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goopysoup · 1 month ago

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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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#cicero #cicero x listener #cicero x reader #serana #serana x reader #dawnguard #Miraak #miraak x dragonborn #dragonborn #Dragonborn x reader #lydia skyrim #lydia x reader skyrim #skyrim #headcanons #skyrim headcanon #skyrim x reader #the elder scrolls #delvin mallory #Delvin mallory x reader

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coffee-at-daybreak · 4 months ago

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at your back | farkas x reader

It takes a moment to recognize the sound you just heard - someone knocking on your door. It’s been just you and your thoughts for a whole day now. And you weren’t expecting company.

You turn in bed just enough to voice a “come in”. You’re reluctant in doing so, already dreading having to interact with anyone.

But then you see Farkas entering, and you feel a sweep of relief.

For a fleeting second, you forget about your sorrows when he greets you with a gentle smile, one that softens his icy eyes. He holds a tray with a small bowl of soup and a slice of bread. He teeters in carefully with it, bringing in the scent of warm spice with him.

“Thought I’d bring dinner to you, since you didn’t come up last night,” he says.

Something pangs in your chest. You remain mostly turned away, curled on your side on the bed, and facing the wall. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

He sighs. “I knew you’d say that. Well, best we wait anyway - it’s really hot. You don’t need a tongue burn. I may have given myself one earlier.” He sets the tray down on the nightstand.

Then he approaches to stand next to the bed. “Room for one more on there?” He asks.

You cast him a wary glance, gauging his face to see if he’s using another joke to lighten the mood. But no, he’s serious, an almost pleading look in his eyes.

You move sideways on the bed, even closer to the wall, so Farkas can clamber in. You sense the dip of the mattress and hear the creaking of the wooden frame with his added weight.

Then his arms are gathering you up - one sliding under your abdomen, the other draping over your waist. They meet at your middle, and he’s pulling you in until your back presses to his chest. The familiar warmth of his body surrounds you all over, half muscle, half softness - all comfort.

“I missed you,” he rasps, breath tickling the skin on the back of your neck. He nuzzles his face closer to your shoulder. “I know you needed space. But I don’t like being away from you too long.”

Hot tears build up behind your eyes. Hearing those words, so genuine and sweet, is an almost painful contrast to what you’ve been dealing with since yesterday.

A nightmare of a day had happened - one of those where nothing goes right. You had so many responsibilities as Harbinger now, yet you were unable to succeed at any of them yesterday. You couldn’t face any of your fellow Companions after such an ordeal, afraid you’d see disappointment - the same disappointment you felt in yourself. So you came to the solace of your quarters, where there was nothing to do but deal with your thoughts - restless, agonizing, shameful thoughts - alone.

But he was here now, and though the thoughts linger heavy in your mind, you aren’t alone anymore.

You draw in a deep breath, but your words come out choked anyway. “I’m sorry. For everything. I - I failed you all.”

You feel Farkas shaking his head before you’re even done speaking. He gives you a tight, tight squeeze, until you have to shut up.

“No. You didn’t.”

His hand splays out across your stomach as you take more unstable breaths, helping you ward off the sobs wanting to escape. He spreads his fingers out, pressing warmth into your middle.

“You messed up, sure. It happens.” Even when his voice is barely more than a whisper, it has that little gruffness to it, one you’ve found to be unfailingly soothing. It’s a lot like him in that sense - he appears tough and scary, when he is the exact opposite.

His arms tighten around you again, but more so in an attempt to pull you even closer to his chest. You can feel his heartbeat vaguely, steadily, at your back.

“But you could never fail us, love. You’ve done too much for us. And you’ll keep doing more.”

The tears race down your face now, but for the first time, it feels good to let them. Some of that hot shame you’d been feeling escapes with them, no longer sitting deep in your chest, but taking the form of wet warmth on your cheeks.

Farkas keeps his firm hold, letting you cry in silence for a moment. The repetitive sweeping of his arms and the feather light kisses he leaves on your shoulder do all the talking for him anyway.

Eventually, your ragged breaths subside, and the fresh tears are replaced by weak sniffles. You feel less of the weight within you, focused more on the weight of the body around your own. The warmth of him is seeping past just surface level, ebbing into your system, beginning its slow but definite domination over the dark feelings.

You reach your hand down until it rests over his, still covering your middle. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d probably be fine, but luckily, you’ll always have me.”

You are suddenly reminded of one of your earliest memories with the Companions. When you returned from that first mission, and you’d been sworn into the inner Circle, and Farkas had been the one to speak for you. You had barely known him then, and he’d barely known you, but still, he swore to stand at your back, that the world may never overtake the two of you. Back then, neither of you could have known how close you would become, but the bond formed in that moment was the unmistakable beginning of it all.

“Even when-” you start to ask.

“Even then,” he cuts in. He follows his words with yet another squeeze of his arms, and this time, it works a strained little laugh out of you, and he smiles. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

You want to tell him you’d never try, but you’re sure he already knows that. If there’s one thing that is consistent amongst the chaos that is your adjustment to the Harbinger life, it’s your relationship with Farkas. Strong, solid, full of warmth and support - a reflection of him.

“Now,” he speaks up, his grip finally loosening a bit. "You should really try and eat something. Don’t make me spoon-feed you.”

This time, you don’t protest.

a/n; this is a rather self-indulgent insert bc ya girl has one awful day and wishes for nothing more than to be comforted by a big sweet man but i thought it turned out nice enough to share. i also wanted to give a huge thank you to all who interact with my silly little fanfics, every like and reblog and comment means the world to me and i appreciate it all 🤍

#skyrim #elder scrolls #tesv #tes #elder scrolls skyrim #dragonborn #dovahkiin #farkas #farkas x reader #reader x farkas #reader insert #gender neutral reader #hurt/comfort

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ma1dmer · 1 year ago

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The Elder Scrolls - Harkon NSFW

i am trying to convince myself that this man doesn't look like my father, HE DOES NOT, its just his dumb goatie

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): he'll order for a bath to be drawn for you, candles lit up , tea while you sit in the warm water and any of his thralls at your immediate command

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): neck and collarbone area, he'll purposefully rest his hand at the back of your neck ,gently rubbing circles across your pulse point to feel your heartbeat, or he'll trail kisses up your arms to your shoulder and then up your neck, lingering at the little spot right behind your ear or at the hollow of your throat before he reaches your lips , he gets you expensive collars and necklaces to wear and show off,

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): will hand you something to clean yourself up after he is done, he doesn't care much for the mess

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): would definitely be into a bdsm dynamic, he wants to own you in every way possible, will shower you in lavish gifts and make sure you are always protected, however you'll belong to him , you'll be under his command , rewarded and punished as he sees fit

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): he has a lot of experience, has been alive for so long and it shows in the simple ways he can have you aching

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): he wants you bent over some sort of surface, a table or something, will kick your feet apart to spread your legs for him to fit behind you properly

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): he can be very intense, definitely on the more serious side

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.): keeps himself trimmed and clean, makes sure he is always presentable

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): he can be very romantic but keeps most of it outside the bedroom, roses and a hearty meal for you before he brings you to his bedroom or suggests something more risque for your evening together

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon): no longer has the need to masturbate and even so he’d prefer having you help him in this case, burying himself in you or in your mouth, but does enjoy watching you however, will pour himself some wine and sit back telling you how exactly to touch yourself, how to position yourself so he has the perfect view etc

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): pet play, some mild primal play, bdsm etc

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): the privacy of a bedroom, its not out of being particularly shy or something, its just more comfortable, however he is not above playing a few, games with you outside in the dark ,or sometimes flaunting you to the rest of the clan

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): being direct with him, he is an old man and has better things to concern himself than you playing coy games with him, tell him what you want and he'll be more than happy to help you out

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): probably anything to do with him being more submissive, it does not work for him at all

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): big fan of cock warming, keeping you on his cock for as long as he sees fit ,pretending he forgot you were even there as he strokes your hair and chuckles deeply , he will make sure to reward you later if you are good for him, returns the favour in earnest after of course living a trail of bitemarks on your thighs before throwing your legs over his shoulders and diving in properly for your reward

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): slow and rough, will drive his hips against yours with purpose, holding you tightly and leaning over you to drag his teeth against your shoulders

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): he has all the time in the world, sees no reason why he should be rushed

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): he has had plenty of time to figure out what he likes and doesn't like so he really doesn't feel the need to experiment any longer but might indulge you if he is in a giving mood

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): as a vampire he has a lot of stamina so it usually depends on how much you can take

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): definitely has a collection he uses on you, its all stashed in his room in a hidden wardrobe with a heavy lock and a key only he has access to, every time he wants to use something on you ,he'll have you kneel and wait patiently while he looks over the collection pondering how to torment you

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he can be quite cruel with his teasing when he is punishing you, edging you and sending you off over and over again for days on end

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): he groans lowly, his voice rumbling from deep within his chest as he praises you and tells you what he expects from you,otherwise he remains pretty quiet

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): one of his most favoured ways to punish you is letting you get yourself off on his thigh or leg ,grinding against his boot until you cum even if it takes you hours and you are sobbing by the end,doesn’t even gaze down at you and then sends you off with a wave of his hand barely acknowledging you, definitely into some sort of boot worship

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): average but on the thicker side with a prominent vein on the side

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): he is very much in control of his needs, doesn’t have a high libido, but he does enjoy helping you out ,adores knowing you want him even if he remains entirely unaffected

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): as a vampire he doesn’t sleep often but when he does it’s by himself in his coffin, doesn’t like to be disturbed

#the elder scrolls #the elder scrolls smut #the elder scroll x reader #elder scrolls smut #elder scrolls #harkon #harkon x reader #harkon smut #harkon the elder scrolls #skyrim x reader #skyrim smut #skyrim #.writing

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gloomwitchwrites · 9 months ago

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Lavender: Part One

Brynjolf x Female Reader

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

Word Count: 6.2k

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

Part Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A disturbance.

A subtle shift.

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

You’re being watched.

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

Brynjolf leans against one of the gravestones.

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

But he never hides who he truly is with you.

Never.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

“My mother is fine,” you insist.

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

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

“From your mother? Or your aunt?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s the palace? The Jarl?”

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

“How much are you earning?”

“Enough.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you. They are lovely.”

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

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

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

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

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

Brynjolf is gone.

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

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

Right now, you’re staring at chaos.

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

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

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

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

You turn. Glance up. Stifle a scream.

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

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

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

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

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

“Right now?”

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

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

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

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

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

Brynjolf murmurs your name, his head dipping.

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

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

“We were children.”

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

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

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

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

You’re going to regret these next words.

“You can have a kiss.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Only then does he turn to face you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Need some company?”

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

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

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

Do you look that bad?

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

Is that what this feeling is?

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

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

“It’s nothing,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go on,” he prompts.

“He—he touched me. At dinner. Maybe?”

“Touched you?”

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

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

“Harrald.”

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

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

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

“I think so.”

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

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

You nod.

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

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

“From the shadows, lass,” he teases.

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

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

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

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

“You’ve been making eyes at me.”

I haven’t you rodent.

“I’m sorry. You’re mistaken.”

He laughs. “I’m not.”

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

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

“That’s not—”

“I’ll play.”

“My lord, that is not—”

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

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

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

“She said she isn’t interested.”

Brynjolf. Thank the Nine.

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

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

“I could have you locked up for this!”

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

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

The paleness is replaced by redness again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You turn, expecting to find Brynjolf.

You do not find him.

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

The burly man grins, showing missing teeth.

You don’t even see or feel the blow.

It’s just their faces. And then darkness.

“What are we supposed to do with her?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well find out.”

You stay perfectly still as one of the men approaches.

“She ain’t moving.”

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

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

“Give her a kick.”

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

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

But the blow never comes.

His head is there and then it’s not.

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

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

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

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

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

In the shadows, something moves in the dark.

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

“Brynjolf,” you breathe.

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

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

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

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

“Take me away from here, Bryn.”

“You can’t expect me to stay here.”

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

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

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

“Why?” you hiss, already knowing.

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

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

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

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

You scoff. “And you trust her?”

“As long as money is involved.”

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

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

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

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

“You aren’t.”

“But I can’t go.”

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

“Be serious,” you hiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How quickly things change.

How quickly they fall apart.

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

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

“Of course you can, Bryn.”

“Then that is how I feel.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Bryn.”

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

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

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

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

Scared.

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

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

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

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

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

Brynjolf remains quiet.

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

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

“Since when?”

“You know,” he says simply.

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

And he’s been sending money all this time?

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

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

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

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

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

“Bryn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What would I do here?”

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

“I’m not becoming a member.”

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

“Is this your way of forcing my hand?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did ruin my job with the Jarl.”

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

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

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

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth

@miaraei @miss-mistinguett @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath @ninman82

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saturnsnakebars · 1 year ago

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Kaidan as your boyfriend

a/n: i have noticed there is like, little to no fics on this guy. smh. also please send requests i will literally write just about anything on this guy.

warnings: very ever so slightly spicy if you squint, gender neutral reader. also this is the first fic ive ever posted on tumblr so if anything is wrong i am so sorry.

Kaidan as your boyfriend

- In the beginning, he’s extremely awkward (obvi), but deep down it comes from a place of love. Awkward flirting, conversations, just all of it.

- Becomes possessive, even before establishing an official relationship. First it was because he was your shield, so naturally he feels protective. Now you’re together officially, and he wants everyone to know!

- Nicknames!!! Especially little dragon, or any variation of dragon.

- This man is heavy on pda. I mean cmon, it’s basically in his nature. He’s proud of you and himself, being together, all of that. He wants everyone to know. He loves holding your hand in public if you’re okay with it.

- I’ve preached this for years, but he has a size!kink 100%. He loves to tease you, he loves how he can so easily tower over you.

- Of course he knows how deadly you are, and he loves it. He loves watching you in battle, except for when hits come a little too close for his liking. He knows you can defend yourself, but sometimes he just cannot help it.

- When you’re hurt, he’s immediately in helicopter mode. He’s taking care of you and getting you everything you need. ugh.

- FLIRTY. Again with the possession, he just loves to flirt. He loves making you blush, whether that be by a comment or a slight brush on your leg, he just loves it.

- Once he’s deeply in love, the flirting does not stop. But he learns to take time to admire all your features and your personality, not everything is sexual with him. He loves you, and he’s eager to know everything about you. He lives for the calm moments with you. The moments where he can just hold you and adore you. Quiet nights by the fire are never boring with you.

- Acts of service. You could probably expect this from Kai, but it only increases as your relationship progresses. This man with do anything for you, you need only to ask. Get you a room? Get you something to eat? Water? Kill someone? Sure!

- He’s not perfect. He’s navigating a healthy relationship for this first time, but just be supportive of him and communicate, and he’s the best boyfriend you could ask for.

#kaidan skyrim #kaidan mod #kaidan romance #skyrim #skyrim x reader #the elder scrolls #skyrim headcanon #fanfic

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coffee-at-daybreak · 10 months ago

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a fate with you | miraak x reader

"I had forgotten what it looked like."

Your cheek rests against his shoulder as you turn your head towards him. "What?"

"The sky." Miraak pauses to take a deep breath, and you can hear the inhale near your ear. "The stars, the moons."

Your head shifts as you follow his gaze up. A fortunate night for there to be no clouds, so you can see it all. And being out in the plains of Whiterun, without a tree or mountain nearby to block your view, the sky stretches beautifully all around you.

"The sky in Apocrypha always remained the same." Miraak's voice is soft but somber. "For so long, it was the only one I knew - the only one I could recall."

Sympathy squeezes at your heart. You press closer to him, your side curled against his own and your head brushing his shoulder. You're lying flat on your backs, barely fitting on the single bedroll you'd situated on a small clearing. Not that you minded a reason to be this close, where you can feel his warmth seeping into you.

A few moons had passed and there is still stark reminders of his time in Apocrypha. He seems to be learning - and relearning - rather well from your travels together, but there are still shadows of his past looming relentlessly. And in the case of restless, anxious nights, much like tonight, you do your best to stay up with him, hoping your companionship will triumph over that of his haunted memories.

"It makes you feel small, does it not?" You ask, reaching a hand out and stretching your fingers. "Puny, like ants on a log."

He huffs. A brief chuckle, but a chuckle all the same. "Indeed."

You start to slowly move your hand, fingers tracing the stars. You squint as you try to visualize the connections between them. The constellations merely twinkle back at you.

"You are anything but puny, Dovahkiin." Miraak announces gently into the silence. "A hero known amongst men and mer. Your power and influence reach beyond this plane."

A weight forms in your belly, a small stone of uneasiness. "I know," you murmur. "But sometimes I welcome feeling small, and feeling ... insignifcant."

Your hand drops, limply lying at your side. Miraak's arm shifts slightly, his hand seeking yours. Rough, warm fingers glide over your own.

"Why?" He questions.

You look at all the stars again. If you had no responsibilities, perhaps you could lie here forever, until you'd counted every star and speckle, until you could recognize every constellation.

"I can envision a life where I am just ... me. Not the Dragonborn, not any other fancy title. Just another simple soul, without any power or destiny to my name." An emotional tendril wraps around your heart but you keep going anyway. "It seems so quiet. So peaceful."

Silence stretches on for a moment. Miraak's fingers still from their lazy strokes along the back of your palm. He tenses ever so slightly against you.

"Do you long for such a life?"

He tries to deliver it as an innocent question and nothing more, but you hear the tension behind his tone. The worry.

You hum. "Sometimes." The pause that follows is brief, but you still feel the weight of his anticipation.

Your hand stretches, twining your fingers with his own. It feels like a perfect fit, and no matter what, it fills you with a sense of comfort and ease.

"But then I realize I would have never crossed paths with you, and I long for this life more."

He breathes a silent sigh of relief at your words, and a smile graces your lips. You lean your head further against his shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath your ear.

"Perhaps in this life, we were fated to meet because of your power - our power." He gives your hand a squeeze, the pad of his thumb brushing your own. "But I wish to believe than in any life, in every life, we are fated to meet anyway."

There is a skip in your heart rate, and a warmth blooming in your chest. "You do?"

"Yes." Miraak's voice is so low and soft that were he not right up against you, it might be drowned out by the distant sounds of the plains. But despite its hushed volume, you can make out the sincerity behind his words. Like he is drawing them out from somewhere deep inside him, like his very heart is bringing them to the surface. "I would find my way to you in any plane of existence. Were we mere crop farmers on Skyrim, or grains of sand on the shores of a sea, or stars out in the endless sky. I would find you, and we would be two halves of a whole, much as we are now."

His body shifts, turning a little as he brings his free hand up to your head. He brushes away any hair that had fallen onto your forehead, placing a feather light kiss there instead. "My fate is you. It has always been, it always will be."

Tears prick at your eyes, and you wish to say something back, but you’re unsure how the words will come out past the lump in your throat. Instead you grasp at the shoulder fabric of his robes and lean your head up to find his lips with your own.

He returns the kiss like it is the most natural thing in the world. It is easy to believe his words about you two being the halves of a whole when his lips slot so perfectly against your own, or when your bodies seem to piece together as you lean in to each other. You break apart for only a second to catch air, drawing in the same unsteady breaths before you are colliding again, the familiarity of his taste and touch conquering your own consciousness.

#skyrim #elder scrolls #tesv #dragonborn #miraak #reader insert #tes #dovahkiin #elder scrolls skyrim #fanfic #gender neutral reader #miraak x reader #i love miraak but he is a challenge for me to write #but he gives me poetic kinda vibes i hope i at least got that right

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mamadovie · 7 months ago

Note

can we get some kaidan boyfriend headcanons please???

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.

#skyrim headcanons #skyrim x dragonborn #skyrim x reader #elder scrolls x reader #skyrim #skyrim headcanon #skyrim masterlist #skyrim kaidan x reader #skyrim kaidan #kaidan 2 x reader #kaidan x reader

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coffee-at-daybreak · 2 months ago

Text

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.

#skyrim #elder scrolls #tesv #dragonborn #reader insert #tes #dovahkiin #brynjolf #brynjolf x reader #reader x brynjolf #gender neutral reader #thieves guild #elder scrolls skyrim #again tysm for following and reading/interacting with my fics it means the WORLD to me love yall

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