Chapter Text
Cassia, admittedly, had gotten a little too confident in her luck.
To her credit, it wasn’t exactly her fault that she had gotten cocky. It was easy when there wasn’t anyone she knew to compare with, so when the worst thing that had ever happened to her as a result of someone finding her hand in their pocket was getting thrown out of an inn on her ear, she just kept going. Each time, each near miss, just made her even more determined to keep going.
She had learned young—as she grew into her looks—that there was a lot a pretty Imperial could get if she asked nicely, and if asking nicely included a quick shag in an alley, she was more than happy to oblige. Getting a little sticky had gotten her out of many sticky situations. A hand in a drunk’s pockets turned into pilfered coin-pouches at the market, a swiped potion when pointing out an ingredient on a high shelf, even a soul gem as big as her fist when she asked breathily for help with understanding an enchanting table, trading a bit of her dignity for enough coin to eat for a month. If the court wizard was too distracted with the flutter of her lashes and an unlaced top to notice the fistful of garnets and soul gem shards she scooped off his desk, that was his loss.
She would never admit it, but her habit had grown almost to an addiction. She couldn’t help the way that the sight of a glittering trinket made her stomach flutter and heat light at the base of her spine. Did she get her rocks off on it sometimes? Maybe. It was hard to not feel flattered when a touch of rouge on her cheeks and a comely smile distracted even the most stingy of shopkeepers, and if it led to a little after-hours dalliance then, well, that was just a bonus. It was hard to see any downside to her current situation. It wasn’t like there was any guild around to ask for mentoring or advice anymore, everyone had heard when Riften had finally gotten fed up with the constant thieving and ran all of the local underbelly out of the Ratway.
Cassia had decided on a tipsy evening, pockets full of the ruby necklace of a weeping widowed Dunmer and the coinpurse of one of the fresh guards, that it was time for a change. She had long gotten tired of her home city, Windhelm, always cold and miserable, most of the ‘nobles’ too busy grieving to buy anything worth stealing. She had heard of the sudden exodus of thieves from Riften, and the idea of a city full of people who thought their days of clutching their purses was over just made her fingers itch. What other thieves would think of as an obviously bad idea, she saw only as an opportunity. Her ale-addled mind couldn’t help fantasizing over the possibilities, walking away with the entire display of a jeweler’s stall, or clambering down into the infamous Ratway and finding a secret stash that the prior occupants had left. If she had thought a little longer, well, she probably wouldn’t have thought better of her idea, but she probably wouldn’t have hopped onto the last departing carriage to Riften with nothing in her pockets but stolen gems and a handful of lockpicks. If she had thought a little longer, she would have perhaps taken some time to listen at the local inn, hearing the gleeful stories of what the townsfolk had done to the last occupants of the Ratway, and just how little tolerance they had for thieves like her.
She was awoken at her destination by a gentle shake, head fuzzy, the carriage driver ready to be done with her boozy dead weight. The sun had just started to peak over the wooden roofs when she entered through the simple Riften gates, a cocky sway in her step.
Even if Cassia had done everything else right, it took one look at the bustling Riften market gleaming in the morning sun to make her tongue swell with greed and forget any idea of caution. The stalls stuffed to bursting with merchandise, side shops with their doors cheerily painted, the smell of fresh bread in the air, all made her hungry in more ways than one. The potential made her feel dizzy and warm, a hot flush of excitement warming her from her core.
She twirled a strand of hair as she stared at the gleaming display the Argonian had laid out, the baubles of a friendly Dunmer, and the well-made gauntlets of a sour Nord. Something in her was coiled tight, excitement and fear battling. She was tempted, badly, by a silver emerald ring sitting innocently on the edge of the jeweler’s stall. She could swear it was her size, just by looking at it. The deep green gem captured the light, and her eyes kept returning to it, caught like a moth to a flame. The market was quiet, even though it was busy. Her eyes caught the ring again. They did not catch the knowing stare of the guard leaning against the nearby wall, or the rope casually being wound by the quiet armorer. The mid-morning sun made a trickle of sweat curve down her back, puddling in her smallclothes.
For a moment, her fingers danced at the edge of the stall, brushing the sun-warmed silver ring even as she tried to look at the other displays, listening to the patient explanation of the jeweler. She couldn’t explain how much she ached to grab it, roll it into her sleeve. Her pinky twitched, the ring swirling on the worn wood. It would be so simple to just slide it onto her finger, turn away from the counter then—she wasn’t that stupid. She tore her eyes away from the ring, shaking her head like it was full of cobwebs. It felt like a bucket of cool water had gotten poured over her head, and she took a step back, leaning against the cool stone of the well behind her.
She felt strange, overwhelmed. The quiet of the square only a moment ago was gone, suddenly it seemed like twice as many people were there, and at least twice as many were staring at her. She was only imagining it, she reassured herself, it must have just been some strange nerves. Maybe it had been a mistake to come out with such little preparation. What had she been thinking? The whole town had to be out in that square, with guards idly strolling through, eyes everywhere! She was brave, but she wasn’t an absolute idiot. The square was too busy, looking around made that obvious. Her gaze then fell on the one empty spot in the hustle and bustle, likely where another stall had been. Now, only a pillory sat there, the dark wood of its frame oiled and well cared for. It was suddenly very easy to picture herself in the shackles, getting heckled and tormented by the townsfolk. It made her skin prickle uneasily, and she needed to get away from it. A little bit of nerves was fine, but staring at the pillory all day would do nothing.
She weaved through the crowd, fingers itching to swipe for a coin purse, but to her disappointment very few hung freely from belts as they did in Windhelm. Riften was proving more careful than she had thought it would be. She should have stopped while she was ahead.
She flitted to the inn, hoping to find an easy mark to get her settled down, in the proper mindset, but it was almost deserted, the only patrons a weasley looking Imperial and a solemn Nord. Too much like Windhelm. The meadery she passed was also enticing, the heady sweet smell like a warm blanket, but drink was for celebrating, not for before a job. She nodded and smiled coyly at the hulking armorer after hearing about what rare finds he had in stock, and turned her attention to a smaller store with a drab and abstract sign. Surely there would be something of interest there. Cassia wiped her now-sweaty hands on her pants, grimacing at how her tacky palms picked up dust from the road that had stuck to her leathers.
The door of the shop was warm under her palm as she pushed it open, but rough-hewn, and the twinge of a near splinter made her wince. The shopkeep, a bored-looking man with twitching eyes, greeted her as she entered, and she flashed her best smile. She settled into her element like a comforting embrace, letting her limbs loosen and her posture shift, a touch of extra sway to her step. His gaze was heavy on her exposed bosom, pushed up with two spare rags, and her tastefully rouged lips. The anxiety of the square had melted away. She was good at this. She shifted her weight, casually taking stock. The heavy coin purse on his counter immediately caught her eye, as well as the glint of something jeweled and probably expensive peeking out of a pouch at his hip. The walls had shelves of what looked like expensive cloth and interesting knick-knacks, a handful of dark red potions glistening in their slim bottles. There was a cheery fire burning in the corner, filling the room with a heady warmth. She practically had to drag her gaze away from heavy rings on his fingers, letting a hand rest on the counter, and one fussing with a lock of hair.
“What can I help a lass like you with?” His voice was dry, but his eyes were hot.
“I’m passing through town, and I’m trying to find a good gift for my ma back at home.” She bit her lower lip, going on about how high the prices of the Argonian in the square were, as he nodded in sympathy. She crossed her arms, leaning against the counter, her breasts resting heavily on the warm wood. Whether he was actually listening was none of her concern. As his gaze lingered, she cocked her head, and he visibly shook himself, concentrating.
“Hmm, well,” he turned his back for a moment, looking at the shelf behind him. Quick as a flash, with hands steady as stone, Cassia gingerly lifted the coin purse from the counter, stuffing it in her shirt, and replacing it with another purse from her belt. Filled with rock and flotsam, of course, carefully weighted.
“I don’t bring these out for most people, but I can tell you have a discerning eye!” He returned, a small box in his grip, and set it down between where she was demurely resting her arms, flicking the top open. Two neat rows of rings, and a lovely pendant, giving off a soft gleam of magicka, lay nestled before her. If the lavish market hadn’t gotten her wet, this did. Moisture gathered between her thighs and on her top lip, tongue darting out to taste it. She did her best to make a show of how lovely the rings were, and to hide the hunger in her gaze. Just the gems and melted down silver off of one would keep her going for weeks.
“Serah, I’m sorry but, I don’t think I have enough for these.” She let her hand drift to her breast, her brows to furrow, let a pleading note sneak into her voice. “Is-is there anything I can do to pay you for one?” He grinned, the want on his face obvious. She wasn’t sure if he had just known the second she stepped inside that this was what she was going to try, but he was certainly amenable to it.
“Aye, lass, I think we could come to an agreement. Maybe you could put that pretty mouth to good use?” He smirked, and moved away from the counter, to sit in a chair next to the fire, beckoning to her. Internally she grimaced, she hated inevitably having to wipe rouge off of some stranger’s cock, but she wanted those rings, and so she knelt before him, knees already protesting. She could see, even through his rough linen pants, the hard length of him, and she wondered how quickly he had grown hard once he saw her. It was hard not to be flattered. He grabbed her hand, and placed it on the ties of pants, palming himself with her, flesh hot even through the fabric. “Don’t be coy, get to work.” She nodded, and unlaced him, letting his cock spring free. It wasn’t particularly long or wide, with a shock of pubic hair at its base that far out-grew the hair on his head, but she wasn’t a prude.
She took the hot length of him in her hand, letting her fingers stroke the velvety soft skin, licking her lips to try and get some more saliva flowing. Even though it wasn’t the cock she would like to be sucking, she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed the way things were going. A fat vein stood out at the base of him, and her tongue swelled as she watched the beat of his heart pulse through his cock. Wetness shone on the head, and she licked it gingerly, tasting the salt and sweat of him. He groaned as she took more of him into her mouth, one of his hands grasping the back of her head so he could rock into her mouth with ease. Cock sucking always made her wet, and she felt her small clothes dampen as her jaw tensed, swallowing at the thickness in her mouth. She was just getting a good rhythm going, inhaling the musk of his flesh in her nose, listening to his breath hitch, when everything started to go wrong.
“Bersi, did you ever hear back from Wilhelm about that shipment of-” the back door opened, with a female voice barking in, and she froze, her hammering heart now accompanying the hard cock in her mouth, as sour fear seeped into her stomach. The shopkeeper, Bersi, moved to get up, and she felt her teeth scrape on him as she closed her mouth in shock, biting her own lip in the process, the coppery tang of blood joining the precome on her tongue. Bersi yelped, slapping a hand to his groin, thankfully not bleeding, but cock quickly growing soft as his face flushed a magnificent red. The woman was staring, face contorted in anger, but looking unsure as to who to be more enraged with. Cassia did what she did best. She stood, lept past Bersi, grabbed the box from the counter, shoved the woman aside, and ran. This trip would not be for nothing. Adrenaline made her whole body cold and the blood in her ears almost deafened her, but even she didn’t miss how the door behind her never even closed, before Bersi bellowed out behind her, “Stop! Thief!”
And just like that, it was like the whole town shifted.