#elder scrolls x reader

[dovahkinniez]

` 𖤓 . . . LUCIEN FLAVIUS.

HEY HEY. This did originally come from a request, which I accidentally deleted ... Like an idiot. BUT HERE IT IS. Anyway, this is a different layout, only slightly. And I'm trying to find spaces to enjoy writing again as I've been burnt out for a while due to work. If there are any mistakes, tell me or simply turn a blind eye. 🖤

Lucien is a respectful man, and he almost (dramatically) passed out from stress when they said there was only one room available.

What made it worse? You were to sleep there for two nights, and it wasn't like you could find elsewhere to sleep, you were both in the middle of the cold and harsh winters of Skyrim.

If he weren't pale from the cold before, he definitely was after hearing about the ever so unfortunate circumstances.

But you were so ... Calm?

Any normal person would find comfort in that, but it actually scared Lucien even more.

Because ... Why are you so okay with it?! Can't you see the life altering situation at hand here?!

But as you took off to your room, he followed behind with his eyes tired and mind worrying for the next two nights ahead.

'I will sleep on the floor.' — you laughed at his words as you flopped onto the gigantic bed, fit for three people. He watched, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly.

Lucien slowly sat on the end of the bed, clearly tired and cold, but alert from the feeling of sudden intrusion as you lay onto your side of the bed, "It's not that bad, Luci. We are friends, not strangers." You shrugged, unbothered. He was still slightly baffled by your lack of shock and issue with this, but you simply saw it as a difference in culture and upbringing. He grew up pampered with big beds to himself, and everything was handed on a silver platter at his beck and call. You doubted he'd ever slept beside anybody before, never mind a friend, and you knew he wasn't exactly experienced in the art of sex and romance.

The first night was ... Awkward.

— the first night.

After some time, he built a pillow wall between the two of you. Which, by the way, made you laugh. His dramatic actions caused only humour in you, so much that it warmed your cold body up from the long and harsh journey throughout the day. So instead of bringing him back down to Earth, you allowed him to fuss over nonsense for the pure entertainment value. You already knew that Lucien had a wicked dramatic streak, but the pillow incident really set it in stone.

— the second night.

The next hours to come consisted of laying in the dark with Lucien, eyes on the black ceiling with only little thought as you heard Lucien's breathing, which indicated he was still wide awake. "Can't sleep?" You asked after moments of silence, he moved his body, clearly uncomfortable. "No ... I am sorry if I have intruded." You giggled, then you heard him sigh softly. "It's not awkward, Lucien. You're making it awkward." He sighed once more before what sounded like was turning his body on the other side. "Very well. Goodnight, Y/N." "Goodnight, Lucien."

The day went smoothly and Lucien's unneeded awkwardness has finally dissolved. By the second night, he was fine. Taking the pillow wall down, he lay in bed, shivering from the cold outside. "I told you not to wash in the lake." You grumbled, feeling the cold radiate from his skin under the sheets where you silently wished he had kept the pillows up. But instead you moved closer, taking his cold body beside yours with tangled limbs, your skin grew prickly with temperature shock as he froze, not from the cold, but from the sudden touch. "Breathe, Lucien. I'm trying to heat you up." He only nodded, reluctantly wrapping his arms around yours, his face pushed into your neck with deep breaths as you rubbed his back and entangled your limbs with his.

After sometime, his body calmed into a peaceful warmth between the two of you. His hands gently stroked the exposed skin of your back as yours played with the tangled golden hair atop his head, forehead touching with silent affection. He had never experienced anything like it before, and he doubted he would ever again; he questioned himself if you had ever felt like this before ... Somehow, the possibility caused a nasty feeling in his chest ... Was it jealousy?

All in all, it created a positive memory.

Lucien also realised that night that he may harbour some unknown feelings for you.

[mamadovie]

can we get some kaidan boyfriend headcanons please???

.𖥔 ݁ ˖⠀ ⠀ ⠀𐙚 KAIDAN.

A N: I'm not sure if I did Kaidan on my old account. But I am willing to redo the BF / GF series on this account, tbh. But, yes. Kaidan is the best BF. ♡

A B O U T: You're delusional and spend your time imagining that Kaidan is your boyfriend! (Same)

W A R N I N G S: None!

Kaidan is a hesitant person, but he loves so hard.

At first he becomes distant, you've created a friendship but he's sort of losing it mentally so he distances until he feels better.

This could last a week, hours, minutes, whatever. So he can come across as very hot and cold at first.

He also becomes more wary on your health and well-being, often telling you off for nearly hurting yourself and has the tendency to jump in and take down an enemy that even looks a bit bigger than you are, its cute at times, annoying most of the time.

He knows that you are capable, he just doesn't want to lose you.

Kaidan is a gifter. especially homemade things. From charms and bracelets to silly things like rocks he found by the beaches that looked cool and if you keep them, his heart will quite literally burst from his chest.

He takes note of everything you like and speak on, to make sure to buy something you like, attempt to cook your favourite meal to even making sure to not speak on topics that are sensitive for you.

Kaidan is a perceptive man generally, for you he is all the more watchful.

His way of asking you out is either two things:

Confessing in a tavern while drunk out of his mindddd, he is sloshed and just spills it out, and rather loudly, too. You wait till morning to finish the conversation... Or at least when his hangover isn't so bad...

Or, in the middle of a heated argument. Most likely about your health and recklessness. You are so giving, always accepting to help others and it makes him angrier than it should, you should care more for yourself! So he slips it out and the argument is long forgotten.

Once dating he is sooo goofy.

Sexual innuendos go crazy, followed with a little giggle that contrasts massively with his deep voice.

He is very touchy, especially in private and just loves the feeling of your skin on his, he likes to know that you are with him and safe.

Kaidan is a secret romantic and will write little poems on scraps of paper and draw you and things you like messily with chalk and he'd love it if you ever did it back.

After a long time travelling, his favourite thing to do it just relax with his head against your chest, your hands running through his hair as you tell him stories before you met, even if he's heard of them before.

His whole life has been filled with him learning things the harsh way and he loves to listen to silly stories from you.

His life has become so much better since you entered it, and he wouldn't change that for the world, not even his past.

[ma1dmer]

The Elder Scrolls - Miraak NSFW

i read a very specific smut fic,,,,,girl,,,,,,,

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): he let's you stay close to him as he returns to his 'research' ,he’ll let you place your head on his lap and play with your hair as you drift off to sleep

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): he loves your mouth, will trace his fingers over your lips before every kiss, or simply shove them into your mouth for you to wet, getting distracted by the warmth and the way your tongue circles each digit as you look up at him 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): definitely has a breeding kink, always growls about the possibility of knocking you up right as he is about to cum, telling you to be good for him and not let anything leak out

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): his imagination runs quite wild, has some fantasies that he sometimes brings up in the form of dirty talk but so far hasn’t actually sat you down to discuss about fulfilling them , some include using some magic on you, maybe some of the stuff he has learned throughout his time under hermaeus mora and some of fucking you as a group of his followers watch

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): he has a lot of experience, he is the first dragonborn , and even without the big title and ego, he has been alive for so long, this man fucked and still fucks

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): you on your knees or bent over some surface, your legs and arms restrained so he has full access to your body, his hands bruising your hips

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): he is definitely more serious, he can be quite intense and he does enjoy the way he can make you nervous, he’ll chuckle about how you are scared but your body still reacts to him

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): he is very hairy but keeps himself surprisingly tidy

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): he can be quite the charmer, he enjoys a bit of a classical courtship sometimes, playfully trying to woo you, wants to play the role of finally winning you over before he has his way with you

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): he’d much rather have someone else to help him but if he can’t , he likes to take his time , does some light edging on himself and thinks of how he'd like your next meeting to go, how he’ll have you scream for him 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): bdsm, praise and degradation etc

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): has no shame, after being in apocrypha for so long where privacy probably wasn’t much of a thing he just got used to being watched, would honestly not care if someone walked in on you

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): submission, he wants to see you kneel for him, wants you to expose yourself for him and plead, leave yourself at his mercy 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): not much he couldn't be convinced into trying at least once with the right wording

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): loves cock warming , loves having you on your knees simply letting you do your thing for hours before he remembers you are there and thrusts up in the heat of your mouth

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.): it really depends ,he is definitely rougher, but whether he goes slowly or not is up to his mood

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): wants to take his time with you , he has nothing but time in his hand, hates being rushed

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): he generally knows what he likes but is more than happy to indulge your interests every now and then

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): he has a lot of stamina and a lot of pent up frustration to burn out

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): wants to watch you use various toys on yourself, things he bought or made for you, telling you exactly how to use them and constantly stopping you right as you get close to finishing because he wants to make you cum himself

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): can be quite mean with his teasing in and out of bed

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): he does not stay silent, he groans deeply and speaks a lot ,no reason to keep quite, he wants you to hear how much he is enjoying himself

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): he is surprisingly sensitive, loves when you rake your nails over his chest or when you drag your teeth over his throat, he always has to restrain you just so he can keep more of a semblance of control, otherwise he gets lost in the pleasure of your touch

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): i wish i could say he is compensating for something with that ego of his, but its big and it curves slightly

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): he has a really high sex drive but has a very good grasp on his needs, always weighs his options, does he want you right now, or does he want to wait for later in the night so he can take his time

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): i don't think he sleeps very well in general, he'd never admit so but having somebody next to him definitely helps a lot

[reelovesfictionalmen]

Masterlist.

ALL READERS ARE 30+ AND WRITTEN WITH AFAB IN MIND

Here is a link to all my fics I have posted here. Most are cross posted to my Ao3.

Call of Duty

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost x 30+year old Reader SFW headcanons for Simon "Ghost" Riley NSFW headcanons for Simon "Ghost" Riley

John Price

NSFW headcanons for John Price SFW headcanons for John Price An Eternity Together

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish Johnny's Little Pain Slut (HEAVY bdsm links to Ao3 post) Am I your Good Boy? SubSoap x Soft Dom Reader

Captain Mactavish

NSFW headcanons for Captain Mactavish SFW headcanons for Captain Mactavish

Sebastian Krueger

SFW headcanons for Sebastian Krueger NSFW headcanons for Sebastian Krueger

Nikto Just some comfort

Naruto Yamato Pregnancy and Baby Headcanons for Yamato x Reader Relationship headcanons for Yamato x Reader Obito Uchiha You can't run from me The Elder Scrolls Bastian Hallix Romantic Headcanons for Bastian Hallix

[dxwnfxll]

CAN YOU DO A SANGUINE ONE PRETTY PLEASE UHHHHHHHHHH IDK WHATEVER U FEEL

You got it pal *flips burger*

••|| Headache ||••

Sanguine x Gn reader

Cw: Alcohol, suggestive stuff

Your head was pounding as you slowly sat up, your hands hardly feeling the cool stone below you. You had to sit there for a moment feeling as if the contents in your stomach would spill over at any moment. Your eyes glanced around still seeing people partying as if it were the end of the world, the smell of sweat, booze and skooma littered the air. Had you been out for a while? You didn't know

You stayed on the floor before feeling a clawed hand grab at your shoulder. "I was wondering when you'd wake up!" The boisterous voice of the mischievous god rang in your ears, your head began to hurt worse as he helped you up "don't tell me you're pooped out [y/n] the nights just begun!" Had it though? You felt like you had been here for hours.. Wherever here was that is.

Maybe the look on your face said all, your eyes slowly shutting as he walked with you. The noises of people getting more acquainted in other rooms and people talking loudly causing your head to pound worse. "Alright alright, i can see when someones had enough"

You felt him take a sharp turn down some hallway in..whatever this place was, he only hummed a small tune. You recognized it from the bards that played in the college that you hailed from. That's right, you began to remember.

You were a bard, your friends had decided to celebrate a good show one evening at the winking skeever. You all shared an ale and then a man walked over in dark robes, a friendly drinking contest for a staff. Your friends declined but you were never one to back away from a challenge, six drinks in and you showed up here on the floor.

He pulled you closer to him as he walked, his hand rubbing against your shoulder. He took a sip from his goblet, had he had that thing in his hand this entire time? Then he shoved it towards you clumsily "want some?" He offered as you shook your head and pushed it away.

He shrugged with a 'suit yourself' as he downed the contents "y'know, you are quite a riot [y/n]. You remind me of an old farmers boy.." He trailed off on some story and you couldn't hear what he had to say. Your mind only coming back as he stopped you, he held some flower? In his hand. It looked similar to a rose but it looked solid "here ya are, as promised. You beat me in my little game and so the staff is yours"

You looked at it, it felt wrong to stare at it. You took it hesitantly within your grasp, the daedra laughed his goblet spilling over a bit wait hadn't he finished that- "what? Expecting for it to shoot fire out as soon as you touch it?" His large clawed hand patted your back a little too rough causing you to lurch forward a bit

He sighed happily as his laughter died down, taking one last sip from his goblet he spoke again "I like you little [race], you should come back sometime. Maybe I can host a more private party"

Before you could say more you found yourself lying in some snow, you groaned shivering as you got up. Looking around you noticed you were just outside of Windhelm 'great..' You thought as you stood up. You could almost hear the prince of debauchery laugh in your head as you wondered how to get back home.

Sorry if this seems rushed or whatever lolol

Requests are still open for TES characters!!

Ty for reading and requesting!

[shiveringgroovy]

I'm taking requests for BSD or Elder Scrolls drabbles :D

I'm very particular with what I'm comfortable writing, so please read these before requesting in my inbox! Bolded ones are my favorites or ones I feel I write well for.

I can do character/reader or character/character. Requests can be something like:

"Character with a [blah blah blah] s/o" "Erm can I cut open Character please?" "Can these Characters be joyous and happy together?" Etc.

WILL WRITE

Masc reader

GN reader

Gore/Whump

Drabbles

MAYBE fem reader. MAYBE.

Genderbends, Trans headcanons, etc.

Headcanon lists

Fluff

Platonic

Suggestive content (but only a little you have to get through my 500 layers of evil ass metaphors before you get to any freaky stuff in my works.)

WILL NOT WRITE

Sexual content/Smut

Hateful content (I would assume that's a given but yk)

Romantic content of underage characters

SHIPS I WILL WRITE FOR (Defeat my EIGHT evil fyodor ships)

BSD:

Fyozai (my first love my everything i love them so much you don't get it)

Fyovan (pleasepleaspleasepleasepleaseplease)

Fyosig

Shibufyo(zai)

Fyolai (sometimes. if i'm in the mood. not always.)

DoA3

Fuku(chi)fyo

Fyoran

Siglai

Souheki

Steincraft

Kunizai

Atsulucy

Kunisano

Sigzai

Moncott

Suegiku

Ranpoe

Fukumori

Fukufuku

If I missed any, don't be afraid to ask!

TES:

Nerevoryn

Nerevehk

Any variation of ALMSIVI

Sheskillmyna (Sheskill, Shelmyna, Hasmyna as well!)

Sheogorath/Sanguine

Namira/Meridia (collect my daedra yuri rarepairs)

Boethiah/Mephala

Janus Hassildor/Vicente Valtieri

(Modded) Lucien Flavius/Inigo

Azura/Vaermina (collect my [gets shot])

Eletuli

Vannimarco

Syl/Thadon

Always ask! I love rarepairs and crackships :D

SHIPS I WILL NOT WRITE FOR

SKK

Koumori

Dazatsu

Dazaku

Fyoatsu

Don't take any of these as personal attacks, I just don't vibe with these ships. Sorry!

TES:

Molag Bal/anyone

That's it I think

CHARACTERS I WILL WRITE /READERS FOR

BSD:

FYODOR!!! FYODOR!!!

Sigma

Ivan

Shibusawa

Ranpo

Nikolai

Poe

Yosano

As always, ask if I haven't blacklisted them

TES:

Any daedra except You-Know-Who or Peryite bc I don't fw Peryite

Astrid

Cicero

Nazir

Almalexia

Sotha Sil

Vivec

Cutter (Shivering Isles DLC)

Divayth Fyr

Lucien LaChance

Martin Septim

Sapphire

Mannimarco

uhhrrmm ask????

CHARACTERS I WILL NOT WRITE /READERS FOR

BSD:

Any underaged characters

If you love me you will not ask me to write dazai or chuuya/reader or I will die on the spot

Akutagawa

Paul Verlaine

Kunikida

Tecchou

Tanizaki

Tachihara

Fukuchi

Fukuzawa

These are characters that I can't write for shit, not because I dislike them !!

TES:

Molag Bal

Peryite

Serana. You know why.

Ulfric Stormcloak

OTHER NOTES

This was super long and annoying. Ugghhmm good for you if you made it all the way!!

[not-today-flah]

How you meet pt. 3

Lydia

Everything is too much right now. You just had to fight a dragon, absorbed its soul somehow, got yelled at from old monks on top of a mountain, and now everyone is calling you ‘the Dragonborn’. Your head is still reeling from it all as Jarl Balgruuf announces that you’re the new thane of Whiterun. You’re rendered speechless. A thane, like a hero? So many new titles, so many new expectations. “I’ve appointed Lydia to be your new housecarl…” Balgruuf’s voice fades to white noise. Your mind continues to race, anxiety taking hold in your chest. You make out some kind of dismissal from the Jarl, and you immediately start making your way out of Dragonsreach. You needed some air. The doors gets closer and closer until a firm hand on your shoulder stops you in your tracks. You almost jump out your skin and turn to face a tall nord woman. “The Jarl appointed me to be your new housecarl.” She gives a tight lipped smile, until she notices the turmoil on your face. Her grip on your shoulder softens and her smile turns softer and more genuine, “It’s an honour to serve you my thane.”

Teldryn Sero

After a long day of trying to figure out who this Mirrak guy is, you decide to take a break and get something to eat. A drink sounds nice too. Walking around Solstheim was brutal on your legs and lungs. You dust off as much ash from your clothes as you can before opening the tavern doors. The smell of food instantly reaches your nose, and you can hear your stomach growl worse than any beast you’ve faced. You hurry down the stairs and order the best sounding food on the menu. Once you get your plate you scan the room for a quiet place to sit, finding none, you head back up the stairs. It’s much quieter up here and you spot a few empty seats by the fireplace. As you make your way there a man in chitin armour catches your attention. He clears his throat, “The best swordsman in all Morrowind is at your service… for the right price.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the clearly rehearsed line. You pay him no mind and sit down at a table. As you’re eating you start thinking about Mirrak and the monsters that littered Solstheim, and how could you forget about the ash. You glance back at the chitin clad man, you needed a guide. You turn in your seat, “You’re hired!”

Serana

You stared second guessing if the Dawnguard was a good idea when you came across the decimated Hall of Vigilants. Even more so when you got into the crypt and Tolan was dead after a last stand against the vampires. Now you’re watching as what seems to be the leader of the group kill another Vigilant. You frown at the scene, but keep your distance and keep watching. They walk onto the giant circular platform in the middle of the cavern. You notch an arrow and fire straight into the head of the lead vampire, and watch as after a second his head bursts into flames. You had gotten way better at enchanting things. You did the same for the other two that lingered. You make your way to the platform, and loot the corpses of your victims before focusing on a pedestal in the dead middle of the platform. You look around to see if that’s all there is to it, a big ominous button. You shrug when you see nothing else and full palm press the button. Searing pain shoots through your hand as a blade pierces through it and retracts as soon as it came. You curse loudly as you use a healing spell. You look around and now there’s a glowing purple puzzle to solve. It takes a good fifteen to twenty minutes it finally push all of the stone pedestals into place. The floors shook with movement and the pedestal in the middle rises, revealing a sarcophagus. You brace yourself to fight as you open it. You expect a draugr or a skeleton, but instead a beautiful woman stumbles out. You instinctively flinch to catch her, but stop yourself as you’re still wary. She stands up, “Unh… Where is… Who sent you here?”

[goopysoup]

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..do you understand the violence it took to become this gentle?..

their reaction to someone / something hurting you

featuring: cicero, serana, miraak, the dragonborn (male), lydia, delvin mallory

[all are gender neutral, there’s cussing and some depressing things in Miraak’s, wounds and blood obviously]

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cicero

As you walk into the Dawnstar sanctuary, limping and hobbling through the hall until you reach the opening room where Cicero was humming as he tended to his sweet Night Mother. He hadn’t looked at you yet, thankfully, you weren’t sure if you could deal with him at the moment.

Painfully, you walk towards the alchemy table, planning on making a quick health potion to hopefully fix your injuries faster—

“Oh, Listener!” Cicero’s voice worriedly shouts as he rushes towards you, “my Listener is hurt, oh, Cicero should have gone with you!” He whines as he quickly makes you sit before he makes haste in checking your wounds. It wasn’t much, just a small gash on your calf. He tuts.

“Are they dead?” He asks, “let’s go kill them!” He giddily sings before you could even answer him.

.. When exactly did he start tending to your wound? You look down at the jester as he was pouring a minor health potion onto a rag before dabbing it gently on your wound. You forget how gentle he can be, he was the Keeper of the Night Mother, after all.

“Thank you..”

“Do not worry, Listener, Cicero is here to take care of you.”

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serana

Serana had grown used to being with you and the people you surrounded yourself with over the short time you’d been together. Well, as used to it as she could, she was still not quite used to being around anyone after being trapped in a tomb for a thousand or so years.

It was a peaceful day, she was reading a book while you were out at the market, taking a day off from all your adventures to spend time with doing chores and spending time with Serana. What the vampire hadn’t expected was for you to burst into the house, your body and clothes covered in blood. Her eyes widened as she saw you, the blood filling her nose as she felt her hunger grow.

“Are.. are you okay?—“ that was a stupid question, of course you weren’t! She quickly stands and grabs a rag and wets it with some water you had stored away before handing it to you as she covers her lower face with her hand. You nod and wipe away the blood, cringing when you wipe at your wound, “you should go,” you say, “I’ll be okay, I don’t want to tempt you.”

Reluctantly, she does as you say, feeling horrible for not being able to help.

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miraak

You were fucked. This was it.. you’d think with all the dragons you’ve killed that this was be a piece of cake, hm? Well, it wasn’t. Your heart clenched and raced as the dragon had somehow gotten the upper hand on you, something that rarely happened nowadays. You could just.. give up, couldn’t you?

Apparently not. Miraak had decided for you, moving in quickly as he slayed the dragon for you, his sword digging into the scales and crushing the skull of the massive creature with a yell. He would protect you, always. That’s what he’s told you when you convinced him to stop terrorising the world. Why hadn’t you just killed him?

“I hate you,” you mutter as you look up at him as he offers his hand to you to help you up. You don’t take it, your body ached and burned, you didn’t wish to stand yet. He shakes his head before he sits next to you, “you do not.”

Maybe he was right, “I don’t believe I’ll last much longer,” you say with a slight bit of dramatics, he laughs heartily, something you’ve been hearing more from him lately. It was nice, especially since he’d once tried to kill you.

“Well, you’ve made it this far, haven’t you? What’s another year, darling?”

“Hell.”

“Well then.”

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dragonborn

You’d known the Dragonborn for many months, you’d met him one day in Whiterun when he joined the companions. He’d asked you to follow him, to fight with him and you’d never really gone back. You’d both saved one another countless times, it was an amazing thing to follow along during his journeys.

You can’t say you were used to the Dwemer dungeons yet. The loud noises that echoed along the walls, the dwarven spiders and spheres, guardians and the damned falmer. You hated the falmer. Though, you’d never deny that the Dwemer technology hadn’t fascinated you, they were so advanced and it was endearing to learn about it all.

You’d been injured during a dungeon you’d both raided though earlier that day, as it was now nighttime as you both sat in a camp you’d set up. You held your stomach, keeping your injury a secret as to not worry the poor Dragonborn. He had enough to worry about with Alduin and the damned war.

“Are you alright?” You heard the Dragonborn ask, making you lift your gaze from the fire in front of you and drift towards him. You nodded, “fine.” He shook his head, “do not hide your wounds from me, let me see and tend to it.” Reluctantly, you allowed him to see it, perhaps your wound was worse than you thought.

“I will always take care of you, do not hide things like this from me. We are a team, love.”

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lydia

There weren’t many things Lydia and you haven’t done together, from fighting, looting, slaying dragons and draugr, even bathing after a particularly hard fight. She’d seen you at your most vulnerable and you her, she was your closest ally and friend— perhaps more at times.

“My Thane!” Lydia’s worried voice sounded through your ears just as you felt a blade pierce your side making you gasp. You felt the numbness after the sharp pain, the warm blood oozing from your wound before the hilt of that same sword hit against your head, affectively knocking you out.

You don’t know how long it took for you to gain consciousness again, to you it felt like mere seconds but that couldn’t be true. You were home again, back in Whiterun, “My Thane, you’re awake. I’m glad,” Lydia spoke as she approached with a healing potion and a bowl of warm soup, something easy to eat, “how do you feel?”

You groaned a bit as you moved to sit up, Lydia quickly setting the potion and bowl on your nightstand before she helps you, “be careful, you’re still healing,” she says worriedly. As soon as you were comfortable, she handed you the potion, “drink this first, my Thane,” she says before you take the potion.

“I’ve told you, you don’t have to call me that, Lydia,” you mumble before you drink the bitter tasting potion, letting it burn down your throat before your pain eases. She smiles before she hands you the soup to eat.

“My apologies, my dear.”

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delvin mallory

Delvin was one of your oldest friends, you knew of his history with the Dark Brotherhood as you’ve been part of the assassin group for many years. You had a history with him, but ultimately both of you had gotten busy with your work and it had momentarily ended. By momentarily, I mean it ended a few years ago and hadn’t rekindled.

You had a job in Riften, it was supposed to be an easy in and out assassination but apparently word got out and your target was more prepared than you were. Of course, your hit was successful as it always was, but you’d been badly injured. Thankfully, one of the members of the thieves guild had found you just as you’d blacked out and took you down to the ratway to have you tended to.

Your eyes peered open, your hand moving to clutch your left eye, groaning in pain, “hey, hey, easy,” the familiar voice of Delvin Mallory distracted you for a moment, your right eye looking over towards him, “Del?” You softly cried out. What had even happened? You couldn’t remember. Was your eye going to be okay? It felt too painful, what if you ended up blind?

“I’m here, love,” he cooed softly, “you’re going to be alright, yeah?” You only nodded, your right eye wanted to believe him but you both knew your eye was fucked.

“Yeah..”

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[coffee-at-daybreak]

power | brynjolf x reader

a/n: ty all SO much for 50 followers ahh !!! here's a celebratory bf brynjolf fic. technically sfw but it's suggestive if you squint bc bryn's a tease lmao

“Everything alright, love?”

His voice, tender and gentle, pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up from the dagger you were sharpening, though your lack of concentration keeps you from doing a good job.

Brynjolf crosses the training room to approach you. He looks at you with a mixture of curiosity and concern, studying your features intently. Even when he’s assessing you for your emotions, his gaze sends flames along your skin.

You nod. “Yes, just fine.” You turn back to your dagger, swallowing any other words that might give you away.

He makes a small humming noise. Then he’s sitting next to you, the locked chest you’d been using as a seat creaking with the added weight. His shoulder taps your own.

“Are you sure?” He asks. “You seemed very unfocused during that meeting.”

Your stomach takes a dip. You’d been praying to Nocturnal that nobody had noticed - especially him.

It wasn’t often that a meeting was called for all the Guild members to attend, so you knew it had to be something big. And something big it was, because whatever map Brynjolf had rolled out onto the desk looked too complex to be a simple grab-and-go mission.

Turns out the owner of a grand estate somewhere outside Solitude will be gone on a business trip, the optimal chance to swoop in and take all the riches that can be found within. Surely, he’ll have some guards there, but that’s nothing for seasoned thieves like yourselves. So there was a lot of planning to be done - who goes in, who grabs what, which paths and entrances to take. You really did intend to pay attention.

But then Brynjolf had started drawing circles and lines on the map, and you found yourself watching his hands. You’d never noticed how well-formed they are,how muscular and veiny, how they are adorned with tiny scars and notches. And how nimble in their movements…

And then he had leaned over to gesture to one area of the map, and you’d caught a whiff of his scent. He smelled like leather and warm spices, something comforting and masculine, a refreshing waft of air compared to that of the cistern.

And then at one point, still locked in discussion, he had quickly tied up half of his hair and gathered it into a messy knot, getting it out of the way so he could see better as he hunched back over the map.

Unfocused is a major understatement for your state of mind during that meeting. You’d been entranced by him, reminded of your boundless infatuation.

But you hope you still have a chance to play it off. “Did I?” You ask, trying not to let one drop of nervousness show up in your voice.

Brynjolf watches you fidget with the dagger in your hand. “Mhm. I wager you weren’t even listening.”

Your head shoots up to look at him. “I was listening!”

Half his mouth lifts in a smile. You see a little sparkle in his eye, and immediately, you regret saying anything. “Really, now? What’s your role in the plan, then?”

You open your mouth, then close it. You look away again, heat flushing the ends of your ears.

Brynjolf chuckles softly. “That’s what I thought.”

You go back to messing with the dagger, but you don’t get very far before he’s reaching over and taking it from you. His hand brushes over your own, and you feel a prickle shoot up your spine.

“When you’ve been in the field as long as I have, you become very observant.” He sets the dagger aside and his hand goes back to yours, but this time, the grazing of his fingers on your palm is slow, and feathery - deliberate.

Your heart starts to race against your ribcage.

“And it seems like you were very observant of me,” he says, his voice dropping a little.

The warmth on your ears rushes down your neck, and you know if you try to play dumb again, it’ll only get worse.

So you give a lazy shrug instead. “Maybe…”

Brynjolf laughs again, a soft rush of his breath falling against your cheek. “You could have picked a better time.”

“I know - sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t be, love. In fact, I like it.”

His fingers dance farther up your hand, to the sensitive skin of your wrist. His thumb prods at the pulse point, and even though it’s a light touch, you feel a jolt leap up your arm.

“You do?” You question, getting a nod in return. “And here I thought you would chastise me for not paying attention.”

“If I were still your superior, I would,” he says flatly.

You scoff and start to gather a reply, but then his hand strays higher up your arm, and your words die with a hitched breath. Your thoughts stumble over one another as your attention shifts to the path of his touch.

You can feel the warmth of his palm through your leathers as he reaches your shoulder. His fingers stretch out to briefly weave some of your hair between them. One of his fingertips grazes your jaw, and your heartbeat flickers.

“But we are equals now. We run this guild together.” Brynjolf’s voice goes soft, matching the gentle movements of his hand as he tucks the strand of hair behind your ear. “Frankly, you can do whatever you want - even if it’s drooling over me at a meeting.”

You roll your eyes at that comment. For a second, you forget the nervous state his touch is putting you in. “I was not drooling. Don’t exaggerate it.”

He snickers. “Had it gone on a little longer, I’m sure you would have started.”

Your blood simmers at his teasing. But once more, your attempt at a retort vanishes when he leans closer. With your hair out of the way, you can feel the subtle warmth of his breath on the side of your face. His hand is back near your shoulder, the pads of his fingers resting against your skin.

The pounding in your chest increases, making it difficult to draw in a slow, unsteady breath. But there is also an excited flutter in your abdomen, and the nerves are overpowered by the desire to play along, to feed more into his intoxicating attention.

You turn your head to look at him. The immediate eye contact is so intense that it’s nearly overwhelming. But you tilt your head, holding that sensual gaze of his. “You like the power, you mean.”

Brynjolf cracks a smirk. “Aye, that might be true.”

Suddenly you feel his fingers slithering down your back, making you flinch with a jolt. He laughs. “Alright, very true. I like having the power to do that.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you mutter, flushing deeper as his fingers stray lower.

“Too late.”

He moves to the small of your back. His fingertips trace your spine, diving into every little ridge as they work their way back up. You shiver, back rippling with movement, but he keeps going.

“I could get drunk off of this,” he says, sounding a little winded. His hand pauses between your shoulder blades, his thumb making a sweeping motion there.

You cast him a glance. “Careful. You know what happened to the last Guild leader to abuse his power.”

He grins again. “Right, right. But if you ask me, I’m using mine wisely.”

His hand travels up until his palm is flat against the nape of your neck. His touch feels warm on the exposed skin there. His fingers stretch up, easing themselves into the hairs at the base of your skull.

Another tremor runs through your body, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. It’s almost embarrassing how weak you are for him.

“Doesn’t seem very fair,” you murmur. You look at him again, trying to narrow your eyes in defiance, but you’re caught off guard by the heat in his own gaze. His own composure is slipping, the amusement in his eyes slowly being washed out by something more serious.

“Is it not?” Brynjolf’s voice drops lower, and so does his head. His mouth is dangerously close to your neck, the sensation of his breath there causing your lungs to lock. “Do you even know of the power you have over me, love?”

That surprises you. You start to voice a doubtful “really”, but it turns into a silent gasp when you feel his lips brushing ever so lightly over your throat.

“How often I look at you when you don’t notice? The effect you have over me when you say my name, or when you give me one of those gorgeous smiles from across the cistern?” He carries the breathy words further down your neck, his stubble grazing the sensitive skin above your collarbone. He’s so close that you wouldn’t be surprised if he could feel your crazed heart pumping. “How often I think about you at every moment, how utterly obsessed I am with you…”

You shudder. It’s a struggle to find your voice, but you manage to whisper, “I .. didn’t know.”

Brynjolf moves back up slowly, his mouth never quite lifting off your skin, until right before he reaches your own lips. He inches back just enough to reply, “Now you do.”

Then he’s finally pulling you in for a kiss. You’ve never melted into one so fast. His lips caress yours with a fierce hunger, one you easily match. It is pure instinct that takes over your body, that drives you to cling to one of the buckles on his armor and bring yourself even closer. You thrive off the warmth provided by him in every way - his hands squeezing your waist, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip, his ragged breaths tumbling onto your face.

It puts you into a euphoric haze, one you only break out of when you impulsively slide a hand up his neck and into his dark russet locks and he groans into the kiss. The sound alone shocks you to your core, but feeling it from his chest, pressing against your own - that is forever etched onto your memory.

You break apart, a brief second passing where you both merely catch your breath, sharing the same air and tingling aftereffects. A warm, amusing realization appears in the clouds of your mind.

“I get it now.” You tilt your head and leave a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I could get drunk off of this.”

Brynjolf’s laugh is breathless, his lungs still recovering from the kiss. But his hands snaking up your waist and back have a newfound strength.

“Like I said, love. Equals.” And he captures your lips again.

[dovahkinniez]

NSFW!!

Miraak fucking you with the mask on, hearing him grunt underneath it as his gloved hand wraps around your throat, he can't take it anymore as he watches you squirm and whimper.

[mamadovie]

Serana likes to listen to your heartbeat as you sleep; it's a silent reminder of the life inside of you but also the love that she possesses for you that holds her back from taking it.

[dxwnfxll]

|•| Remembering |•|

Back at it again writing x readers for characters who (surprisingly) have very little

Gender neutral character can be platonic or romantic - Angsty fic of Vivec dealing with grief

Note: Yeah I meant to post this a good while ago and it's been collecting dust in my drafts since I wasn't too happy with how it was. But hopefully it's good now and you all enjoy it!

Vivec was alone, not in a literal sense of course. They were always surrounded by guards and worshippers alike. No she was alone mentally, but that was to be expected right? When one becomes a living god amongst mer you must make sacrifices. They had shared their bed with plenty, taken many lovers to stand by him. But she knew that their 'love' was not for him, not the warrior poet, not the underling of an old friend, not Vehk. They loved Vivec, and that 'love' was truly nothing more than blind devotion.

Many listened to their writings, many practically kissed the ground she walked on. But that was simply because of their title, the 'god-hood' since betraying an old friend. That's not to say she doesn't enjoy it, no they loved how beloved they were. But it just sometimes felt lonely, Sotha sil had casted himself away to the Clockwork city, Almalexia rarely left the temple she stood in, and he'd rather not think of the other friends she had come to betray. The times of old were gone, and he had grown very lonely. She almost missed the old days when they were nothing more than a shadow behind the king.

No, what Vivec wanted was someone to question their words for once without malice, someone who was actually interested in hearing of the Vehks tale instead of Vivecs twisted words, someone who she truly could make a connection with. And almost as if his old gods still listened, they got their wish.

Arriving upon a boat was a [man/mer/Khajiit/Orc], nothing extraordinary about them. Wearing the same tunic as anyone else, it was when they appeared within his temple did she finally acknowledge them. The [man/mer/Khajiit/Orc] stood before them, offering their services to the god.

'I wish to earn my place here, so do you have any available work?'

She liked how confident they were, so many were skittish to come to the living god for the littlest of things. Vivec sat thinking for a moment, floating above the lounge placed under him.

'I have no need for you, but Canon Lievule might have something for you.'

With a point of his finger they nodded back at him, walking away. Thinking little of their relevance at the time, she didn't know how important they'd become later on.

Whispers of the new adventurer circulated through Vivecs city, a [Mage/Warrior/Archer] who was slowly rising from a nobody to someone. Vivec grew worried at first, fearing the threat his old god had posed onto him. But each time they spoke, the ring was never upon their hand, nerves and nothing more.

Vivec began to ask for their assistance often, enjoying their small chats. Of course Vivec had seen all of Tamriel and more, but hearing the adventures tales lightened his heart. She enjoyed their stories, their company and solely them.

It had been a long time since Vivec felt like this, feeling so.. Mortal for once. He grew scared of this, attempting to push them away by acting like a god who was merely too busy for them. But each time they came back, like a stubborn bug and she enjoyed their presence.

What they didn't enjoy though was each time they came back, a new sign of age showed on their face. Wrinkles and grey hairs, Vivec didn't like it. Vivec didn't like being close to someone that she knew would eventually die. A foolish thing indeed, they knew that they'd watch bloodlines flourish and vanish within his lifetime. She had watched those who stuck by her for years eventually be replaced by someone younger. It never hurt then, so why now?

And while she feared that, in an odd twist of fate. It wasn't even age that took them, instead it was the sharpness of a blade. Vivec almost felt it, something was amiss in the air. As if an old instinct finally reawakened in them, they floated down to the steps below. Their bare feet padded against the floor, standing in the middle of the temple they hummed. Confused, he had expected.. Well something. Why else would their heart have thumped like that? Why else did they feel the urge to run like a mad man?

And just as they began to ponder it, their thoughts were interrupted. A guard walking in, the mer pausing as Vivec immediately locked onto them.

"you there."

Their finger pointed to the mortal, the guard immediately straightening up before they bowed their head

"yes lord Vivec?"

They asked daring to not look, as if they were not worthy to look upon them.

Vivec pondered her question, what did they even wish to ask? If the living god didn't know, how could a mere god?

"Have you seen [Name] around? I wish to speak to them"

that's why he felt this way, they were worried. The feeling felt so foreign, they hadn't worried since their mortal days. Since the beginning of their godhood, when they worried and feared Azuras wrath for their transgressions.

"No sir, I haven't. I believe they had left a day ago on an expedition near the forgotten wastes"

the guard finally spoke, releasing Vivec from the cage of their thoughts. He had heard reports as of recently, whispers of a cult of sorts rising from the dead near there. Only she knew that they were no doubt right, of the danger they actually posed.

"Right. Thank you, please inform Councilor Lievule that I will be taking a trip outside the city."

He states as their guard merely nods, bowing their head one last time

"as you wish lord Vivec."

This wouldn't be the first time nor the last they'd use their divine powers to teleport out of the city. It was better that way anyways, walking there would lead to many distracting them. Falling to her feet and either praising him or praying to them. And as much as she loved that, she had something else to focus on.

The area around the forgotten wastes were harsh, Vivec was used to it by now but to any old mer it'd be painful to breathe no doubt. The living god floated just a small bit off the ground, not wishing to hurt themselves on any rocks or sharp objects that laid on the ground. You never know what others could just leave lying around.

Vivec glanced around outside the forgotten wastes, not wanting to go in and have to possibly face the damned cult yet. Finally his eyes caught something, a glint of something shiny nearby. Turning they headed over to it, only to see a rather.. Disappointing scene. A caravan completely ransacked, it's owner lying in a pool of their own blood. Vivecs eyes took in the scene, the bodies of others scattered about, not even their guards were able to protect them.

Finally Vivecs eyes lock on a familiar set of [Armor/Robes] the glint from earlier coming from their gauntlets. Her feet landed on the ground below, taking a few steps over to the body. Vivec felt.. Odd. They didn't know how to explain it, but it felt as if something was about to creep up onto her. That something bad was about to happen the closer he got.

Finally standing beside them, he kneeled. Moving their body so their face was revealed. Vivec felt sick, there staring back at him was the bloodied face of a friend. The [race] they had come to care for, Vivec felt mortal again. Just for a small moment as they grieved in utter silence, placing their friends hands over their chest and closing their eyes.

Vivec stayed like that for a bit longer, staring at the [man/mer/Khajiit/Orc] face with sorrow. Glancing beside their friend, they had found the culprit of their friends death. A cultish who wore the symbol of the sixth house.

"Even in death you still haunt me Voryn."

The living god muttered ever so quietly, finally standing up. She took one last look at the scene, then towards their friend. His hands moved on their own, unclasping an old earring from his pointed ear. He bent down to place it in their hand, balling it back up over their chest.

"I will have to remember you, longer than I had known you [name]."

You've reached the end huzzah! I hope you all liked this story, and I apologize if Vivec seemed ooc in anyway lolz kinda hard to write for them

Until next time!!

Requests are always open! Just check my intro to see what i'm able to write!!

[not-today-flah]

How you meet PT.2

Hello everyone! My last post had been in my drafts for a long time… so I hope my writing has improved. If you want, please let me know if you like the longer more detailed versions of these or the short and sweet ones? Thanks for reading :)

Fennorian: You were attempting to complete a contract for the Dark Brotherhood, and the location was Western Skyrim. Solitude to be exact. The Nords didn’t really preform the Black Sacrament that often, since the aren’t ones to shy away from violence, so this wasn’t common ground for you. As you made your way through the city you heard commotion towards the Blue Palace. Curiosity got the better of you and you went closer to investigate, but before you even got close some lunatic almost ran you over in their haste. Figuring they were the cause of the disturbance you decided to follow them. You could always finish the contract later. Their trail lead out of the city. You tracked them for quite a ways until their footprints disappeared, into thin air… that was strange. You quickly realized that you were in a marsh, and you could smell smoke. You followed your nose until you spotted a small campsite. Quick to think, you crouched and made your way to the back of the tent. You peaked through the opening and saw a man sitting cross legged while reading some papers sprawled on the ground infront of him. You unsheathed one of your daggers and pounced. You pinned him to the bedroll with your dagger against his throat. You examined his features, a High Elf with… red eyes, unnaturally pale skin, and he was extremely cold to the touch. A vampire. You pressed the knife harder against his neck. It made sense now. The stranger you chased was a vampire, maybe this vampire. The speed in which they ran, the strength to mow down multiple civilians, the foot prints disappearing like the person had vanished into thin air. You’ve dealt with vampires many times before, for contracts and working with assassin’s from different Sanctuaries. You narrow your eyes at the Altmer beneath you, “What happened at the Palace? Why did you run?” You hissed out and tightened your grip on him even more. You know it won’t hurt him, but you also know you’re outmatched in terms of strength. He winced and stared at you in fear and… confusion, “The Palace? The Blue Palace? What are you talking about?!” He exclaimed, fear evident in his eyes. He was stalk still in your grip, “Who are you? I-I haven’t done anything! Please! I’m sorry!” He pleaded. You didn’t expect that. You can’t help but laugh at his reaction. He looked even more confused now. He was telling the truth, you knew that. You got off of him still giggling. He wasn’t like any vampire you’ve ever met. He sat up and looked at you with a steady mix of apprehension and intrigue, “Wait… so… are you going to tell me what happened at the Palace?” He asked, tilting his head. You smirk at his curiosity and obliged as much as you could. You explained what you saw and he informed you of the bigger threat. You gaze at him as he rambles on about a thing called a ‘harrowstorm’ until you realize something. “What’s your name, by the way?” You asked. He looked somewhat startled, “Oh! Where are my manners, I’m Fennorian.”

Darien: You never enjoyed going to Rivenspire, the environment was always so harsh and unwelcoming. You had to complete this job you were hired for, it paid extremely well, so running through the desolate countryside was worth it. However, the noble that hired you was very vague about the location. You were tasked with gathering information, not the good kind, on a commoner somewhere in Shornhelm. At least you didn’t have to fight anyone this time. You had asked some random people around the city, but to no avail. It was getting dark and you wanted to get to the inn before all the rooms were taken. The inn was a bit bigger than you expected, and there were crowds of people drinking in celebration for something. Was it somebody’s birthday? You pushed your way through the people to the innkeeper, however, they were busy taking multiple drink orders from already drunk patrons. You knew it would be a while before you’d be able to talk to the innkeeper, so you managed to find a seat near the back. The chair infront of you was occupied already, but this was the only seat available so you pulled out a book and began to read. The man was pulled from what looked to be some bad thoughts when you had moved to rummage through your bag. He examined you thoughtfully and you did the same over your book. The man was a Breton, which wasn’t surprising since you were in High Rock. He had neatly styled black hair and you had to admit, he was quite handsome. He was wearing dented armour and looked exhausted. However, his expression perked up a bit. “What are you reading?” He asked as he tried to look at the cover of the book for his answer. You felt the corners of your lips twitch up slightly at his interest. You turned the book in your hand to look at the title, “Beggar Prince. It’s a bit dark, but it’s a good read.” You answered and continued to read. He hummed at your statement and started fiddling with his hands. You realized he wanted to keep talking, probably as a distraction, so you fold your book on your finger to keep your place and look around the inn. “What’s the party about?” You questioned, genuinely curious what the fuss was about. He looked around before he spoke, “Oh yeah, that. We liberated Rivenspire from vampires.” He sounded surprisingly disappointed. You tilted your head at his words, “That’s impressive! Shouldn’t that be a happy thing?” You ask. He sighed, “Yeah, that’s why I’m over here. I don’t want to ruin it for everyone.” He said and started to pick at the wooden table. He must’ve seen your questioning look and he continued, “We lost someone. He was a good man too. I just feel like a should’ve done more to help, you know? But anyway, I really don’t want to bring the mood down. Let’s change the subject! I haven’t introduced myself, have I? I’m Darien Gautier.” He rambled and you decided that it would be best to drop it for the time being. You smiled, “It’s nice to meet you Darien.”

Naryu: You needed a break from adventuring for a bit, and so did your horse. Your animal had been huffing and whinnying most of the way. You give them a sympathetic pat on the neck, “I know, but we’re almost there…look you can see the city.” The walk you were at quickly turned into a trot, and you huffed out a laugh. After about ten more minutes you finally reached Balmora. You say goodbye to your horse and pay the stable hand a decent sum to give your steed a luxury vacation. Exhaustion creeps into your bones as you make your way to the inn. You’re about to open the door when someone shoves passed you and barges in. You scowl and open your mouth to say something, but then slowly close it after you realize you have no energy to deal with assholes. A sigh escapes you as you step through the door, and you see the person run up the stairs. The smell of delicious food invades your nostrils and you immediately order something off the menu. You take a seat next to the staircase and start eating and listening. You’re still an adventurer after all, curiosity is only natural. They speak in hushed voices, but you manage to make out something about House Redoran and… the Morag Tong. You raise your eyebrows at the name. You’ve read your history books, and ran in the right- albeit questionable- circles to know who they are. Assassins. You didn’t think they were still operational. All of this easily piqued your curiosity, so you take the sweet roll off you our plate and head back out into the streets. Time to look for a secret hideout. You are practically a pro at finding secret doors at this point, I mean you weren’t an expert adventurer for nothing. You start with the docks. You’ve never really cared if people saw you snooping around, if they wanted to judge you than that’s their problem. You first look at the walls of the canal to see if you can spot some semblance of a secret door, but to no avail. Then you start rummaging through the various barrels and crates that are scattered around the docks. You’re about to abandon a crate when a slip of beige catches your eye. You pick it up and unfold it. Inside is a very cryptic picture of directions pointing to, what looks like, an alleyway next to a tree. You pump a fist in the air at your success. It might not be what you’re looking for, but it’s a secret nonetheless. You make your way to the designated location and easily spot a wooden hatch that’s poorly hidden behind some boxes. As you enter you pray to whatever gods that you don’t find something weird. Just as your feet step off of the latter, a woman’s voice sounds from deeper in the room, “What in the oblivion, how did you get in here?! Please don’t tell me I have to kill you now.” You whip around at towards the voice, a beautiful dunmer is sat on a love seat in a corner. “Um…uh..no I don’t think you’ll have to kill me. I overheard something at the inn so I looked around town for…information, I guess. And-and I found a note with a map on it that lead me here. I thought there was gonna be treasure or something.” You stammer as you’re put on the spot. You didn’t actually expect there to be someone down here. “You aren’t by chance the Morag Tong are you?” You ask, just to see if you actually found what you started of looking for. The dark elf sighs, “I suppose there’s no point in lying, yes I am…you aren’t by chance an sword for hire? I could use someone with your investigative skills for something.” A small smirk grows on her lips, “Naryu, by the way.”

[goopysoup]

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..just because I carried it so well does not mean it’s not heavy..

Cicero finds you crying as you speak with the Night Mother.

featuring: Cicero x fem listener!reader

[depressing topics:( inspired by: I don’t love you by MCR + zombie by the cranberries]

[part two?:)]

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The days had become harder, longer, your eyes more tired, body aching with each hit of your sword. When would it be enough? You’d killed Alduin, you’d fought and won the war, you’d done so much for the people of Skyrim but were they truly that ungrateful? Had you needed to of done more? They thought you limitless, a warrior they could use to do their bidding.

It was an odd thing to take in the comfort of the Night Mother, a rotting corpse that had been in that coffin for the gods know how long. But, you understood why Cicero adored her so much. The moment you’d put yourself in that coffin with the mother to listen to Cicero back at the sanctuary near Falkreath, you’d understood. Her body, while rotting and cold, felt comforting and motherly— no wonder they called her the Night Mother, you thought.

Still, while after everything had gone by so fast. The killing of the Emperor, the attack on the sanctuary and the move to Dawnstar- it was hard to keep track of it all on top of your other quests. Being Dragonborn wasn’t exactly what the nords believed it to be, it wasn’t a blessing by the gods. It was a burden on your shoulders and a heavy ache in your soul. Your bones had been crushed, you’d almost died countless times, absorbed the souls of the dragons you’d slayed even if your heart ached for you to have mercy on them, after all you were connected to them by your souls. They were just as much of a family to you as the people of Skyrim was.

Your heart ached as you sat in front of the Night Mother’s open coffin within the Dawnstar sanctuary. It was well into the night, everyone there was asleep- or so you thought.

You looked up at the mother, your kind mother who was always willing to listen to you in the peaceful dark of the night. You were grateful for her, the mistress you worshipped, though perhaps not as much as Cicero.

“I’m at my ends, mother,” you spoke quietly, picking at the cracks in the floor, “why am I not enough for them? I’ve done all they’ve asked, yet they want more from me.”

“Sweet child,” the Night Mother’s spoke to you, her eyes illuminating dimly for only you to see, “they do not understand the burdens you hold, you are aware of this,” you nod, you were well aware. Still, tears pricked at your eyes, “but, it’s not fair.”

“Life is not fair, dear Listener,” the Night Mother knew there was a presence watching, listening, but she knew better than to speak on it, “but you will prevail, you are stronger than many of those I have taken as my children.”

You looked up at her rotting face, your tears falling as you let out a quiet sob, “I hate it,” you softly cried, not bothering to wipe your tears as your body trembled with the force you used to be quiet, “the world is cruel, greedy and selfish. I try so hard to be good enough for them, but I am tired, mother..”

You didn’t hear the footsteps, your trained ears distracted by your breakdown. It was so unlike you, Cicero thought, you weren’t supposed to be vulnerable! You’re the great and powerful Listener, you could take on anythjng, yet here you were: speaking to the Night Mother of the harsh world and the burdens on your shoulders. You were upset and that upset the jester.

“It is okay to be tired, my sweet child,” the mother spoke, “perhaps, a certain Keeper could keep you better company than I?” Her voice was almost knowingly spoke, you furrowed your eyebrows as you finally wiped your tears.

“Cicero?” You ask her, wiping the tears on your hands on your clothes, that’s when you heard a footstep and your eyes drifted to the shadows. This must be a coincidence, right?

“Sweet Listener, who has hurt you?” Cicero finally spoke, walking further towards her, “do we have to kill them? Can we?” He was almost giddy at the thought of killing someone, but in this quiet moment he seemed to be much calmer than he usually was.

“No, Cicero,” you spoke, “if you killed who hurt me, you’d kill all of Tamriel.” Cicero sits down on the floor by you, his hands reaching out to hold yours.

“That’s a sacrifice Cicero and the Listener could make,” he grins almost manically, but you shake your head, “perhaps another day,” you didn’t mean it, of course, but you’d amuse him for now.

“Cicero is here if his Listener needs to share their thoughts or burdens,” Cicero suddenly says, “it is his job to protect the Listener just as it is to protect our mother.” He pats you on the head, it was almost awkward, but you could appreciate the gesture.

“Thank you, Cicero,” you said before the both of you stand and make your way to bed, it was too late to keep your mind awake, you both needed rest.

The Night Mother watches, almost proud her secret plan was working, she’d get her Keeper and Listener together one day, she knew it.

[gloomwitchwrites]

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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[bwoobiez]

Dumb Dog [NSFW || Vilkas x GN!Masc!Reader]

— CONTENT: Masc-bodied reader but they're kept gn, pet play, size kink, dumbification elements, some monsterfucking and brief piss play

— AUTHORS NOTE: more submissive vilkas! i wanna see more submissive vilkas!

SUMMARY: To the rest of Whiterun and the Companions, Vilkas was a formidable warrior who was not only skilled in battle, but gifted in intelligence as well. But whenever he was getting demolished by you, you ripped that mask right off to reveal the big fuck-mutt underneath.

He used to see receiving anal as a threat to his masculinity, so he never had it until his first sexual encounter with you. He still had an insecurity towards being perceived as the “submissive” one in the relationship, so he put up his macho front again in public.

“Just be gentle, ok?” he stammered. His eyes flickered between your face and your cock, wondering how the hell you’d even fit it all. “Of course, love,” you cooed as you slathered some lubricant on your cock and then some on his asshole. One of the strongest fighters in the Companions - and in Whiterun - laid at the edge of the bed with a nervous expression you’ve never seen before. This oh so smart and ferocious warrior was about to take your cock up his ass, how sweet. “I’d never do anything to hurt you, just relax…”

Vilkas never had his mind so completely broken. You’ve fried all his brain cells and reduced him to a dog whose only purpose was to follow commands and cry during sex

Like every mutt, he loved being called a good boy. Besides the bedroom, you also said it during training sessions (when you two were alone) or after bringing down an enemy.

After clearing out a camp of bandits, you both turned towards each other with victorious grins on your faces. You reached over and placed your hands on the sides of his head, ruffling his hair as you would a dog, “Good boy! Goood boy! You are such a good guard dog!”  Vilkas looked utterly adorable. His pretty face was covered in blood, adorned with a beaming smile that revealed pieces of flesh between his teeth. He wore human remains so well! Just a second ago he was skillfully slaying enemies, and now here he was, soaking up commendation from his master. If he were in his wolf form, his tail would fall off from how fast it would be wagging.

Vilkas was tall and very muscular, but next to you, he was small. Just putting two fingers in his mouth completely filled it, and gods, you just loved shoving them in there. Little dummy would mindlessly start sucking and bobbing his head, or stroke your middle and index as he sucked on your thumb; similar to how he'd stroke your cock and suck your balls.

“Mmuuhh aah! Ouhh!” “Yeah…? You enjoying yourself…?” you growled between clenched teeth. All you saw before you was Vilkas bent over, having his body forced back and forth on your cock. His head hung low, causing drool to dribble off his top lip and fall in strings onto the messy sheets. He was getting the daylights fucked out of him, and there was no way in hell he wasn’t going to be sore after this. You removed your hands from his waist and stuck them in his mouth, stretching it into a smile with three fingers on each side. If only you saw how stupid he looked, the silly bastard. All he could do was roll his eyes back as you played with his body, head empty and full of bliss.

[Lycanthrope!Reader] You were even bigger in your beast form, holy hell. Your cock always left his ass a gaping, wide hole that oozed cum whenever you were done with him. You fucked him so rough and so good that he would leak a little.

Speaking of leaking, you both got the chance to leave your “mark” on each other. Farkas smelt a hint of you all over him but did not say anything even though it was so tempting to tease.

[Lycanthrope!Reader] Your stamina was also insane, and sex in your beast form also meant that he wouldn’t get sleep for a very long time, especially if he were in his form, too.

There have been multiple instances of animalistic sex in the remains of fallen foes.

Every sexual encounter added to the many scratches and bruises you both had. They could be played off as battle scars so it wasn’t a big deal if they were showing or not