Skyrim One-Shots

Ralof x Reader(Female) ~Woe of the Bear's Hold~

"Brother, you said the squadron would be back by nightfall?" 

"Aye," the Jarl answered thinly, blazing blue eyes narrowing at his younger sibling. "What concern drives you to ask so often?"

A sheepish smile came upon her face, while the housecarl of the hold let out a snort.

"Well?" Ulfric prodded impatiently.

She bit her lip. Galmar barely held back a cackle.

"Date night, Jarl Ulfric! She's of good reason to be concerned!" a female guard answered in the silence rather cheerfully, while the man nearly choked on his own spit.

He gave a hearty glare to the woman, "____, you do not tell me of this?"

"Possibly," she snickered.

"Oh, ____, you're done for," Galmar cackled.

"How long?" the leader questioned warningly.

She refused to answer. 

"What did you say, twerp, 2 years?" Galmar reckoned. Ulfric paled- in either rage or shock, she couldn't tell, but oh, gods, she was screwed.

A stiff nod. "Aye. Two years, three months."

"You've got be fucking kidding-"

"Just because I'm 10 years younger and still have a chance at marriage doesn't mean you can take it away, you damned celibate!" she barked, crossing her arms. 

"Oh, it most certainly does," was the responding seethe.

"You kill him, Ulfric, there will be hell to pay," Galmar warned. "This is a literal, serious, working relationship."

"Then let hell rain," the man muttered. "There will be no bastard marrying my sister."

"And who will?" came her huff, "I'm the only hope for this bloodline, you daft idiot!"

"With your tastes, you might as well be bedding an elf!" the Jarl defended.

Galmar shook his head. "He's a good man- a Nord."

The man whipped to his housecarl, "You have known, even meet this whoreson, and you did not tell me?!"

Galmar raised his hands in mock surrender. "She asked."

A cocky grin came from the sibling, "See, people like me more than you, brother. I don't start wars."

"At least I win them," the man grumbled.

The entrance to the Palace fo Kings swung open.

____ wasted not a second, dashing to the young Stormcloak who'd entered with a wide smile and nearly tackling him with her embrace.

"Ralof!" she laughed, "You fair well!"

The blond-haired soldier grinned. "Of course. I missed you, lil' lady."

"I missed you too. Dodge the daggers from twat sack, he just found out today," she hummed.

"I find you calling the Jarl of Eastmarch a 'twat sack' with that level of casualty scary, love," the man chuckled. "You tell both things or just one?"

"One," she answered, hopping down from him to place her boots back on the stone. "He's throwing a fit, as bears do."

Ralof glanced up.

He quickly looked back down at the utter snarl he was met with. "Uh, I think the second thing may need to wait a few months."

"Well, of course it-"