed and the only thing you had left in the world was your mother who couldn’t even help herself. And there was no one to help you. Not even Brynjolf.

When you don’t answer, Brynjolf rests his forehead against your own. “What can you give me?”

He asks so sweetly, and the old memories are hard to ignore. They bubble up to the surface only to sink into bone and blood, flooding you with the peacefulness you once knew with him.

You’re going to regret these next words.

“You can have a kiss.”

Brynjolf’s hold on your waist tightens. He draws you in, bodies pressed close. One hand slides slowly up your side, stopping at your throat. Brynjolf’s hand is large enough to cradle the bottom half of your cheek.

Everything in you stutters for a moment, and then Brynjolf is right there, hovering as if unsure of this offering. Maybe it is the emotion on your face or his own need moving him to action, because the distance closes and you suddenly realize just how much you missed this.

Brynjolf’s kiss is all tenderness. He doesn’t smash his mouth against yours or use too much tongue. You are lost in this, opening for him, and he takes it.

His hands fall away only to slide to the backs of your thighs. He lifts, and your arms immediately drape around the back of his neck. He brings you to rest on top of the table.

You promised him one kiss, but giving him more won’t hurt. You can give those to him.

Brynjolf’s hands slide to the tops of your thighs and then downward. With an ardent quickness, Brynjolf pushes your skirts and apron up, exposing your bare thighs to the cool air. You don’t even blink because it’s him.

His kisses deepen. Lengthen. His hands are on your bare thighs, caressing. They move up, and then one hand dips between.

His touch upon your sensitive skin makes you gasp, breaking the kiss.

“Oh, lass,” he groans. “You do miss me.”

He presses in and you moan, his mouth coming down to stifle the sound. With one hand on your upper thigh, Brynjolf drags you to the very edge of the table, slotting himself between your legs.

There is a loud clatter followed by a laugh. You both freeze, slowly easing apart but Brynjolf keeps his hand between your thighs.

You wait a beat before you speak. “You need to go.”

Slowly, achingly so, Brynjolf withdraws from your body. Almost absently, he brings that glossy finger up to his mouth. His gaze remains on the door to the Jarl’s chambers as he sucks it clean.

Only then does he turn to face you.

His face is grim like he doesn’t want to leave you out here alone.

“Go,” you insist, squeezing his upper arm. “Before you’re caught.”

That gorgeous grin of his returns in full force. He steals one more kiss before retreating to the railing. He pulls up the cowl, covering his mouth, and swings one leg over the side. He glances back once before sliding off and disappearing into the dark.

Brynjolf does not come to see you the next day or the next.

You’re not sure if somethings happened, but extended absences are not uncommon for him. You know who he is and what he does, but even you aren’t sure of the specifics. That part of his life is closed off. Only those who walk with him in the Thieves Guild completely understand. There are always the rumors you hear from others, but it doesn’t change your perception of him.

But that is not what worries you. Never has. Brynjolf can take care of himself.

It is the Jarl’s son, Harrald, that concerns you. That cretin of a man has a lingering eye, staring for far too long. The man is wholly arrogant, but he’s smart. Harrald never says anything to you in front of his mother or anyone that might report him for his poor behavior.

Instead, he watches, keeping a close eye on your every step.

His stare is like the slime scraped off the sides of ships. Nasty business, and you don’t want any part in it.

But just as Harrald has a wandering eye, he has wandering hands.

It is why you’re pacing, why you are out in the middle of the night on a walk to clear your head. You stick to the outer wall on the eastern side near Talos’ shrine, walking in one direction and then the other. Pacing and thinking and worrying.

How do you approach this issue? And who can you tell? Who would believe you?

“Need some company?”

You yelp, and whirl around, only for Brynjolf to melt from the shadows.

He chuckles softly. “Didn’t mean to scare ya, lass.” He starts walking in your direction. “But—” Brynjolf freezes. Pauses.

His gaze roams over you before his legs find the will to move again. “What’s wrong?”

Do you look that bad?

You start to reach up toward your hair, but Brynjolf is grasping your hands, bringing them to chest-level, inspecting them. “You’re shaking.”

Is that what this feeling is?

“I’m fine,” you say, but it sounds of drowning.

“You’re not.” Brynjolf’s tone is firm. You’re upset and he wants to fix it.

“It’s nothing,” you whisper.

“Did someone hurt you?” You shake your head. “Say something?”

“No, Bryn.” The little pet name rolls off your tongue uninvited.

Either he doesn’t notice or he doesn’t say anything because Brynjolf continues.

“But you are not fine.” He cups your cheek. “Your face is puffy. And your eyes are red.” He gently squeezes the hand he’s holding. “Your hands are cold. Talk to me.”

You sniffle, only realizing then how stuffy you sound. “I’m probably imagining things. Making a big deal out of nothing.”

“I don’t believe that.” Brynjolf’s words are a comfort. They slide over and around you. If anyone in Riften will believe you, it’s him.

“It’s the Jarl’s son. He—” You pause when you notice the deep frown on Brynjolf’s face.

“Go on,” he prompts.

“He—he touched me. At dinner. Maybe?”

“Touched you?”

You start to draw back, regretting saying anything at all. “It was probably an accident.”

“Which son?” he growls. The anger in his voice surprises you.

“Harrald.”

Brynjolf’s frown deepens. “No. It wasn’t an accident. Not with him.”

“Bryn. What should I do?” This job is the only thing keeping you afloat. You need this.

The muscles in his jaw tenses. “Steer clear of him if you can. Make sure you’re never alone with him.” He places his hands on your shoulders. “Is there someone there you can trust? Someone who will listen?”

“I think so.”

Anuriel would listen. She might be the Jarl’s steward, but she has a good heart and looks after everyone.

Brynjolf’s hands cradle the sides of your face. “If he touches you again, say something. Understood?”

You nod.

“Good girl.” He kisses the top of your head. “I’ll walk you back.”

“In that?” you laugh, indicating his Thieves Guild armor with a nod of your head.

“From the shadows, lass,” he teases.

“Finally. Didn’t think I’d ever have a moment alone with you.”

The familiar, arrogantly slimy voice sticks to the insides of your ears. You are in the market. You are not alone. And yet Harrald is right there, standing far too close, grinning widely.

You swallow, the salvia in your throat momentarily sticking. “How can I help you?”

Harrald’s grin widens, and he leans in. You immediately lean back. He makes no indication that your retreat bothers him.

“You’ve been making eyes at me.”

I haven’t you rodent.

“I’m sorry. You’re mistaken.”

He laughs. “I’m not.”

You quickly glance around but no one is paying the two of you any mind. “Apologies, sir. But I—”

Harrald shrugs and then waves his hand dismissively. “Hard to get is fine. I’m up for a chase.”

“That’s not—”

“I’ll play.”

“My lord, that is not—”

His voice lowers and some of his smile recedes. “Pretty thing like you needs a bit of taming.”

A shadow falls over Harrald’s face. You sense a presence to your left just behind your shoulder. The fading smile on Harrald’s face evaporates. In its place is a deep frown.

“You’re interrupting,” spits Harrald, head turning in the direction of the intruder.

“She said she isn’t interested.”

Brynjolf. Thank the Nine.

Harrald stands stall, puffing out his chest. It does little for him. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes,” says Brynjolf flatly. He steps around you, inserting himself between Harrald’s red face and your body.

“I could have you locked up for this!”

“We both have connections,” replies Brynjolf casually. He leans and lowers his voice. “Mine just go a bit deeper.”

Harrald’s reddened face loses all color. He begins to blubber, mouth opening and closing like a fish on a hook. Brynjolf takes a deliberate step forward, completely cutting off Harrald’s connection to you.

The paleness is replaced by redness again.

“You—” begins Harrald, his lip curling. He glances around, and this time there is an audience.

Harrald inhales sharply and turns on his heel, storming back toward Mistveil Keep, shoving a guardsman out of the way as he ascends the steps. Brynjolf doesn’t address you until Harrald has disappeared.

But Brynjolf does not speak. He simply inclines his head in your direction before moving back to his stall. The chatter of the market resumes, and you go about your business.

Harrald leaves you alone the rest of the day, but you remain on edge. The tension sticks around until bed, keeping you awake and alert as if Harrald will appear at any moment.

Sleep eventually comes but you hardly notice when you drift off. But your body knows routine, and you awaken at the time you usually do for morning prayer.

The ground is covered in a low mist and the grass is dew-laced. Head hurting from lack of sleep, you stumble through your routine. And when the air stirs, your alertness sharpens, the thread of excitement rushing through your limbs.

You turn, expecting to find Brynjolf.

You do not find him.

Instead, you find two men. Both are tall. One is thin and lanky with greasy yellow hair. The other is burly and balding with his face all scarred.

The burly man grins, showing missing teeth.

You don’t even see or feel the blow.

It’s just their faces. And then darkness.

“What are we supposed to do with her?”

“He said rough her up a bit. Just avoid the face. He likes that.”

You stare at the grimy stone wall. With the lack of light, you can’t tell if the stone is scorched or simply weathered. Distantly you hear dripping, and faint rattling as if something moves behind the stone. If something does, you don’t want to know.

When you breathe in, a dampness clings to the air, sticking to the insides of your lungs. It’s not exactly foul-smelling wherever you are, but it certainly isn’t pleasant. You are underground, that much you know, and there is only one place in Riften that is entirely beneath the earth.

“She awake?” comes a nasally voice. It’s the one that mentioned he wants you “roughed up.”

“I don’t know.” This is the first voice. It is low and droll.

You’re in the Ratway. You’re certain of it. But where, exactly? The place is large. It is easy to lose yourself in the maze of tunnels.

“Well find out.”

You stay perfectly still as one of the men approaches.

“She ain’t moving.”

Beside you, part of the wall crumbles outward. Slowly, you reach out, fingers finding a solid chunk. Within you, there is a Voice, but you haven’t used it in years, and the power you once wielded is a distant memory.

That is tucked away. You’re not even sure if you remember how to use it or if you might do more harm than good.

“Give her a kick.”

Grip tightening on the broken stone, you turn over and hurl it. The chunky rock nearly collides with the burly, balding man. They both start, faces awash with surprise before anger crosses their faces.

The greasy, yellow haired man’s mouth forms a snarl. He approaches quickly, fists raised. “You—”

But the blow never comes.

His head is there and then it’s not.

It is at your feet. The eyes looking upward, and the mouth shaped into an exaggerated “o.”

The one with his head still on stands there, glancing down at his friend’s unattached head. There is a beat of silence. A pause as his gaze turns to you.

Before either of you can speak or move, a thin blade bursts through the man’s neck.

His eyes go wide, hands reaching up in disbelief. His mouth opens, gasping for air he cannot inhale. The blade slides out. Disappears.

The bloody gurgling increases in volume as he falls face-first into the ground. It tapers off as you push yourself against the gently curving wall. You glance up from the black pool quickly forming beneath him.

In the shadows, something moves in the dark.

You reach for another stone, ready to throw the thing. The moving shadow emerges, and you promptly drop it.

“Brynjolf,” you breathe.

“Lass.” He reaches for you, and you throw yourself into his arms.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, hands roaming as he inspects you.

You take stalk of yourself. Nothing hurts expect a faint throb at the side of your head. “I think I’m all right.”

Brynjolf wraps his arms around you, and you melt into him, clinging so tight the buckles across his chest dig against your skin.

“Take me away from here, Bryn.”

“You can’t expect me to stay here.”

When you told Brynjolf to take you away, you meant above ground, not to Thieves Guild headquarters.

A Guild member strolls by and Brynjolf grabs your arm, pulling you further into the dark. “Mercer isn’t all that inclined in letting you go.”

The two of you stand nearly toe-to-toe in one of the alcoves surrounding the cistern. It’s not well-lit, and your voices are hushed, but this is a conversation between the two of you. No one else needs to take part.

“Why?” you hiss, already knowing.

“He thinks you’ll compromise us,” replies Brynjolf calmly, but you hear the subtle tension. Even he doesn’t entirely believe what he’s saying.

“Everyone already knows the Thieves Guild operates out of the Ratway,” you insist. “They already know you’re down here. How will I change anything?”

Brynjolf glances over your shoulder and you follow his gaze. Mercer Frey stands in the middle of the cistern with two others. One is a woman with white hair and a permanent scowl. The other is a man who keeps glancing at the scowling woman with a soft smirk.

Brynjolf sighs, his head dipping slightly. “Yes, lass. But where? They don’t know and they don’t dare come looking. Not with Maven in their way.”

You scoff. “And you trust her?”

“As long as money is involved.”

You shake your head and look away to a spot over his shoulder. Discovery of where the Thieves Guild is located isn’t the point. Mercer intends to trap you here. Either you stay down here with all of them, or potentially put your life at risk.

Brynjolf lowers his voice. “Mercer won’t harm you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Because it’s true. Brynjolf would intercede if it came to that. The issue is with not being allowed to go.

“I’m not a prisoner,” you finish, returning your gaze to Brynjolf’s face.

“You aren’t.”

“But I can’t go.”

Brynjolf laughs softly and it’s a lovely sound. “You want to run from me that badly?” he teases.

“Be serious,” you hiss.

“I am,” his tone shifting. Brynjolf moves closer, shielding you from the cistern. “You keep running and it has gotten you nowhere.”

“Don’t,” you begin but Brynjolf isn’t having it.

He leans in, placing both hands against the stone wall behind you. You’re trapped. Pinned. Wherever you look, wherever you turn, it will only be him.

“You’re running from yourself. From your family. From me.”

“Brynjolf,” you warn, but he ignores it.

“You say you don’t want me but we both know that’s a lie.”

You huff and attempt to dip under his arm. He moves with you, keeping you in place. Shooting him a warning look does nothing.

“Listen to me, lass,” he murmurs. “You don’t shy away from my touch. You always give me soft smiles. Kind words. Kisses.” It is then that his gaze drops to your mouth. There is clear appreciation in that look, and it instantly stirs a heat in your core.

“We almost married once.” His tone softens, and then Brynjolf’s gaze returns to your eyes. “It did not happen. But I still consider you my only option.”

You fall into memory, of the times before, of when Brynjolf meant everything to you, and your family was whole. A time when you wielded a Voice so powerful it scared you, but you knew it meant you were destined for greater things.

How quickly things change.

How quickly they fall apart.

“Don’t say that,” you murmur, shaking your head.

“Why? Can I not speak freely with you?”

“Of course you can, Bryn.”

“Then that is how I feel.”

You cross your arms over your chest, retreating slightly. Years have passed and the two of you have not faced this. Is it fate that led you to Riften? You knew Brynjolf was here, but that is because of his involvement with the Thieves Guild. Maybe you should attempt to rekindle what the two of you shared—what you still share.

There is still love there. It does not fester or wither.

It is loud and bold beneath the skin. It simmers. Lingers. Waiting for the two of you to finally find each other again. Every time you see Brynjolf, it warms you all over. You feel safe, and you silently hate it when he leaves.

“If you truly do not want me, say so,” he murmurs. “Plainly and firmly. Tell me there is no chance for the two of us to be together.”

Your gaze settles at his throat. It is the only place you can look. If you look into his eyes, if you see those emerald pools, you will drown in him.

“Bryn.”

“Look me in the eyes when you reject me.”

This makes you start, gaze snapping to attention, finding those green gems you’d know anywhere. And you are lost. Completely. You stare at him, the tension increasing until it’s a knife through the heart.

You drop your gaze. Shake your head. “That isn’t fair.”

It’s not a rejection and Brynjolf’s sigh of relief is palpable. It would be unfair to say you don’t love or want him. Because you do. You’re just—

Scared.

Brynjolf leans against the wall with one arm, dropping the other. Using that leverage, he creates an intimate space, faces close enough to come together but not meeting.

“Everything you need will be provided for if that is what you worry about. I promise you,” says Brynjolf. Casually, the backs of his knuckles brush against your upper arm. “Money will be sent to your mother. I’ve already been looking after her care.”

You blink, startled. “What do you mean?”

Brynjolf shrugs. “You think your measly earnings for the Jarl are enough?”

Your mouth opens and then closes, your mind trying to process this information. “How long has this been going on?”

Brynjolf remains quiet.

“Tell me,” you insist, lightly beating your fist against his chest.

“I’ve been sending money for many seasons.”

“Since when?”

“You know,” he says simply.

The whole reason you broke it off with Brynjolf all those years ago was because of your mother’s health and the death of your father and brothers. All that income disappeared, and you were the only person available to keep you and your mother afloat. Maybe if you had married Brynjolf, money wouldn’t have been an issue, but you didn’t want to drag him down with you. The threat of the streets was constant, and all your hopes for the future suddenly vanished.

And he’s been sending money all this time?

“You didn’t have to. Brynjolf—you shouldn’t—”

Brynjolf starts shaking his head. He pushes off from the wall, face stern. He glances back at the cistern and then returns his gaze to you. “Come with me.”

Brynjolf grabs your upper arm and pulls you away from the wall. A small part of you tells you to stick your heels in and resist because it’s all you know. But you allow him to guide you away into what must be some sort of training room.

“You didn’t need to send anything. I have it handled.”

Brynjolf has his back to you, hands on his hips. He sighs audibly and speaks. “I wanted to. Want to.”

“Bryn.”

He turns, one hand up to ask for silence. “We were to be married.” He drops it, that hand forming a fist at his side. “That didn’t just disappear for me.”

You can’t fault him for caring. It was you that severed the connection, who walked away from a good man that loved you beyond care for himself. Even now, he looks after what’s left of your family.

“Do you remember how happy we were?” he asks.

“All the time,” you reply, voice cracking slightly.

Brynjolf moves toward you, and without thought, you extend your hand to him. He takes it, pulling you into his arms, inhaling deeply of your scent.

“I’d choose you every time,” he says, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “I’d bring you a priestess of Mara. Bind ourselves to each other. Give you anything you ask for.”

Brynjolf pulls back enough to change his position. With one hand, he cups your cheek, and draws you in. “You’ll never have to work.” He hesitates, then closes the distance. The kiss he offers is sweet. Gentle. “Never worry.” Another kiss, this one tinged with a spark of fire. “I would provide.” This next kiss is deep, all need and passion. You open for him and Brynjolf groans into your mouth.

When the two of you break apart for air, his thumb begins caressing your cheek. “You know I speak truly.”

“What would I do here?”

“Whatever you want,” shrugs Brynjolf. “Could even teach you our ways.”

“I’m not becoming a member.”

Brynjolf’s smile is infectious. You can’t help but match it. “If you marry me, you do by default.” He lowers his voice. “And you know where we live.”

“Is this your way of forcing my hand?”

Brynjolf laughs. “If I was going to force you, lass, I’d have done it already.”

It’s true. Brynjolf has had years to make you his without your input. But he has always given you space. Given you time. And you do love him. You do long for the times the two of you shared together before you pulled away.

Perhaps it is time to accept, to know that his support is there and so deeply wanted on your part.

“You’ll fetch a priestess of Mara?” you ask softly.

“Right now,” he answers immediately. “If that is what you wish.”

You see the hope in his eyes, feel the anticipation in his muscles. All these years, and still you are so enamored with him, and he with you.

“You did ruin my job with the Jarl.”

“Me?” he laughs, pulling you tighter into his arms. The two of you stay like this, just embracing.

After a long moment, he finally speaks. “Is this a yes, lass?”

You take a deep breath and snuggle closer into him. “It’s a yes.”

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