Skyrim One-Shots

Mercer and Brynjolf x Reader(Female) ~Rejections(4)~

With a sigh, you let the large stack of papers in your arms plop down with a loud thunk onto your dining table, placing down the inkwell and quill you had stuffed in your sleeves. You organized out the paperwork into three sections. One, for regular clients who needed a job done. Two, for guild applicants, either filled out by actual members wanting to recruit someone or by people wanting to join. And three- the list of people that needed to be broken out of city jails.

Now, stack number two would be the easiest, then number one, and then number three. With three, you had to formulate a rough plan, find someone qualified for the job, let the scope the area out, make a plan themselves with the guard locations and shift times, check it with you, and go at the plan if it seemed like it could work.

With a groan, you threw off your chest armor, throwing it on another dining chair and walking into the kitchen, grateful you had decided to start up a stew earlier in the day because now it was ready and you took a bowl full of it. Grabbing a spoon, you plopped the spoon in the bowl and then grabbed an ale from the counter before heading back over to the dining table to eat and get paperwork finished before the dawn came and you had to retreat back to your desk.

Or at least half of it. 

The minutes passed by quickly, and they soon turned into hours. You were long finished with your bowl of soup and fourth ale of the night when two swift knocks echoed on your front door.

You furrowed your brows. Mercer came in through the back.

Standing from the chair, you jogged over to the door, uncaring that you were only in a sheer white tunic (you could literally see all of your abdomen and breast band without much staring)and opened it slightly.

"Lass?"

"Brynjolf," you blinked, opening the door. "What do you need?"

"Can I come in?" he questioned, completely avoiding yours. You raised a brow, but let him in, closing the door behind him and crossing your arms. A figure caught your attention at the stairway to the upper section of the home, sitting on one of the top steps.

Mercer.

Brynjolf.

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

Oh, this was bad.

"I have work to do. I'm not here to entertain either of you," you grumbled sharply.

"Told you, Brynjolf. She gets feistier when you catch her later at night," Mercer chuckled.

"Shut up, Mercer."

"Either I kick you out or you help with paperwork. Quills are upstairs, in the study," you stated.

Brynjolf tsked, taking a step closer and hugging you from behind so you were physically unable to get back to work. "Now, that's not fun, lass."

"I don't have relationships with fellow members."

"Mercer-"

"Mercer wasn't a guild member. Now he is again. I'm not fucking or fraternizing with either one of you," you clipped, "now let me go."

Mercer, the bastard, jogged down the rest of the stairs and leaned against one of the main dining walls rather casually, giving a rather thoughtful look. "It says nowhere in the rules that the Guildmaster can't do said things."

"It was one of your own rules, Mercer!" you barked, struggling a bit in Brynjolf's hold in a feeble attempt to wiggle out, but obviously not winning your fight. He was strong, dammit.

A quiet chuckle echoed from the redhead with that stupid, hateful, disgusting accent that you couldn't stand. "He's not the Guildmaster anymore."

Your spine started to tingle, your face heating at just how close he had gotten to your ear with that statement, and you tried to tell yourself you hated it.

You really did try.

"See, Brynjolf, you just never got close enough," Mercer commented. "She gets rather undone when you get in her space. It's rather adorable."

"It is," the other man agreed, smiling teasingly.

"I have had four consecutive ales in a row, Brynjolf, my patience is at an all-time low," you snarled.

"I'm sure," he huffed.

"Brynjolf, let go of me."

"Nah."

"Brynjolf."

"Nope."

"Brynjolf, I swear to the gods if you don't release me this instant."

"Oh? You'll do what, exactly?"

Every piece of dignity you had in that moment died, and your free hand made a fist, and already level with his pelvis, you swung it back with as much force as you dared if only to spare him too much pain.

A loud, throat-clenched noise echoed from your poor, poor second as he just crumpled, letting you go as Mercer let out an equally loud bark of laughter.

"C'mere, you little shite. If Bryn can't handle you, I want to see if I can," he beckoned, grinning.

"I have work to do," you narrowed your eyes. Brynjolf let out a wheeze from the ground, staggering to his feet.

"Why-Why would you do that?" he choked out.

You frowned, patting his head. "I gave you your chance."

"Told you she's feisty."

"Shut up, Mercer!"

"Yeah, shut up, Mercer," you snorted. "I can nail you there too."

He smirked. "Oh?"

You stiffened.

"Mercer Frey, get out."

"Drag me."

You marched up towards him and grabbed him by the scalp, a loud shriek of unpleasantries following as he attempted to rip your hand from his hair, but to no avail.

"I'll drag you alright," you growled.

"Mercer, she's beating you up too."

"Brynjolf, she's just a bit frustrated," the Breton tried to reason.

You scowled, letting go of his scalp and pointing to the door which you had led him to. "Out."

"I'll be sleeping on the streets."

"Good."

"I'll break my way back in."

"Try."

"I'll steal your stash of taffies."

You froze.

"You don't... How..."

"Underneath the-"

"Shut your mouth!" you yelped. "You can stay! Don't tell anyone, dammit! There's soup on the fire, and the guest beds are made!"

There was a simultaneous grin that grew on both of their faces. Ones that only thieves up to no good could brew.

You bit your lip.

"Stop looking at me like that. Both of you," you mumbled, going back to sit at the table.

"You look good without armor," Brynjolf commented.

Your face went redder than a tomato.

"Aye," Mercer agreed. "Very good."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

part 5

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