From this prompt list. This is some cute AF shit right here 👌
Brynjolf x Fiona
861 words | [read on Ao3]
Winterhold was no place for a man like Brynjolf to be, even if he was a Nord. He never understood why anybody lived in such a desolate, frozen city—especially one that had been plagued by such tragedy, such as the Great Collapse. The Sea of Ghosts was not a body of water he wanted to take up residence near for any period of time. The only reason why Brynjolf found himself in the city was because Fiona requested his company on the journey, and he wasn’t about to pass the opportunity to travel with her—especially considering what occurred the last time she traveled this far North.
At first, he believed she had business with the Mages’ College, but Fiona quickly dismissed the assumption, reminding him she wasn’t blessed with any magical talent. Instead, their trip was of a personal nature, returning to the snowy lands to visit with Enthir and pass along a few of Gallus’ belongings, handed down by Karliah. Brynjolf had to wonder why they didn’t just invite the sorcerer to the warmer climate of Riften instead.
Upon the pair’s arrival in Winterhold, Enthir was eager about whisking Fiona off for a tour of the College grounds—something Brynjolf had little to no interest in. So he moseyed about the town, secured their room at the tavern, perused the local shop and stared off into the seemingly never-ending ocean before pacing along the snow-covered cobblestone streets. Admittedly, he was likely staring off into space, counting the number of pine-needles on the nearby tree when a tiny voice echoed nearby.
“Mister, will you help me?”
Brynjolf was momentarily alarmed to find himself propositioned by a small child, wondering for a moment if he was about to be scammed before pushing the thought away. He wasn’t in Riften, or in Windhelm for that matter—he didn’t have to be so skeptical. The little girl was holding a pile of snow in her hands and when he looked past her, a few more children were running through the empty pathway, hurling chunks of snow at one another.
He grinned, catching on immediately. “Ah, need help with a snowball, lass?”
She nodded enthusiastically, holding out her hands to him as he crouched down to her level. Instead, he scooped up some fresh snow from the ground, packing it tight into his gloved hands, rounding it into a compact shape. When he passed it off to the girl, she was delighted. Brynjolf began work on a second snowball.
“Why don’t we team up, eh?”
The energetic girl ran ahead, chucking her snow at her friends excitedly. The two boys were confused at first, but when they saw Brynjolf they were immediately thrilled to have a grown-up to help with their afternoon of fun. And since he didn’t have much to do in the small town while he waited for Fiona, he was happy to join. Rushing about the streets almost made him forget how cold it was, tossing piles of snow and relishing in the sounds of children’s laughter—it wasn’t an activity he’d ever find himself part of back home. He was hit in the chest and he dramatically fell to his knees, pretending to be wounded.
“Oh! You got me!”
The little boy pointed over his shoulder. “More enemies!”
Without thinking, perhaps too caught up in the moment, Brynjolf tossed the snowball that was in his hand over his shoulder. When he turned to look at who was approaching, it wasn’t another child—no, it was Enthir and Fiona—her face covered in powdered snow.
“Brynjolf?!” she shrieked, but if he expected her to be upset, he was pleasantly surprised by the grin that overtook her features. Perhaps she still had a few surprises for him, after all.
He offered a little, inconspicuous shrug. “Aye, lass. It’s me.”
“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” she responded wickedly, marching through the snow a few paces before dashing over to chase after him.
He jolted up from his spot quickly, sprinting past the children as they all echoed out their amusement as Fiona ran after him, arms outstretched in dramatic fashion. Little did they know she could very well tackle him to the spot, shout and bend him to her will if she really wanted. Eventually, he allowed her to catch him, laughing as she wrestled him to the soft, snowy ground. At first, he was pleased at the notion of having her atop him, but soon enough his mind registered that this was about revenge, but it was too late. Fiona swept up a pile of snow and with her free hand she tugged on the collar of his jacket and shirt before slipping the cold powder down. Brynjolf squirmed along the ground beneath her, but despite it all could only chuckle.
“Oh, you wicked, wicked woman,” he chastised. Fiona leaned closer, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. A small bit of warmth that didn’t spread nearly far enough, given his current state.
“Don’t worry Bryn,” she assured. “There’s a bath inside the tavern’s basement. If you ask nicely, I might be inclined to let you join me.”
Tagging @ everybody who sees this post and wants to do this! <3
AO3 Stats!
(How to find your stats: go to your Dashboard, click on “Statistics,” then click on the year you’re answering for!)
Total 2018 Word Count: 458053
Total 2018 Hits: 264465
Total Kudos: 16881
Total Bookmarks: 2514
Total Comment (threads): 1964
User Subscriptions: 400
Links and Titles to 2018 Works:
JANUARY
In The Moment (T, Will Byers/Mike Wheeler, Will Byers & Eleven, 1451 words)
cloudbuilt (Not Rated, Fay D. Fluorite/Kurogane, 1534 words)
In Boldness (G, Meera Reed/Wylla Manderly, 339 words)
Things You Said At 1AM (T, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, 519 words)
To Prove It (M, Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, 1890 words)
Insomnia (T, Kali Prasad/Nancy Wheeler, 1389 words)
Every Single Imperfection (M, Jon Snow/Robb Stark, 667 words)
Reunion (Not Rated, Barbara Gordon/Kara Zor-El, 815 words)
Together Now (G, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, 345 words)
No More Waiting (T, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, 852 words)
A Little Bit Like Home (Not Rated, Bill Denbrough/Richie Tozier, 1747 words)
Wednesday’s Child (T, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, 832 words)
Undo What’s Been Done (M, Peeta Mellark/Finnick Odair, 3360 words)
Your Attention Only (Not Rated, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, 1164 words)
That Boy On My Mind (M, Bill Denbrough/Richie Tozier, 1112 words)
Dwelling In Possibility (T, Newt/Thomas, 1405 words)
Dandelion Wine (T, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, 801 words)
And I know I make the same mistakes every time
Bridges burn, I never learn, at least I did one thing right
I did one thing right [x]
Fiona and Brynjolf engage in some early morning pillow-talk, unable to escape their love-nest.
❤
Brynjolf x Fiona
760 words | Ao3
Fiona couldn’t recall a time she had felt so peaceful or well rested as she slowly stirred from her slumber. She wasn’t sure what time it was, not that it mattered—with how warm and content she was, all wrapped up in the blankets and furs, Brynjolf’s body pressed up against her back, arm tucked tightly around her waist. A “love nest” was what he called it. Her—their—bed, the place where they had been making up for lost time, in more ways than one, since returning from Irkngthand.
Fiona was still counting her blessings with every morning that she awoke. She couldn’t believe how close her life was to disaster just weeks ago, how every safety net she had built around her since arriving in Riften was ripped out from right under her feet thanks to Mercer’s treachery. She had her own demons and lies that she ultimately faced, but to say her world had been shattered would be an understatement.
In the end, everything—the Guild, the Nightingales, her reputation—had come out clean. Mercer was dead, Karliah was vindicated, Gallus was at rest and Fiona herself was Guildmaster. As for her and Brynjolf, their relationship had flourished into something wonderful, the two committing to each other—no more ambiguity, no more dancing around an undefined line. In the days since, they had hardly left Honeyside, but Fiona was hardly complaining.
She smiled to herself as his breath fanned out across her neck, tickling against her skin in soft puffs. She settled against his broad chest, satisfied to continue resting, or perhaps fall back asleep when she heard the faintest sounds of snoring coming from his nose and mouth. Fiona snickered to herself, raising a hand to stifle her amusement, especially as his sounds increased, echoing against her ear.
Brynjolf mumbled, the snoring tapering off as his grip around her tightened momentarily, his chin moving to nuzzle against the curve of her shoulder. She let out a sharp yelp that dissolved into giggles at the feel of his stubbly beard, playfully squirming against him as he hooked his other arm around her torso and across her naked chest.
“What’re you laughing at?” he rasped, pressing his nose to her temple, resting his lips against her ear as he spoke. It sent a shiver along Fiona’s spine and sparked a desire deep within her gut.
“You.”
“Oh?” he softly laughed, and Fiona was sure her skin was covered head to toe in gooseflesh now, even under all the covers.
“You were snoring,” she commented with a grin.
“I’ve slept in your bed plenty of times before, lass. This the first time you’ve noticed?” he asked.
She shook her head, maneuvering her body so that she was now facing him, his arms quickly snaking around her waist to keep her close. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you snoring before, Bryn.”
“Hmm…” he sighed. “Perhaps I’ve never been as comfortable before, then?”
She smiled, raising one of her hands to frame the side of his face. “I like the sound of that.”
With the pad of her thumb she softly traced the scar along his cheek before shifting to caress the angle of his jaw and chin. All the while his hands roamed across the skin of her back, softly stroking down the length of her spine. Fiona felt tranquil, warm beneath his touch, just staring into his eyes. Like a field of flowers had just bloomed within her heart, or the gentle breeze of fresh morning air had floated in and captured her soul. She felt like sunlight—that even on the darkest of days, in her deepest moments of doubt, all he would need to do is look at her and she’d know it would be okay.
Who knew love could be that powerful?
“I love you,” she sighed, unable to stop herself—not that she wanted to, not anymore. She was not the same woman, not the same Fiona that ran to Riften seeking shelter from a destiny she couldn’t face all those months ago. No, she was a brand-new woman, so incredibly lucky to have someone who loved her for all her faults and flaws and imperfections.
Brynjolf’s hand brushed through her hair, fingers curling through blonde locks before tucking them back behind her ear, tracing down her neck and back up to gently angle her chin as he leaned forward to capture her lips in a soft, lingering kiss. “Aye lass,” he breathed, barely pulling away, brushing his nose against hers. “I love you.”
For the line of dialogue asks, “Kiss me before I go” for Fiona and Brynjolf, please?
Brynjolf x Fiona
772 words | Ao3
Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased.
Fiona read over the letter, clenching her teeth in frustration at seeing the familiar name. This wasn’t the first time the Cultists from Solstheim had shown themselves—she had encountered them in growing frequency over the last several months—from Solitude all the way to Falkreath. It wasn’t until the Cultists began showing up in Riften under the cover of darkness, attacking anybody they could just to get to her that she knew she needed to react.
She spent most of the night hunched over her Guildmaster desk organizing the books, ensuring that her plans would come to fruition with or without her presence in the city. Most of the Guild seemed to understand that she was planning on heading away—but for how long, neither she nor the others didn’tknow. The hardest part about the situation was undoubtedly what she was goingto say to Brynjolf. He would want to go with her to Raven Rock but what she really needed more than anything was for him to remain to keep the Guild in thriving order.
“Nocturnal preserve me,” she whispered, bowing slightly as she passed the statue in the Cistern on her way out—she would need the blessing for what she was about to ask of her second—her lover.
Fiona found Brynjolf at Honeyside, in his usual spot by the fireside, slowly nursing a cup of brandy. They had shared the homestead for nearly three years, and with that came a lot of habits for her to memorize—Brynjolf was very much a creature of habit. He acknowledged her return with a warm smile, hardly moving except to open his arm in invitation.
“You’re home early,” he commented as she approached. Fiona could only nod, the stress of the situation causing her chest to feel the heaviest it had been in months. Even in all the years of knowing Brynjolf, she had no way of knowing how he’d react—he had a way of being moody when he didn’t get his way, and she didn’t want to disappoint him.
She settled down across his lap, smiling when he pulled her into a hug. She tucked her chin against his shoulder, sighing when she thought about leaving him behind to fight an unknown enemy. When she had taken on the responsibility to defeat Alduin, he had traveled with her to so many differentplaces just to have the chance to fight at her side. It was something Fiona waseternally grateful for but this time he would need to trust her.
“Usually long stretches of silence are followed by bad news,” he teased, running a hand down her back.
Fiona hesitantly pulled away, raising a hand to cradle the side of his face. She offered a small, but reserved smile. “I need to travel to Solstheim. After the Cultists.”
Brynjolf nodded but was silent as his eyes searched hers, waiting for the other boot to drop. “Alone?”
“Alone.”
He let out a long grumble, eyes fluttering closed. Fiona brushed her thumb across his cheek, bracing herself for the inevitable argument. But instead, after a long moment, he simply opened his eyes and let out a long sigh. She looked at him with concern and he shook his head.
“I won’t pretend not to be upset lass,” he admitted. “But I’ve learned not to argue with you on matters you’ve already decided on.”
Fiona wasn’t sure what to think, but her heart soared, the weight of the situation lifted off her shoulders. “Really? You do realize that decision includes one that makes you acting Guildmaster.”
Brynjolf’s expression faltered a little, but he ultimately laughed. “How wonderful, I get to boss Delvin around.”
She shifted, snuggling up to him in another much more contented embrace. “I need to return to the Guild and make more preparations.”
Brynjolf didn’t seem ready to let her go so soon, even if it was only back down to the Ratways.
“Kiss me before I go.” Fiona wasn’t asking—she just wanted extra confirmation that everything between the two of them was and would be okay. He promptly acted, kissing along her jawline first before pressing softly against her lips. It was soft and passionate—everything Fiona needed after the day she had.
“I’m going with you,” Brynjolf spoke as he pulled away, startling her at first. He softly chucked at her expression, quickly kissing her again. “At least to the Cistern, to help with your plans. You aren’t leaving until everything is safe and sound.”
She grinned, leaning against him. “Yes, Guildmaster.”
(reminder that new prompts are currently closed while I catch up on projects)
My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue
All's well that ends well to end up with you
Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover [x]
It's Fiona's birthday, and she would rather spend it alone as she's always done. Brynjolf quickly changes her mind.
💕
Brynjolf x Fiona
1262 words (under a cut) | Ao3
4E 203, 13 Sun’s Dawn
Today is my birthday…
For as long as Fiona could remember, she had spent her birthday alone. It was an awkward, melancholy feeling every Sun’s Dawn—instead of feeling excited at another year passing, another year of growing older, all she felt was an overwhelming sense of sadness. Ever since her parents’ death, she had hardly recognized the day other than a special notation in her journal. In the years since their passing, her relatives hadn’t given her the time of day, and when she traveled alone, a birthday was hardly a momentous occasion.
But now that she was in Riften, had been for more than a year now, it was difficult to circumvent the day—practically everybody she knew, at least in the Guild—was aware what that day brought. Even the previous year, when she was still a padfoot, Brynjolf had managed to find a way to tailgate on her trip to Falkreath. Their little escapade had turned out to be a welcome surprise for Fiona, as did their friendship (and eventual relationship), but that didn’t change the fact that even now, a year later, she preferred to reflect on her birthday alone.
That year, she would be thirty-one. Considering she hadn’t thought she would make it a day past twenty, she considered herself lucky. Especially when she thought about how many times she had cut it close with bandits, or Daedra—or dragons. As she scribbled the same line marks as she did every year in her journal to keep track of the time gone by, she idly wondered why the home seemed so quiet. Not that she cared so deeply—it was what she wanted, right? But for Brynjolf to be missing so early in the morning seemed awfully suspicious.
Plus, he positively knew it was her birthday. At least, she hoped he remembered. It wasn’t like him to suddenly forget such a fact, even if he had been knocked over the head a few too many times by wildlife and rogue thieves. Or had drunk himself into an amnesiac stupor on more than one occasion. Finally, the quiet began to pester her far too much and she stood from her desk, pacing about the foyer as if it would calm her nerves.
It didn’t.
Instead, Fiona crumpled her fingers into the fabric of her skirts, regretting that she didn’t take the opportunity to assign herself a few jobs far away from the city that week. She was the Guildmaster after all! If she didn’t want to be there, she didn’t have to be! As she was walking back towards the fireplace, a piece of parchment caught her eye. Perplexed, she rushed over to snatch it up, quickly glancing over the short but scribbled message in all to familiar handwriting.
Lover,
Ragged Flaggon at Dusk
-Your Tafiir
Oh, so Brynjolf was definitely up to something after all, Fiona only needed to figure out what. Her heart immediately began pounding in her chest, echoing in her ears. Last time, only a few months ago, he had gone through such an effort on a romantic gesture for one type of goal in mind. A mix of emotions and trepidation started to bubble in Fiona’s gut as she whisked herself out the door, almost forgetting to slip on her shoes before she went.
It didn’t take her very long to make her way to the graveyard entrance, lingering outside the mausoleum long enough to steady her nerves. Was Brynjolf really that foolish to propose again so soon? On her birthday? What was she kidding, asking herself that? Of course he was. Brynjolf would ask her every single day if he had the opportunity, but he knew it was likely she’d ship him off to Solstheim if that was the case.
Maybe Fiona was worried over nothing—perhaps he had simply baked her a cake to share with the Guild. She could live with that. But as she made her way into the Cistern proper, she was faced with what appeared to be almost every member of the organization, lingering about as if they had been waiting her arrival. She stood there, blinking, just watching her thieves until she noted a familiar face—Delvin, silently motioning towards the Ragged Flaggon door.
Well, it was now or never.
Fiona’s breath escaped her in one fell gasp the moment she crossed the threshold of the Flaggon. Her eyes dazzled as she took in the sight of the strung up lanterns that circled the large tavern, which she noted had been completely cleared out save for the man who was obviously behind this plan—Brynjolf.
She advanced, taking in more of the atmosphere he had crafted. On every table he had scattered yellow flower petals, and on the table closest to him there was a cluster of rare pearls atop a bundle of wrapped parchment—a present.
“Brynjolf?” she questioned in a hesitant tone, hand reaching out to brush across the gift as she eyed him. As if he could sense her skepticism, he stepped forward, instantly grasping both her hands.
“Now don’t worry that head of yours, lass. I’m not asking for your hand again,” he assured with a grin, squeezing her fingers. Fiona sighed, somewhat relieved. “This time.”
He tilted his head a little closer toward her. “That is, unless you’re prepared to say yes.”
She laughed, despite all the anxiety she had felt up until that moment. “You were saying?”
Brynjolf breathed a smile, tucking their clasped hands to his chest as he brought her closer. “I know it’s your birthday,” he said with the slightest hint of nervousness. “I know you’d rather be alone. I was hoping I could change your mind.”
Fiona gazed up at his hopeful expression and already she could feel her heart soaring. Brynjolf didn’t always ask for much but he truly was a hopeless romantic. In all the bad deals she had been dealt in life, she had lucked out in meeting him. She suddenly felt very foolish for ever wanting to spend the day locked away in Honeyside when she had this man with his whole heart to give to her, just waiting to show what good there was in life.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked in reply.
He gently started to sway them, moving one hand so it slid around the small of her back, bringing her even closer. Fiona took the opportunity to hook her free arm around his shoulder, busying her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. It was strange to dance to no music, but they did so at their own pace, slowly, just softly smiling as they gazed into one another’s eyes. Somewhere, in the back of her mind she thought that if he dared to ask her right then, she might’ve said yes.
“Bryn?”
“Aye?”
She tilted her chin up, pausing in their movements so she could kiss him, grinning when she felt him smiling against her lips. He embraced her tighter, kissed her a little harder until she was breaking away for an inhale of air, giggling about how absolutely in-love she was. Brynjolf placed a softer kiss to the bridge of her nose and another to her forehead before hovering across her lips once more.
“What can I do for the birthday queen?” he asked. Fiona rather liked the sound of that, though she only wanted one thing, and that was to be with her king.
“Take me home,” she smiled against his lips. “Lover.”
Cherry lips, crystal skies
I could show you incredible things
Stolen kisses, pretty lies
You're the king baby I'm your Queen [x]
Fiona travels to Solitude, following a lead on the Stones of Barenziah. While there, she meets a rather insufferable, yet charming, red-headed thief.
❤
Brynjolf x Fiona
1022 words | Ao3
The Blue Palace—Solitude. Of all the places Fiona had traveled in her life, she had hardly guessed she would one day end up in the capital. Even after her snafu at the border and the events at Whiterun that had her on the run again, she never thought she’d make the journey that far north. Especially considering all that awaited her in Haafingar were Imperial soldiers, the Thalmor and snow—so much snow. But for Fiona, the trip would be well worth the risk, when the reward was an item she’d been hunting down for as long as she could remember.
The Stones of Barenziah—long thought to be a rumor, especially those she ran into on her travels through Cyrodiil—until she found one by chance in Whiterun sneaking around the Jarl’s chambers. Afterall, it was what she did best. Now that she knew the stones were real, and likely scattered across Skyrim, she had made it a secret goal of hers to track down the gems when the opportunity made itself present.
That fall evening, Jarl Elisif was holding a grand masquerade, some kind of Frostfall celebration to appease the nobles with nothing better to do. Fiona caught word, lifted an invitation from the nearest messenger and was on her way with her nicest evening attire, taking the gamble that the Queen Consort would most definitely have one of the legendary stones stashed away in her private quarters. All Fiona would need to do was to steal it—and the Gods knew she was excellent at her craft.
Inside the palace, Fiona found it easy to blend in—occasionally mingling with stuffy nobles as she snagged fancy hors d'oeuvres and sipped imported wine, all the while eyeing the corridor that led to the restricted bedrooms. She was halfway mumbling some sort of prayer to any God that would listen for a distraction when an older man fell face-first into the buffet table, clearly intoxicated—Fiona took her chance to slip away, smiling to herself when not a soul noticed.
Or so she thought.
Fiona was surprised to find the Jarl’s chambers unguarded, but it hardly relaxed her. She crept along the wall, shuffling along to the bookcase, searching for the familiar golden case. When she didn’t find what she was looking for, she moved on, slinking away towards the bed and the nearby cabinet when something shiny caught her eye. Almost immediately, she reached for it.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, lass.”
Fiona hardly flinched, barely glancing over her shoulder at the stranger with the peculiar accent. “Just who are you supposed to be?”
“A handsome stranger,” he replied with a sly smirk.
“You have a mask on,” she countered, finally turning to face him if only to anticipate his moves. As far as she could tell, her unwelcome intruder wasn’t a guard. Another guest? Unlikely. So another thief then? That she could handle—with pleasure. “How exactly am I to know you are handsome?”
“Female intuition.”
She perked up an eyebrow. “Hmm. I may need a closer look. Why don’t you come over here so I can see for myself?”
“Tempting,” the stranger replied, fingers rubbing at his chin. “Why don’t you come over here? I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
Fiona had enough of the man’s smug grin and overall appearance in the room. The longer she delayed, the more risk she posed at getting caught—and she wasn’t about to be captured with this idiot. She’d had enough of being captured with Nordic criminal-strangers for one lifetime. The man moved closer, testing her reactions until he was right before her, studying her eyes. His were green—vibrant, and beyond his mask she could see his dark auburn hair. Different for a Nord—she was getting distracted, almost so that she nearly missed the way he leaned forward, mouth dipping towards hers.
Whatever move he had planned to make, to woo or fancy her, she wasn’t interested—at least, not that moment. Fiona internally groaned at herself before quickly grabbing free her concealed dagger from her belt, gripping the man’s shirt collar tight as she kicked his knees to drop him to the floor. Within moments the edge of her knife was pressed to his cheek but instead of the expected fear that Fiona found on her enemies faces, she only found excitement—delight?
“Why are you laughing?” she asked, shaking him slightly out of annoyance. “This is poisoned! I could slice your neck open if I want!”
He let out a nervous chuckle, raising his hands up in mercy. “You’re beautiful.”
Fiona hesitated, completely bewildered and yet charmed by the stranger, unsure of what to make. If he really was a thief, he wasn’t a very good one—or perhaps he had a larger target and was just…fooling around. Regardless, she didn’t want to take the risk. She knew the little dose of poison from the minuscule slice of her blade would fade away within minutes—she needed something stronger to keep him put. Her eyes flickered back to the cabinet and she focused in on something other than the jewel. A pair of manacles.
Naughty, naughty.
“This isn’t exactly how I envisioned my night ending,” he mused, watching her as she shackled him to the nearest bedpost, leaving him kneeling on the floor. “Or maybe it’s exactly how I envisioned it.”
“Next time don’t follow suspicious women into bedrooms,” Fiona retorted, tightening the binds for good measure.
He laughed. “Aye, but that’s my livelihood!”
Fiona decided she needed a little more thrill before making her escape, quickly closing the gap between them as she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. She ignored the arrogant grin—if she was lucky, she’d never have to see it again—and stood, ready to leave Solitude once and for all.
“Wait!” the man shouted from his confined spot on the ground. “What’s your name, lass?”
Fiona paused in the doorway, regarding him with one last look. She flashed him a wink—a dare, despite it all. “Catch me one day and find out.”
From this prompt list: I went with cafune - the act of running your fingers through the hair of someone you love
Brynjolf x Fiona
676 words | [read on Ao3]
For as long as Brynjolf could remember, he had been infatuated with Fiona’s hair. Long, flowing locks and icy blonde in color, accented with the most glorious mountain flower scent that lingered wherever she had been. Sure, there were other aspects of her physical features that he adored, but when it came to her hair he would find any excuse he could to get close enough to touch. It was harder when they were flirting around a real relationship—but now, he had the liberty of admiring what he loved about Fiona whenever he wished—well, when time permitted.
It wasn’t very often they had a quiet evening, especially now that she was Guildmaster—too busy righting the sins left behind by Mercer. Not to mention the duties bound to her by birthright—something she was still struggling with as she communicated with the Greybeards by messenger, searching for more information. Beyond that, the Jarls had turned to her for advice on the Civil War. Brynjolf knew the last thing she wanted to do was get tangled up in Skyrim’s politics, even if it meant gaining allies for the ending the dragon attacks.
After several days buried under paperwork and attending council meetings with city officials, Fiona decided it was time for a break and gave herself a day off. Of course, Brynjolf was there to enjoy the day with her, the two lazing about her Honeyside abode. They hadn’t moved much since waking up that morning, though he was now leaned up against the mass of pillows that lined the headboard while she rested her head and shoulders across his lap, a fur blanket tucked around her body. Absentmindedly he ran his fingers through her golden hair, calmed by the smoothness of each strand and the earthy fragrance of her hand-made shampoo. It was tranquil—nothing and yet everything Brynjolf could’ve ever imagined love being like.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be doing something else?” Fiona asked humorously, peeking open one eye to glance up at him. “I’m sure we could afford to sneak away from the city for a few hours and find ourselves some trouble.”
It was tempting, especially in the way she laced her words in a mischievous tone. The two hadn’t been on a job, or an adventure outside of the city since returning from Irkngthand while working to rebuild the Guild from within. Brynjolf considered himself lucky he was able to spend what time he could with Fiona, considering how many demanded her attention. She never sidelined him, appreciating and insisting his presence in all matters, even if it didn’t necessarily involve the Guild. It was what separated him from being her lover and instead her partner.
“Bryn?”
He hummed in response when she called to him, catching his attention in the stretch of silence. He continued to slide his fingers through her hair, deftly removing the little ties and pins that contained her braids so the strands could flow freely. She nuzzled her head against his movements, closing her eyes again.
“After all the running around we’ve done lately,” he spoke, brushing his thumb across her forehead in gentle sweeps. “I’d rather spend a day cooped up inside doing nothing with you.”
Fiona smiled contently. “I’ve been trying to do nothing since I came to Riften.”
“Some luck you have, lass.” Brynjolf joked, moving his free hand to lace his fingers with the hand resting across her stomach. “There’s still time to run away from it all, you know.”
“Run away from you?” she grinned, the hint of deviousness sending a shiver right through him. “Why would I do such a thing?”
“You know I’d run away with you, Fiona,” he added. “You’re stuck with me.”
“I know,” she softly laughed, squeezing his hand. She gazed up at him, dark blue eyes shimmering with emotion. “I love you.”
He swept his fingers along her scalp before tracing them down her cheek. He could get used to quiet days, if they involved being with her, like this. “Love you.”
Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down
Maybe I've stormed out of every single room in this town
Threw out our cloaks and our daggers because it's morning now
It's brighter now, now [x]
Fiona expresses more of her feelings to Brynjolf. He thinks it might be time to do the same. (Set directly after ‘Yours And Mine’)
☀
Brynjolf x Fiona
854 words | Ao3
At first when Brynjolf awoke that morning, he had forgotten where he was. The bed beneath him was softer than usual, the furs and blankets surrounding him much finer than the ones he was accustomed to in the Cistern cots. Blindly he reached out with one arm, only to touch something even softer—a silk fabric and…lace?
When he flicked open his eyes, he instantly remembered the evening before—how he had come to Fiona’s Honeyside residence late in the night and woken her from a nightmare in the process. She had forgiven him for the trespass and invited him to stay as he had done so on several occasions in the last few weeks since Mercer’s betrayal to the Guild. As Brynjolf’s memory and vision cleared, he smiled—she had also told him she loved him.
Maybe that confession was the reason that for some reason she appeared more breathtakingly beautiful than ever that morning, the soft light of the sunrise pouring in from the windows shining across her pale skin. She was glowing and he was entranced by the vision of her lying beside him, as if he still might be dreaming. Brynjolf carefully traced his hand along her side, savoring the gentle pull of her nightdress, the dip and rise of her hip—her.
Gods knew he loved her as well—but he was a weaker man—too afraid to say it in return.
“Bryn?” she said his name in the sleepiest of voices, bright blue eyes fluttering open as she slowly came awake. She turned her face into the pillow to avoid yawning directly into his face. “You’re still here?”
He was surprised by her statement, tucking his arm further around her waist to snuggle a little closer. “Of course I am, lass.”
“I just—” she still seemed hesitant, even if receptive to his embrace. “I hope I didn’t overwhelm you with heartfelt emotions last night.”
Brynjolf shook his head with a soft chuckle, pressing a light kiss to her forehead. “No, no you didn’t.”
“No?”
“If anything, I was hoping you’d indulge me some more this morning,” he teased, noting the instantaneous way a flush of color creeped up her neck and cheeks.
For all her fierceness in battle and confidence in all things thievery, when it came to conditions of the heart or true emotions, Fiona was as bashful as one could get. Brynjolf considered himself the luckiest man on Tamriel to see her like this. She tangled her hands at the front of his shirt, shifting herself closer so she could press a kiss to his chin, trailing up along his jaw before pecking his nose in a giggle.
“I…I love you,” she whispered before kissing him on the lips in a gentle way. She was smiling. “Ten years ago I would’ve never been able to say that—to anyone.”
Brynjolf gazed into her eyes, lifting up a hand to brush through her hair. “Aye?”
“The past me wouldn’t recognize me today,” she laughed. “Between the responsibilities and the settling down, she would be so disappointed.”
“But you aren’t disappointed, right?” he questioned, already knowing the answer.
Fiona shook her head, kissing him again in that soft, sweet way that spoke volumes to his heart. “I’m happy beyond measure.”
Brynjolf leaned in before she could get away, eager to kiss her for a little while longer—or at least until his lungs were tickling for air. If given the opportunity, he could get lost in her, body and soul. But given that they had yet to make a real definition on their relationship, there was always a nagging guilt in the back of his head that held him back, especially when he couldn’t be completely honest about his feelings. Especially when there was still a lingering dread about the status of the Guild.
He felt the same as Fiona—had for as long as he could remember, even with their hiccups. She was all he wanted and having that much clarity in his life was a strange revelation, but something he desperately craved—something he needed after spending much of his life alone or in the company of people who made him feel alone. Fiona made him feel brighter, more alive and it was a feeling he was desperate to cling to for the rest of his days. Now, he just needed to tell her.
“Bryn?” she prompted, right on cue with the brightest, most hopeful glint in her expression.
He faltered but hid it well. Coward. Why was he so afraid? She wasn’t.
“You’re like a beaming drop of sunshine, you know that?” he chuckled, his chest tightening but relaxing when her grin increased, head titling back as she laughed. “You brighten my day, lass.”
“I knew I pinned you as a romantic,” Fiona replied, snuggling closer as she wrapped her arms around him in a tighter hug. She seemed perfectly content to just relax there, unmoving for the early morning hours. “I love you.”
Brynjolf held her, his mind racing. One day soon, he’d say it back—and he’d never stop saying it. Soon.
@lechatrouge673 tagged me (thank you darling!) to design using this dollmaker some casual, armor, sleep and formal outfits for an OC! So i chose Fiona as that was the most fitting choice. HOW FUN~~
what can I say? Fiona loves cloaks (it’s cold in Skyrim!)
I will tag @rhetoricalrogue @lucyrne @alittlestarling @gingerbreton and who ever else wishes to participate ~
Kiss me once 'cause I know you had a long night
Kiss you twice 'cause it's gonna be alright
Three times 'cause you waited your whole life [x]
Brynjolf’s proposal doesn’t go according to plan, but it isn’t the end for his relationship with Fiona, despite his lamenting.
💍
Brynjolf x Fiona
1266 words (under a cut because it got away from me) | Ao3
Brynjolf was sure the state he was in was deplorable and that was the only reason why Delvin laughed when he found him, sprawled out in front of the fireplace in Honeyside. He didn’t even want to ask how the man managed to get in, but then again, how had he all those times before Fiona had given him a key? He grumbled from his spot on the floor—the lass was the last person he wanted to be thinking about right then.
“Isn’t this a sorry sight?” Delvin chuckled. Brynjolf decided he would forgive the Breton for the intrusion and cheerful attitude. They had been friends long enough that some teasing was a given, even with the given circumstances. It wasn’t like anybody had died—though Brynjolf certainly felt like doing so.
“What did I do wrong?” Brynjolf lamented, barely propping himself up on one elbow as Delvin joined him in front of the dwindling fire.
Delvin shrugged, plucking up the nearly empty bottle of wine that sat forgotten near his feet. He took a swig, pulling a disgusted a face and mumbling something about backwash. “Propose, I reckon.”
Brynjolf groaned, not stopping his friend from swapping the wine for the bottle of Cyrodiil brandy instead, which was imported—expensive. So was the ring that was burning a metaphorical hole in his pocket. He slumped back to the ground, throwing an arm across his eyes, willing that the floorboards would swallow him whole. When he woke up the previous morning, heart in his chest and full of giddy excitement, he would have never anticipated ending up there, feeling so completely dejected.
His plan had seemed so ironclad, especially as he perfected it over the last few weeks, taking all the precautions to ensure that Fiona would be surprised. He had commissioned the most elegant and beautiful ring from Madesi, paying the Argonian extra gold just to keep his mouth shut so the gossip wouldn’t spread. Yes, Brynjolf was ready to settle down and tie the knot after all these years of running around. He had finally found the woman of his dreams he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.
Except Fiona wasn’t ready.
“She’s a fickle one, our Guildmaster,” Delvin tried to reassure. “You’d think after all this time—”
“A year,” Brynjolf clarified with a sigh.
“Right,” Delvin continued. “Seemed only right the two of ya’ would get hitched. Or at least start makin’ babies.”
Brynjolf rolled his head so he could glare at his Guildmate, not willing to even broach the subject in the slightest. The lecher didn’t need to know the specifics of his and Fiona’s bedroom activities—if there were even to be anymore activities now that she had rejected his hand in marriage. He was a proud and confident man, so unaccustomed to battling insecurities and yet Fiona had him questioning every move he had ever made up to that moment in time. What could’ve he done differently to get her to say yes? Maybe it was too soon? He doubted that—they’d been officially together for over a year now—and before that, she’d been with the guild for months. He and Fiona were a solid team, unbreakable—or so he thought.
“Well…” Delvin trailed. “What now?”
His question hung in the air, with Brynjolf not sure how to respond. His whole body ached—a hangover from too much drinking was nothing new, but the hollow scooped out feeling in his chest was foreign. He wondered if he’d ever get over it. He peeked open his eyes to answer his friend when the front door creaked open, the two pausing to see who had interrupted them—not that they couldn’t guess.
“Brynjolf? Are you here—” Fiona stopped herself short as she entered the homestead, expression muted as it shifted between him and Delvin. She had obviously gone off to do her own form of brooding overnight, and enough time had passed that she was ready to speak to him—that or she was ready to throw another emotional curveball.
Delvin shifted uncomfortably, standing. “That’s my cue to leave.”
Fiona closed the door behind him before standing awkwardly near the hearth, just staring down at Brynjolf who in no way made an effort to stand. He shifted his arm so he could gaze up at her, and despite the pain of it all, Gods, she was beautiful—it was good to see her again, back home where she belonged.
Her voice was small, broken—she’d been crying. “I love you.”
Brynjolf moved his arm so he could see her a little more clearly, knitting his eyebrows together. His instinct was to be harsh with her—if she really loved him, she would’ve said yes—but something held him back. Something in her expression, and the very fact that she was there, and not halfway to Cyrodiil. Mara damn him, he loved her too, and would love her till the day he was called into the Evergloam.
When he didn’t respond, Fiona’s expression faltered, though she moved through it, practically collapsing onto the ground next to him in an effort to be closer. Brynjolf leaned up on his elbows, staring at her wide-eyes and the way she was obviously hesitating.
“Just because I said no doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you,” she spoke. “Bryn, you’re the man I want to be with forever. Wherever fate may take us, I just want to be with you.”
He believed her, but there was a lingering ache in his chest. “Can you tell me why you said no?” When Fiona fell silent, eyes falling away, Brynjolf reached over to grasp one of her hands to catch her attention. The connection sparked a warmth he had missed, even if it had only been one day. “Tell me later, lass.”
She nodded, offering a small smile. “I promise.”
Brynjolf moved to properly sit up, tugging on her hand so he could properly embrace her, softly laughing at her surprised gasp. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was hoping, praying, he’d be able to hold her in his arms again, and now that she was there, he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to let go.
“I really do want to be with you, Brynjolf,” she hushed. “I want everything. The good, the bad, everything in between. Quiet mornings sleeping in and hectic evenings fighting dragons.”
He clutched her tighter to his chest. “Aye, that’s what I want as well.”
“Kiss me?” she whispered, the sound of her voice a little too sad in the crook of his neck. Now, now—that wouldn’t do.
Brynjolf shifted, leaning back so he could cup her chin in his hand, pausing to stare into the beautiful blue eyes that had enraptured him all that time ago. He kissed her, sweetly, softly, and it was just as restorative as he needed it to be.
“Again,” she sighed, a smile on her lips and the brightness returning to her cheeks. Brynjolf indulged her request, kissing her a little harder, holding her a little closer until they were breathless.
“One more time,” she giggled, brushing her nose against his. He kissed her, and the whole world came into focus as the remainder of his heartache fluttered away. Fiona was the woman he had been waiting for to share his life with. She had said no now, but it wasn’t the end of the world.
That’s when Brynjolf knew. He didn’t know when, but one day, he would get her to say yes.
Oh, oh! #43. Touching noses together for Bryn and Fiona? Iffen you're so inclined (p.s., I blame you for the fact I not only just started up a new Skyrim playthrough, but that I now fully expect to see Fiona in the Cistern every single time. XD)
(yes! thank you so much! my writing block spell is OFFICIALLY BROKEN)
Brynjolf x Fiona
Touching noses together
754 words | Ao3
Brynjolf was bored.
Not that life in the Cistern or the Thieves Guild was boring—but jobs were far and few between, at least the exciting ones—and so, Brynjolf was bored. That afternoon he was pretending to make busy by loitering near the alchemy station, and it had nothing to do with the fact Fiona was working there…or maybe it was.
Fiona hadn’t been with the Guild for very long, but ever since he had recruited her, and gone on a few missions with the lass, he couldn’t help but find her interesting—for the lack of a better word. Captivating was better, but he didn’t feel like using such a heavily weighted term quite yet. Not when he was certain Delvin could read his thoughts, already giving him enough gripe for corrupting the newest recruit.
He watched her carefully, admiring her skill for mixing potions and poisons—she was certainly far better at it than he would ever be. She knew he was nearby, perched up on the table and toying with some containers, but otherwise paid him no attention. He was still trying to figure what made Fiona…Fiona. Baring their trip to Falkreath the previous month where they had quite the drunken heart-to-heart, he had yet to learn much more about her. But he wanted to.
“Tell me more about your parents,” he called out, absentmindedly twisting a jar of mushrooms in his hands. Fiona visibly flinched, hands faltering as she continued to chop ingredients for whatever potion she was mixing.
“W—what?” she looked at him, brows furrowing before her expression went neutral once more. “A little unexpected…”
Brynjolf chuckled, shrugging at her startled state. “Just curious.”
He could tell she was hesitant and for a moment, the silence dragged on with only the sounds of the alchemy table echoing between them. Finally, Fiona sighed. “I don’t have a lot of memories…” she trailed before the smallest twinge of a smile pulled at the corner of her lips. “They used to embarrass me with their public displays of affection.”
Brynjolf laughed at that. “Ah, so that sort of thing embarrasses you, lass? I’ll have to remember that.”
Fiona shot him a warning glance, but it was all tease and no vitriol. “I must’ve convinced them to stop because the only thing I vividly remember is their nose kisses.”
“Nose kisses?”
She eyed him skeptically. “Oh, come on Bryn. Don’t tell me you’re so lewd that all you know is messy tongues and rough snogging.”
“I know things about kissing,” he playfully argued, crossing his arms in defiance. He paused, wondering if he could get away with a little flirtation. “Though, I wouldn’t mind a demonstration.”
“Of course you would,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.
Brynjolf sighed, relaxing slightly where he sat. He expected her to leave the conversation at that—sure he was disappointed, but he was used to that by now, especially with Fiona. But soon he noticed her glancing at him from over her shoulder, nervously fluttering her eyes away when she realized he had caught her looking. He smirked, watching as she bottled the potion she had just refined and with a few, slow careful steps she was standing right before him.
“Change your mind?” he asked, careful not to sound overzealous, even though there was a certain kind of pitter-patter to her heart that he couldn’t explain. Fiona didn’t answer, instead positioning herself between his knees, resting her hands along the table on either side, framing his body.
Brynjolf stayed perfectly still, not daring to close his eyes until she tilted her head closer, the tip of her nose brushing against his. The contact caused a spark to shoot all the way down to his toes, his gut igniting with an emotion he had been struggling to quell since that first fateful meeting in the Bee and Barb. It was so innocent, so unlike any kiss he’d had before and perhaps that’s what excited him more. Fiona’s nose pressed a little harder against his, sliding against the bridge in a gentle sweep. Her lips were close enough to his that he could move a fraction of an inch and be kissing her for real, but for once in his life he found restraint.
Fiona eventually leaned away, and when she did, she was smiling as if she had stolen a secret from him—one he hadn’t even realized he had been keeping. Brynjolf could only smile back. At least with Fiona around, he’d never be bored.
I'm dancing on my own
I make the moves up as I go
And that's what they don't know [x]
Fiona is the master of her own destiny; don’t try to tell her otherwise.
❤
Brynjolf x Fiona
734 words | Ao3
“Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior’s heart…”
Fiona sang the song under her breath as she carefully walked along the wall’s ledge, arms spread out to keep her balance as she placed one foot in front of the other along the cobblestone. Riften’s walls were never too difficult for her to scale, and when she found herself bored like she was that evening, the masonry made for a great pastime. It reminded her, perhaps, of a time from her youth, when life was far simpler and less weighed on her mind.
“I tell you, I tell you—”
She abruptly stopped her singing the moment she heard the crunching of leaves, quickly turning on her toes to face her nighttime prowler. Fiona’s surprise didn’t last, quickly dissolving into a mix of irritation and flippancy when she noticed it was Brynjolf—the Thieves Guild second. She was understandably cautious of his motives—had been since she agreed to assist in helping his organization, even if it was simultaneously benefiting her. Not that he, or the Guild knew that. Not now, at least.
“You’re out late,” he commented, craning up his head to look at her. Brynjolf flashed a grin, the same smug grin he always seemed to wear, the same one she recognized from when she first met in by chance in Solitude and again in Riften just weeks ago. He seemed so trusting of her and it only made her skeptical—nobody was this nice without a hidden reason.
A voice in Fiona’s mind reminded her that she really needed to lower her walls just a little now and then, or else she was never going to be happy. It was okay to take a risk—just as a little treat for herself. But at the first sign of danger, she was going to leave that thief infested city as quickly as she had arrived.
“I like to stay out late,” she responded casually, continuing her slow walk along the wall.
Below, Brynjolf stepped to follow. “Easier to creep in the shadows?”
“Something like that,” Fiona replied, pausing to glance down at his appearance. He was disheveled, more so than usual. “Come from an escapade?”
“Something like that,” he answered slyly, clearly being evasive. “What are you really doing out here, lass? Waiting for someone?”
She could sense the slightest twinge of jealousy in his tone that could only make her laugh. Despite their near-stranger status, the man had the nerve. And yet, she was almost flattered. Almost.
“Oh yes,” she said, hoping down to sit on the ledge. Nothing wrong with a little tease. “He’s a very tall and large fellow. Dark and yellow eyes. Come to think of it, he’s rather scaly—”
“Scaly?”
“Hmm, yes,” Fiona nodded, swinging her legs. “He’s in the habit of shouting and spits fire. Rather uncomely if you ask me.”
Brynjolf’s expression went flat as he crossed his arms. “Very funny.”
“I told you I was hilarious,” she responded with an overzealous grin. “This is what you get for poking the proverbial bear.”
“I suppose so,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. Still, he stared up at her and the moment of silence between them unnerved her just enough that she contemplated flipping over the back side of the wall into the lake just so she could swim for safety. What was he staring at? “Why did you come to Riften? Why join the Guild?”
Fiona wanted to swallow her tongue as the truth flashed through her mind. The Dragonborn comes. Instead, she shrugged, delaying her response just slightly, aligning all the lies and turning on all the charms in her mind to get it right. Brynjolf didn’t seem to notice in the moment. She was good in that way.
“I don’t owe you that answer,” she spoke flatly, smiling when she saw the surprise as clear as day flash across his features. “But—you’ve seen me in action. I’m a damn good thief. Didn’t I almost kill you just to steal—”
“Right, right—” he interrupted, holding up his hands in defeat. He let out a soft chuckle. “I haven’t quite figured you out, lass.”
Fiona pushed herself off the wall, landing on the ground before him with a soft thud. She flashed a smirk, twirling away from him so she could disappear into the night as she originally wanted. “And you never will!”