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Pairing! Shanks x Female Kahjiit Dragonborn Reader
"Yeah?" He drawls lowly and meets your eyes, his own heavy with interest, "And what are you, kitty?" For the first time, you grin at him, a vicious, sharp thing that shows too many sharp teeth but makes that heat explode into an inferno the moment it curls your lips. Shanks swallows hard, hand twitching by his side, and he fights down the urge to reach out and touch you. You looked godly like this, the moon swallowing you in its glow, your eyes glowing with that look that has Shanks wondering if he was a pious man and if you needed someone to worship you. "A thief," You rasp, and your tail slaps the deck behind you, your grin growing, pride burning in your irises when Shanks meets your eyes, "A good one." Fuck. Shanks' hand twitches again. You weren't wrong because Shanks is pretty sure you've already stolen his heart, and it's not even been a gods damned week.
Warnings! None yet!
Link to AO3-> HERE
Part 2 Part 3
Shanks had seen a lot in his years. So much so that the redhead is sure that he has forgotten more things than he could remember. The drinking problem absolutely did not help, but the creature across from him was new in a way that made curiosity bubble up in his gut, and the tips of his fingers itch.
You, cause those were definitely tits, looked like a mink. A feline in particular with fluffy tabby fur and black markings around your eyes that made those golden irises pop even more. Big triangle ears pierced with golden hoops, and a tail that was long and fluffy. Shanks couldn't help but watch it flick from side to side.
You wore simple clothes. Just a tunic and some soft leggings. Your feet were bare, with claws at the end of each toe, and he could see pink paw pads from where he stood, watching you swing long legs at the bar. Your dark hair was messy, tossed up in an uncaring bun and tied with a length of leather. Interest curled hot in his chest when he watched you toss her head back and laugh, flashing deadly teeth.
Fuck. Shanks needed to talk to her.
He waded through the patrons of the bar. This island was one of his regular stops deep within his territory, so people moved out of his way without a word, a silent acknowledgment of his presence. A presence that you were ignoring.
Did you not know who he was? Did you not realize that you were sitting on his favorite stool, drinking from his favorite mug, and giggling a raspy laugh like you didn't have a care in the world?
"Will this one keep staring?" Shanks does not jump at the sudden sound of your voice addressing him, but it was a close thing, "Or will you sit and have a drink with this one?"
Shanks blinks. He'd never heard anyone speak as you do, and he had sailed all around the world and the Grand Line. He couldn't place the accent either, and that feeling of interest grew until it raged like a fire in his chest. What were you and where did you come from?
But he shoves all that away and settles with a friendly smile, sitting down beside the maybe mink and signaling for a drink. He takes a deep pull, vermillion eyes taking you in with more detail.
"Kill me if I ever turn down a free drink," Shanks teases and grins when you make that raspy laugh again. He liked that sound.
"You're a new face around here," He comments and tilts his head, dragging his tongue over his upper lip to lick away the sticky booze, "What's a mink doing so far away from Zou?"
Shanks watches those pretty ears flick back and your muzzle twitch, one sharp fang flashing as you hesitate. He hears a sharp tap tap tap, and looks down to see dangerous-looking claws drumming against the bar top. Shanks almost smirks, but hides it behind the rim of his mug. Gotcha.
"This one is not from this Zou place," You say, raspy voice hesitating. You peer at this redhead who pours power from his very essence. You had felt him before he'd even entered the building, his presence like a beacon to your senses. Ever since Alduin's defeat, you had been far more in tune with the unnatural than you ever remember being.
You chalked that up to literally dying and coming back to life.
"Oh?" Shanks murmured and shifted on his stool, giving the kitty cat his full attention, "So you're not a mink?"
You hesitate again. You don't sense any kind of malice from the human, but one could never be too careful. Still, you had already given too much away. Your tail flicks in your growing agitation, and it is a conscious effort not to dig your claws into the wood below.
"No," You rasp and take a sip from your mug, frowning at the chipped rim, "This one is no mink. This one is Kahjiit."
Shanks hummed lowly. Kahjiit. An equally unfamiliar word to your unfamiliar presence. He watched you, lips curving when you began to grow nervous under his scruntiny, ears flickering to lie back across your skull. Your tail lashed, fur bristling, and Shanks couldn't help but wonder if your fur was as soft as it looked.
"So where are you from?" Shansk presses after a moment. He makes sure to keep his tone easy, not wanting to accidentally make you uncomfortable, "If you're not a mink and you're not from Zou."
"Elsweyr," You say, and your voice grows fond, if not melancholy. Shanks frowns. It was obvious to him that you missed your home. Wherever Elsweyr was.
"And then the cold land of Skyrim," You continue, still just as wistful, "Until recently."
Shanks takes a dreg from his ale, his chest tight with pity for this poor creature so far away from home. He had never heard of either place. "What happened?"
You laugh and shake your head, tail slowing its rapid lashing to curl around one of your legs instead. You scratch at the table top, eyeing the redhead and debating with yourself if you want to tell him the truth.
Everyone had been rather friendly and welcoming since you woke up on the beach, taking you in without a complaint and giving you a place to stay and food. In exchange, you helped out around the bar, doing the odd job here and there or just keeping the place clean.
What else could you do in a world you didn't belong to?
"This one would not believe," You say carefully, and drag your rough tongue over your muzzle.
Shanks cocks a brow and leans in. This close, he can smell you, something musky and inhuman, but not bad. Nah, it was sweet in a way, subtle like some kind of flower. He knocks his mug against yours, "Try me."
"There ye are, lass,"
You look up from your desk, and the thick blanket you usually keep is doing little to keep you warm today, even with it wrapped all the way around your slight form. The harsh lands of Skyrim were vicious today, and all you wanted was to curl up in a fuzzy little ball in front of the hearth in the Ragged Flaggon and take a nap.
Alas, the duties of the Guildmaster were never-ending.
"Brynjolf," You greet and gladly accept the warmed cider, humming at the heat when it seeps into your paws, "What is problem?"
The redhead plops down in the chair across from you and kicks his feet up on the desk, that smarmy grin on his lips that you love to hate. He tosses his hands behind his head and leans back. Ever since Mercer and returning the Theives Guild back to it's former glory, Brynjolf had started to relax more.
You'd never see him like this if Mercer were still around. It was a good sight to see.
"Why does there have to be a problem?"
You give Brynjolf a narrowed-eyed look and then take a sip from your mug, not even bothering to verbally respond when you known Bryn can never keep anything away from you for too long.
"Alright, there might be a small problem," Brynjolf admits with a long sigh and rolls his eyes when he receives another look in response, "But I'm only telling you since you're the resident expert on Daedric artifacts, and you nearly shouted the Cistern apart last time we touched one without you there."
You perk up immediately. There was much love between you and the majority of the Daedric Princes. Especially Nocturnal and Sheogorath.
"Malacath would have eaten you." You rasp and stand from your chair. Brynjolf follows, boots smacking against the stone as he leads the way out of your quarters and to the main hub of the guild's hideout. You follow him to the vault, where Delvin is already waiting for the two of you.
"It's not that cold," Vex snaps at you from where she leans against the wall, a scowl on her face and arms crossed, "Doesn't that fur do anything>"
You hiss at her, the sound playful as your tail lashes behind you. You had an odd relationship with the blonde thief, built on a mountain of insults and sharp barbs. But still loyal to a fault.
"Knock it off, V," Delvin grumbles and waits for Brynjolf by the duel key lock. They count down and then twist at the same time. The doors creak when they swing open, and you follow the humans into the chamber.
It looks much better than it did when Mercer was still Guildmaster. You and the rest of the guild had worked hard to build everything back up. Now the coffers were full, and countless prized items lined the walls of the vault. They had done well for themselves in the years you'd taken over.
Brynjolf tugs back a woolen blanket in the back, and you are left staring at a black cube about the size of a cabbage. Your tail lashes, and you cringe at the potent magicka that the cube is drenched in. You force yourself to take half a step closer, golden eyes catching sight of the inscriptions carved into the onyx surface.
"It just…appeared the other day," Delvin says and crosses his arms where he stands beside you, "I don't like it."
"Can you read it, lass?" Brynjolf asks and leans closer to the cube, peering at it with narrowed eyes, "It doesm't look like Dovah."
"It isn't," You say and snag a hand out, catching Brynjolf by the arm and tugging him back to your side. You didn't trust this thing just like you hadn't trusted the Eye of Magnus. It was powerful, and it did not belong on Nirn. "This one can not read it."
You spent the next several days studying the cube. Copying down the unknown language and poring over the unfamiliar symbols under lanturn light. Brynjolf was your keeper, always there with a soft word or a mug of ale while you tried your best to decipher the cube. Many mornings you'd woken up curled against his chest, your face pressed against his throat while your purred away in your rest.
You did not mind the closeness. The guild, Bryn especially, knew how easily you forgot to care for yourself when something catches your interest.
Two weeks after they'd shown you the cube, you notice a slight change. One of the corners looks split, almost like the cube could be opened. You hesitate over touching it. You'd not laid a paw on the artifact once, but now the urge to touch was nearly overwhelming. You bite the inside of your cheek, paws twitching.
It was only you in the vault today. Brynjolf was topside scamming civilians while Vex and Delvin had taken jobs across the holds. The lower members of the guild knew not to bother you when you were so focused, so it wasn't like there was anyone stopping you from touching the cube.
But touching it proved to be your mistake. The moment your paw made contact with the smooth surface of the cube, the chisled inscriptions began to glow a faint blue. A startled hiss escaped your throat, and panic began to set in when you tried to pull your hand away, only to find it stuck on the cube. You pull on your arm, eyes going wide and tail lashing with fear when the light begins to grow brighter.
There comes a soft puh, and then the light disappears, leaving behind nothing but a vault bursting with wealth. No cube, and no dragonborn.
"This one woke up here," You say after your story and take a sip from your mug, quietly wishing that it was Black-Briar and not whatever you were drinking now, "Alone."
You turn and look at the redhead, and a pang of misery settles in your heart. You miss your redhead, and the beginnings of a relationship that had sparked right before you had touched the cube.
Shanks hums. Your story was far-fetched, and if it wasn't for the emotions you wear openly on your furry face, Shanks probably wouldn't have believed you. But he'd always been good at spotting a liar, and you weren't one. Still, a glowing cube that teleported you to an entirely new realm? Pretty fucking wild in his opinion.
"So what are you going to do about it?" Shanks asks after a moment. He couldn't imagine what you were going through, and you were taking being in a new dimension way better than he thinks he ever could.
Your tail flexes around your leg, and your ears pin back. You sigh and rub one of your ears, playing with the golden hoops that hang there, "This one has asked that same question many times. I do not know."
You hadn't even been in your armor when the cube had taken you. You didn't have the nightebgale leathers or any of your weapons. Of course, you still had your magicka, and you could still feel the power of the Dovah in the back of your mind, but that vulnerable feeling had yet to leave you. Not that anyone had tried to hurt you, but it was the principle of the thing.
Shanks hears you sigh again, the sound sad and wistful, "Home is where this one would like to be."
He drags his teeth over his bottom lip. Shanks feels for you, and for some reason, feels responsible to help you. Maybe it was because you'd landed here, in his territory, or maybe he just wanted to get to know you more. It didn't matter. Shanks didn't need a reason to do anything.
"Think you could remember what the writing on the cube looks like?" He asks and pushes his tankard away, more invested in you than in the booze. The way you'd described the object made Shanks think of poneglyphs, but those things were huge. Not the size of a house cat.
You nod and then dig into the pocket of your leggings. The other clothes that you'd appeared here in were far too warm for the tropical climate of the island, but the owner of the bar had been more than happy to part with some of her old clothes in exchange for some help. You'd snagged some of your notes just this morning, intending to study the symbols when you had some downtime through the day.
You smooth out the creased paper and slide it over to Shanks, leaning in with him as he peers at the paper, chewing his lip. You studied him more than the notes, dragging your eyes over his rough jaw and the slope of his nose. He was a handsome human, rough around the edges, but real. He reminded you a little of Brynjolf.
Shanks stares at the paper, and his stomach clenches with growing unease. He couldn't read them; there were only so many people in the world who could, but Shanks knew what he was looking at. Those symbols could only belong to a poneglyph.
But what the hell was a mini version of one doing in your world?
The longer he looked, the more he felt like he could recognize some of the symbols. He snagged the paper and brought it closer, slouching over the bar as he squinted his eyes. He'd seen this before, back when he was a cabin boy for the Oro Jackson, and Roger was still alive.
The question was where he'd seen it before.
"Does this one recognize it?" You ask, too impatient to let the silence stretch. The tip of your tail flicks, and you peer at the redhead, curious.
"I don't know what it says," Shanks admits and watches you deflate like a popped balloon, ears pinning back and fur losing the little bit of sheen it had, "But I know I've seen these before."
You perk back up at that. Maybe. Maybe if this human could bring you to the cube, it would send you back home? You could see your guild, your friends, and your family once again. See a certain accented redhead who liked to drive you crazy on the best days. You suddenly feel more hopeful in that moment than when you arrived in this world.
There could be a chance that you could return.
Shanks suddenly had a lap full of desperate Kahjiit, big golden eyes all he could see with how close you had crowded into his space. He automatically lashes his arm out, curling around your waist as he stares up at you.
Maybe a cat lady shouldn't make him want, but Shanks had a wide taste in women, and you were warm and smelled good. He wouldn't complain about a little fur and some extra parts. He is in the middle of wondering if everything else works the same when you shove your notes under his nose.
"Show this one," You hiss, desperate and fraught with hope. You fight your little cat brain for the correct words, meeting vermillion eyes.
"Take me with you."
