Warnings:Mentions of heavy violence/ Cicero is insecure/ Cicero is insane
Pronouns:He/Him (Cicero), You/Your (Reader)
Headcanons/ Fluff/ Angst
Explanation:What it’s like to be in a relationship with Cicero
|♤•♡•◇•♧•♤•♡•◇•♧•♤•♡•◇•♧•♤•♡•◇•♧|
Clingy mf, follows you around like a lost puppy and clings to you like a koala when he can. This does have to do with insecurity, not being chosen as Listener was a huge blow to what ever confidence he had last. He thinks he’s nothing without you, and he’ll go through with anything you request, unless if it has to do with harming the Nightmother. To be in a healthy(?) relationship with Cicero is to help him build his confidence back up even in the slightest, and to be observant so you don’t accidentally do something he doesn’t want to do, because he’ll never admit to being uncomfortable. It’ll require a lot of patience and understanding, so be ready.
When you do take Cicero out on one of your expeditions he’s genuinely so curious about his surroundings, being that Cicero never could stray too far from the Nightmother, he never really got to pause and admire his surroundings. Especially since Skyrim is still new to him, but he’s ecstatic if you include him in one of your ‘Dark Brotherhood Jobs’, even if he can’t take your kill he’s merry to watch the blood gush out of one of your unexpecting victims.
Gets super mad when jealous. He’ll scream threats and wave his dagger around at whoever he thinks is trying to seduce you like a mad man. It looks immature and childish, so sometimes people will edge Cicero on only to be found gutted like a fish in their own house the next day. He’ll try his best to retrain himself if you ask him not to kill that person or if the person is a Dark Brotherhood member, but sometimes he can’t control his rage. But he feels ashamed if it was a person you told him not to kill and will fess up immediately.
Good luck trying to get this jester to sleep, it’s not that he won’t lay down, it’s that he won’t shut his eyes and mouth. Cicero has a habit of talking or singing to himself, and it can be annoying when you’re trying to sleep. But a good way to get him to doze off is to cuddle him and/or rub his back. Your touch smoothes him like no other, so much so that he can’t stop his eyes from closing and before he knows it he’s fallen into dream land.
Speaking of Cicero not shutting his mouth, this guy never stops talking, whether it be to you, the Nightmother, or to himself, so I hope you have a tolerance to sound. Not to mention the annoying voices he’ll do or the fact he’ll start dancing and clapping out of no where. Cicero is overall a very loud partner so it’s easy to get angry at him, but he doesn’t do it to annoy you, it’s just his stimming, Cicero swears.
After accepting Brynjolf’s marriage proposal, the two of you receive some long-awaited alone time since binding yourselves together under Mara’s eye.
Part One
ao3 // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist
A strong breeze kicks up, rattling the side of the small cabin. A fire burns in the hearth, warm and strong, filling the space with light. The sun is all but gone. Your belly is full. And for once, you aren’t afraid. You are not stressed. There is no impending doom or subtle tension.
Tightening the wool blanket around your shoulders, you gaze into the fire, reflecting on the last few weeks. When you finally accepted Brynjolf’s proposal, he went to the Temple of Mara, and fetched a priestess like he said he would. The two of you bound yourselves together in matrimony.
Then it was done. Over. And your new life began.
The moment you sealed yourself to Brynjolf, the entire atmosphere changed within the Thieves Guild. They dropped their cold demeanors, greeting you with warm smiles and congratulations. The only member who didn’t seem to change at all was Vex, her icy exterior retaining a firm hold. At first, you believed she didn’t like you, but then you quickly realized that she’s sour with almost everyone.
You were not allowed to leave the cistern unless chaperoned, and while that bothered you at the time, you grew used to the routine. Brynjolf never waived in communicating how your mother and aunt fared in Solitude. He made sure to hand over any letters or pieces of communication, and whenever you longed to leave the cistern, Brynjolf would bring you with him to the market.
But all things end, and when Mercer Frey offered up a small retreat for you and Brynjolf to escape to for a bit, the two of you snatched it up without question. In Thieves Guild headquarters, there is nowhere private, and while you and Brynjolf tried to find a bit of quiet, it was ultimately difficult.
Every time you or Brynjolf tried to initiate anything, someone would appear as if sensing the intimacy.
Now, the two of you are alone. Truly alone.
Not simply as friends or lovers, but as husband and wife.
“Lass.”
Brynjolf’s hushed and husky voice drifts over to you. Turning away from the fire, you find him reclined on the bed. He is entirely bare except for a fur blanket covering his groin. The light from the fire casts a warm glow across his skin. Brynjolf bends one knee and lightly taps the bed beside him.
“Come to bed,” he croons, and your legs move without question. It is instinct to do so.
Approaching the side of the bed, your drop the blanket, revealing a thin shift. The chill air instantly pebbles your nipples and Brynjolf’s gaze drops to your breasts. It is a heated look, one that instantly pulls a slickness from your core.
Slowly, you lift your leg, planting one knee on the bed. Leaning forward, you place both hands on the soft bedding, and then lift your other leg. Brynjolf’s emerald eyes flash, his chest expanding and deflating quickly, nostrils flaring. With deliberate slowness, you slide over to him, keeping your gaze glued to his face. Brynjolf watches you the entire time. There is hunger lingering in the depths of his stare.
When you come to rest against his right side, Brynjolf reaches out, cupping your cheek with one hand. He doesn’t say anything. Simply touches. Caresses. Observers. The middle of his brow creases slightly and then softens. That kissable mouth of his turns upward, and there is so much love there it momentarily zaps your autonomy from you.
You would give Brynjolf anything in this moment.
“Do you remember the first time?” he asks.
“The first time?” you reply hesitantly, not sure you understand.
Brynjolf laughs softly. “You know.”
Your cheeks heat, sudden realization dawning. “Oh. Yes.”
Dropping his hand from your cheek, Brynjolf leans back into the bedding. “I was nervous. Excited.” He chuckles. “Couldn’t stay hard.”
“Or inside me,” you add with a smirk.
Brynjolf laughs, the sound of it sweet. “Aye. What a mess I was.”
“Are you telling me you’re nervous, husband?” you tease, placing one hand on his bare chest. He is warm beneath your palm, and you cannot help yourself. You stroke slowly, savoring his heat.
“Hardly,” he replies, his own hand grasping yours. Brynjolf brings your palm up to his lips to place a gentle kiss there. “I’ll be better.”
“Truly?”
Brynjolf’s amused grin widens as your teasing tone. One moment you’re reclining beside him and the next you’re on your back.
“Bryn!” you exclaim, but he has you pinned.
“If we married when he did,” he murmurs. “We’d have ourselves an army by now.”
You gasp and smack his chest. With how much space you have, the strike is weak, but it’s not meant to hurt.
“Don’t like the truth, lass?” he croons, head dipping slightly as if to kiss you.
“You’re terrible,” you reply, smiling.
Brynjolf grins. “You take that back.”
“Make me.”
The words leave your mouth and you cannot snatch them out of the air. You cannot shove them back down your throat.
Brynjolf’s grin grows wider, and you know in this moment that you’ve lost.
His mouth comes down on yours with a fierceness that steals all breath. It is suffocating. Intense. And so different from all the kisses you’ve ever received before, even from him. His large hands roam over the thin shift until your skin is buzzing, as if bees have made a home there. When he retreats it is agony, a staunch shattering that longs to be repaired.
“We have years to catch up on,” he murmurs against your lips, tongue darting out to tease.
“Then we best get started,” you reply, just as softly.
Brynjolf groans and comes back for more. It is sweet like an apple tart with extra sugar. Brynjolf will rot your teeth at this rate, but you’d hardly care even if he did.
His hands slip under the thin shift, bunching the fabric around your hips. The fur blanket that covers his cock is gone and his nakedness is apparent. It presses on your lower abdomen and you flex your hips up to bring him level with your entrance.
Brynjolf’s fingers dig into your thighs as his cock slides through your sex. “Not yet.”
Brynjolf releases your thighs and places both hands on the bed, pushing up to a seated position. His cock stands at attention, nearly meeting his belly button. Every muscle of his is on display, and you long to taste and lick each one.
Years. It’s been years, and your body still craves him like it did before.
“Off,” he says, and it is a command. His red hair lightly brushes over his shoulders as he shifts slightly on his knees.
Your fingers find the neckline but hesitate. It’s not because you’re scared or frightened of him, but because this makes it all the more real. The two of you are bound together under Mara’s blessing.
Brynjolf’s gaze softens. “Want my help, lass?”
Heat rises to your cheeks as you ease the neckline over one shoulder and then the other. It falls to your waist, revealing your breasts. Brynjolf is right there, reaching to help ease the shift down your legs.
When you are bare to him, Brynjolf groans. His hands return to your thighs and you part them, wanting him closer. Brynjolf briefly straightens, drawing back slightly, the tips of his fingers grazing over your inner thighs.
At first, you think he’s pulling away from you, but he only wants to admire, to gaze on your body for a bit.
“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. Those emerald eyes of his darken. “Wife,” he whispers, as if he’s testing it out.
“Wife,” you repeat back to him.
His chest heaves. “Finally.”
Brynjolf surges forward. One hand presses into the bed by your head while his other grasps your hip. Your mouths connect, and the liquid fire returns, roaring through blood and bone until you’re drowning. All these years you’ve waited and resisted, believing that loving him would only ruin him. How wrong you were. This man is enthralled. It’s clear from every touch and kiss.
Brynjolf breaks away only to return his mouth to your skin. He kisses your jaw and the curve of your neck. He moves down to your collarbone and then between your breasts. Brynjolf descends further over your stomach and stops just above your sex.
You are still spread completely, legs forced apart by his expansive shoulders, entirely open for his view. Brynjolf’s gaze is locked on your sex. He is fixated, and when he finally glances up, his pupils are blown.
“May I taste my wife?” he asks, voice rough with lust. Brynjolf slides back a bit, forcing your legs over each of his broad shoulders. His mouth hovers just above your pussy.
“You may,” you reply, voice soft, almost inaudible.
The corner of Brynjolf’s mouth quirks into a smile. His head dips, breath hot against your slickness. It draws forth a shiver, one that has him groaning against your inner thigh. Brynjolf’s lips hover there, pressing lightly on your soft skin.
“No squirming,” he says before gently biting.
It’s not painful, more of a surprise that has you seeking refuge away from his mouth.
“Oh shove it, Bryn,” you mutter.
He laughs, and then his tongue is on you.
It is not tentative. Not hesitant. It’s not like the first time when the two of you stumbled through the motions. This is completely different. Completely other. Brynjolf is sure of himself, as if he’s known your body all his life, and he knows exactly what you need.
His tongue traces, moving from entrance to clit with deliberate slowness. Your back arches, but Brynjolf’s hold is firm. His large hands firmly grasp your outer thighs, keeping you parted. When his tongue makes another pass, a gasp escapes you. It is strangled. Nearly choked.
Brynjolf repeats the motion, and this time you whimper.
“So sweet,” he purrs. “And all mine.”
His words are liquid sin, dipped in Dibella’s teachings. When Brynjolf puts his mouth on you again, he tastes and tastes and tastes until everything in you clenches. That tension coils up like a serpent under the leaves, waiting to strike. There is no escape. No chase. You are completely open and raw, unable to contain the venomous bite inside you. The serpent shows its fangs, and you are a willing victim.
Brynjolf sucks your clit into his mouth and that cracks your control, shattering it like poorly forged steel. Your fingers slide through his red locks, tugging until he growls. Your hips flex, pushing your cunt against his mouth.
Those large, strong hands of his hold tight, keeping your hips still. But Brynjolf doesn’t guide you away. Instead, he keeps you pressed against his mouth, the flat of his tongue tearing your resolve into shreds.
“Stop. Bryn. I’ll suffocate you,” you gasp, trying in vain to create distance.
“Then I’ll die happy,” he replies casually before diving in for more.
Between your legs, you watch as Brynjolf adjusts his position. He freely offers you a clear view of the tip of his tongue as it circles and teases your clit. You are unable to look away. The sight of him worshiping your body like this sends your body buzzing, and that coiled tension returns, blooming fast.
Your gaze is fixed on that one point, of how his pink tongue plays with you. Brynjolf doesn’t need to use his fingers. By the Nine, if he did, you’d likely explode, shatter like hammer against ice.
You melt like the snows in summer. You do not stifle or attempt to restrain the moans that leave your lips. They are wild. Untamed. And all for him.
Who would hear you but him?
By the time you begin to come down, Brynjolf is already bringing your thighs together, angling them back toward your chest. You don’t care. Don’t event mind. Everything inside of you is light, as if you float amongst the clouds, soaring like a hawk.
“My wife,” he says softly, drawing your gaze back to him. Your lashes flutter, and a contented smile spreads across your face. Brynjolf’s mouth and chin are shiny with your juices.
He makes no move to clean himself.
“Husband,” you reply.
With a suddenness that surprises, Brynjolf’s hand grasps the nape of your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, only holds. He tugs, drawing you upward but not entirely into a seated position. Your fingers dig at the bedding beneath you, all the muscles in your body that were once languid are now tight with strain.
In this position, Brynjolf’s cock slides through your slickness in a back-and-forth motion until all you can hear is your own pleasure.
“Brynjolf,” you gasp, reaching for him.
He murmurs your name as the head of his cock bumps against your clit. Your only response is a strangled groan, one he answers by rocking his hips back enough to hold himself at your entrance.
On an exhale, Brynjolf begins to ease in. This is not like before. Not at all. You are stuffed. Filled.
“You’re doing so well, lass.” Brynjolf retreats slightly before pushing forward again. “You can take it.” He gives you more with each roll of his hips.
“By the Nine,” you say as he bottoms out.
“Don’t go praising the gods now, lass,” chides Brynjolf. “They don’t deserve your sweet words.”
You’d laugh, maybe even tease back, but Brynjolf is hungry, and he gives you no respite.
There is no subtle softness. No slowness. Brynjolf drives forward, each thrust concentrated strength. The hold on your neck disappears, and you slump back to the bed, but that doesn’t matter. In this position, you are pinned beneath him, unable to do anything but take. But you gladly accept it, each steady stroke a delicious bite.
You never want to leave this place. Never want to leave him.
Brynjolf adjusts your legs, spreading them out and up, pushing them toward your chest. It forces your hips up a bit but it only creates a deeper angle. Leaning forward, he plants one hand above your head and the other near your shoulder.
He grunts above you, beads of sweat rolling down his neck. Reaching up, you slide your hands up his chest and then over his shoulders, keeping him close. Taking the hint, Brynjolf relaxes a bit, draping himself over you as he thrusts.
Like this, you can reach him.
Flexing the muscles in your neck and shoulders, you arch up to kiss him. You only manage to graze his jaw but it’s enough. Brynjolf tips his head downward, and then he’s meeting you, each kiss desperate.
What were once steady thrusts become needy, quick bursts that signal his end. While you cannot move your legs much, you do manage to hook your heels over the backs of his thighs. This changes something within him because Brynjolf nearly crushes you as he groans out his releases.
You cling to him, holding tight as his hips stutter, the last few thrusts of his shallow and weak. Brynjolf’s lips brush against your jaw, then your cheekbone before falling against the curve of your ear.
“Did you want that army?” he asks.
“Do you?” you reply, turning your head enough to gaze upon his face.
The soft smile you receive tells you all you need to know. “Little versions of us running around the cistern? Brandishing knives?” You roll your eyes and Brynjolf chuckles against your throat. “I’ll take whatever you offer me, lass. You know that.”
He still inside you, and so you roll your hips, finding that he’s already becoming hard again.
here’s a prompt: lucien being soft. that is all thank you
It’s usually quiet in the cheydinhal sanctuary and Lucien’s status with in the brotherhood made visits from him few and far between. Unlike most Cheydinhal days this one in particular was almost polar. So it wasn’t particularly surprising when he saw Y/N by the fire. Scribbling desperately notes that could improve thier assassinations.
“I also enjoy watching things burn.” Lucien smiled before eyeing Y/n who was desperately clutching whatever they could for warmth.
“Dearest Y/N I love to watch things burn but I hate to see them freeze...” Lucien scootched up next to Y/N draping his heavy speakers robes over thier shoulder.
“We can afford to loose anymore assassins and I can’t afford to loose you...” Lucien added
“Like as your dark sibling?” Y/N questioned.
“Every good story has an unholy couple The dread father has the nightmother. It seems I have you.” Lucien smirked placing his thumb under Y/N’s chin tilting thier head to meet his eyes.
I am fully aware that it says naughty in the request, but you also requested Teldryn with an (innocent) bath as well. To make it easier on myself, I combined the two for this prompt. We’ll start with the sweet (innocent) stuff before we start encroaching on more dangerous territory. I’ve stuck to gn!reader for this one. Enjoy!
ao3 // main masterlist // 1k follower event masterlist
Innocent:
Teldryn who doesn’t often get to bathe while working as a mercenary. In fact, it rather peeves him that he cannot just find a peaceful place to wash down every once in a while. The Chitin armor he wears can grow smelly if it’s not taken care of.
Teldryn who might wash up in a stream, river, or lake if he absolutely has to but prefers an actual soak in a tub.
Teldryn who will absolutely pay an arm and a leg to have bath when he stays somewhere for the night. Even if all he gets is a large wooden basin and some basic soap, Teldryn is jumping at the opportunity to soak.
Teldryn who prefers steaming hot water that might scald the skin of paler folk.
Teldryn who likes to lather up and scrub every inch twice over before he actually feels clean.
Teldryn who is totally comfortable drinking himself into a stupor and gorging himself on finger foods while soaking.
Teldryn who does enjoy more than just his company in the bath. With you, he would enjoy you reclining against him or soaking opposite if the tub is big enough.
Teldryn who wouldn’t mind washing you down especially if you’d had a long day or if you were out exploring the world with him. Muscles soreness needs gentleness and a loving hand.
Naughty (MDNI):
Teldryn who isn’t afraid to be a tease if you’re in the room. He’ll take his time undressing. He’ll show off all his muscles. He might even flex. It’s to tempt you into coming with him. To join him in the warm water so he can have you all to himself.
Teldryn who will overexaggerate every movement to tempt you further if you won’t join him. He’ll even purposefully touch himself in a way that you know exactly what’s happening beneath the water.
Teldryn who won’t be able to stop touching you once you join him. He might scrub you down and lather up your skin with the soap, but he’s doing more than that. Teldryn wants to touch you.
Teldryn who is going to use this time to make you ache for him before this is all over.
Teldryn who will relentlessly tease about how needful you are. He loves to hear you beg, and will make every effort to bring you to that point.
Teldryn who will use this opportunity as a kind of foreplay for the real thing.
Hi!! For the 1k follower event, could I request Skyrim Teldryn Sero PDA?
Thankyou!!
(I may or may not send more requests)
AH! Teldryn! My beloved! I love that cocky and charismatic mercenary. It’s seriously a crime that he isn’t a romance option in base game. I’d select him over my usual option (Farkas) every time if he was. Sigh. Proceeds to go look at mods.
(And you may absolutely send in more requests)
Word Count: 653
ao3 // 1k follower event masterlist // main masterlist
PDA is usually defined as any sort of intimacy that revolves around hand holding, kissing, touching, etc, but I’d argue that affection is a broad term that can be applied to many areas.
For inns, taverns, or anything involving drink and a good time, Teldryn needs to be right next to you. He will keep one hand on your thigh—nowhere else. Not the knee, or an arm around your shoulder. It has to be the thigh. A hand on the thigh is a sign of ownership. It is a clear message to everyone else in the room to stay away. He might be smiling and enjoying himself, but he’s always aware of where his hand needs to be.
If there is music, and he’s had a few drinks, Teldryn is up for a bit of dancing. He likes it because he can be close to you, and for him, it’s like the two of you are in your own little bubble. Doesn’t matter if the place is packed or completely empty. It’s a different kind of intimacy you just can’t get when you’re on the road. With this, he might be more forward, more willing to place his hands in places that might be publicly deemed lewd.
Teldryn will not grab or kiss you roughly in front of others. He might do it to annoy you or tease, but not because he enjoys it. He prefers the softer touches and displays of affection. He’ll slide his arm around your waist and tuck you close. In a dark corner, he’ll lean in and whisper your name to draw your attention to him, only to greet your response with a kiss.
In times of relaxation, whether at an inn or inside a shop, if he’s not occupied with something, Teldryn will be close to you. Not on top of you or stepping on your feet, but within range in case you need anything. As he’s perusing a shelf or admiring weapons on the wall, Teldryn may reach out, seeking you, only to briefly connect before drawing away again. It could be as small as the tips of his fingers brushing against your arm or his palm on your back.
While Teldryn is cocky, he doesn’t need to flaunt anything to prove that he cares about you. He is confident, and he knows where the two of you stand. Teldryn won’t strut around like a colorful bird. He will stand tall and yet completely relaxed. There might be a swagger in his step when he walks around with you in public, but it’s subdued, more of a delighted kick in his step.
Public displays of affection that include kisses, hugs, and touching are completely on the table. Teldryn won’t say no to those if you ask, and he will ask for them in return. At an inn or tavern, and only after several drinks, he might be very handsy, even going so far as to pull you in his lap. A few drinks can break that demeanor and make him ravenous.
Teldryn prefers placing his hand on your lower back over holding hands.
Teldryn likes to hold hands only when the two of you are stationary or standing next to each other.
He prefers subtle, sweet kisses over messy ones. Teldryn saves those for when the two of you are alone.
Loves toying with your hair, and rubbing your back when he thinks no one is looking.
Is always willing to do a bit more if he believes the two of you won’t be caught.
Hand-feeding you or serving you food is mandatory and he considers it an honor. And no, you will not go to the bar to order your own drink. Teldryn will do it for you.
PDA can also mean “Public Displays of Annoyance” because Teldryn would absolutely show you public affection by teasing you until you’re completely annoyed with his presence.
For 1k, could I request Skyrim Marcurio pda? He doesnt get enough love!
Okay, so…don’t hate me but I am not a Marcurio stan. I don’t hate the guy—far from it—but I never pick him for anything. I’m always picking Teldryn Sero or Farkas as a companion. I always marry Farkas and curse Bethesda for not making Teldryn a marriage candidate. But I do agree with you that Marcurio is often overlooked. He’s very camp, sassy, and certainly has a personality to him. I’ve kept this on the gn!reader side. It’s short and sweet. Enjoy!!
