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esta-elavaris · 7 months

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Flufftober Day 5: X+ 1 ~ Brynjolf/F!Dragonborn [6,164 words]

Three times Brynjolf wondered just who Kirsi was, and one time he found out.

It's 2023 and I'm writing all these words about Brynjolf from Skyrim. Unreal. I can't even explain the word count. It started as a quick flufftober fill and spiralled into this monster. Filled with a hefty dose of humour at how absurd the Dragonborn's travelling companions must find it when they have fifty thousand different careers and excel at them all.

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here 💜✨

It was Brynjolf’s business to be able to take the measure of someone – quickly. It was no good risking being caught with his hand in some poor bugger’s pocket if that bugger was, well, poor. Not that he was ever caught, not since he was a lad, but it was the principle of the thing. The potential risk had to be outweighed by the potential reward, that was just good business, and he was a good businessman.

But Kirsi? It was a funny thing that the more he saw of her, the less it seemed he knew. She’d strolled into Riften with a bow and blade both far finer than the worn fur armour she sported, which could have meant two things. Either she could afford to heed her armour less because by the time the enemy saw her, it was too late – or the bow and blade were stolen, and the armour reflected the truth of her finances. The truth turned out to be both. Which, as far as recruitment was concerned, was perfect. Maybe the signs had been there since day one that she’d end up running their little outfit.

Unfortunately – infuriatingly – that was the last time Brynjolf had managed to successfully gauge much of anything about the Nord lass who infiltrated his thoughts more and more with each passing month. From then on, the only sure thing about her was that she could, and would, produce results. Flitting in and out of the Ragged Flagon with ill-gotten goods in her hands, a smile on her face, and…blood in her hair. Usually.

The first time, Brynjolf commented upon it, asking vaguely if she recalled their rule regarding bloodshed. She’d blinked at him, followed his gaze, and responded with an ‘oh – no, that’s unrelated, don’t worry’ before making a joke about how it blended in with the colour very nicely anyway. And that had been that. Skyrim was a demanding place in which to live, and those who’d never had blood in their hair seldom lasted long, so it wasn’t a major cause for concern.

No, Brynjolf’s cause for concern came months later – long after Kirsi had been made master of the guild, no less. They saw less of her for a while, but that was her way. That was the way with plenty here, even. Folk always turned up eventually, with a story to tell and something to sell to Tonilia, more often than not. This absence stretched on a little longer, yes, but it hadn’t even occurred to Brynjolf to really worry until she did turn up again. And she seemed in no mood for storytelling.

The Ragged Flagon went gradually silent as she walked in. Brynjolf, his usually keen senses off-duty, noticed the silence before he noticed her, turning to see what everybody else was staring at and then stilling. Kirsi strode in, steadfastly avoiding the eyes of any who looked in her direction. She wore her Nightingale armour, but it was not so form-fitting as it once had been, bunching and baggy here and there suggesting a sudden and unhealthy amount of thinning that a jagged sharpness at her jaw and cheekbones confirmed. Her auburn hair had once been bound back into a complicated series of braids, but it had long since rebelled against it, most of it curling in whisps around her face, and she was sporting a new and very angry looking scar on said face.

It ran from her right temple all the way down to her chin, framing the side of her features in a sort of jagged crescent moon.

“Kirsi…” Brynjolf said, stunned.

“I can’t discuss business right now,” she said flatly, her voice hoarse.

He hadn’t intended to discuss business…but he supposed he deserved it. He’d been avoiding her before she left, and it seemed she’d noticed. Unsurprisingly. Brynjolf fell silent, watching as she turned her head in the direction of Galathil who sad in her usual place, lifting a hand absentmindedly to the scar that they all stared at. Ultimately, she appeared to think better of it. Instead, she dropped a weighty bag of gold down onto the bar, loaded her arms up with bottles of mead, and headed for the cistern without another word.

“What was that?” Vex was the one to break the silence.

“I dunno,” Delvin responded grimly. “But she didn’t even look like that when Mercer…”

There was little need for him to elaborate on that. Brynjolf’s lips set into a thin line, then he counted to twenty, and finally he followed.

Kirsi was at her bed when he entered the cistern, not bothering to hunker behind the screen as she changed – not unusual, few of them here bothered with modesty. And the looks she was drawing were more to do with shock and dismay than anything that might be considered leering. Already she was halfway out of her Nightingale armour, and Brynjolf could see that there was little of her from the neck down that was not badly, badly bruised. Or burned. Or littered with gashes that looked one wrong twist away from reopening.

Whatever healing she’d undergone, be it from potions of magic, it appeared she’d prioritised them to heal her face. That, or they’d all been much worse beforehand. It was hard to gauge the state of her armour thanks to the colour, but he suspected if he took a real look, he’d find it stained badly with blood.

"Wouldn’t you be more comfortable at Honeyside?” he asked – if only to stop himself standing and staring like a fool any longer.

“Am I not welcome here?”

“You know that’s not what I meant, lass.”

At her home in the city – which she would’ve had to bypass to get here, no less – her bed was bigger, and she had a housecarl who could help her. Not that those here wouldn’t, but she didn’t seem to be in the mood for their company. It would be less stifling for her, he suspected, accepting help from one whose sworn duty was to offer it.

“Nobody can find me here,” she said finally.

After several deep breaths. Brynjolf couldn’t quite figure whether they were against whatever pain she was feeling, or just an attempt to find the patience for a conversation. She was wound tight, it was plain as day as she kicked her armour under the bed now that she was stripped down to her smalls, before she pulled a shirt over her head. There seemed to be little intention of finding breeches to go with it.

“…Are people looking for you, lass?”

People who had done this? There was a dangerous, angry streak in Brynjolf that hoped they’d come here looking. They’d regret it sorely.

“No,” she shook her head. “Just don’t want to be found.”

She paused, then, pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing. “There’s just…there’s always something else. Can’t be dealing with it now.”

Brynjolf stilled, lost for words. Then he asked quietly.

“Do you need anything, lass?”

“Just sleep,” she said quietly.

What in the name of Talos had she gotten into? Where was it that she disappeared to so frequently? Who was she?

Kirsi slept for three days – stirring here and there to sit up and down a bottle of mead, or to turn over in a slow and beleaguered fashion that left nobody in any doubt as to how sorely she felt her injuries – but otherwise, she was out cold. The same conversation was had over and over in that time.

She needs a healer.

She is a healer.

I don’t think she has the strength to heal herself more.

Could someone carry her up above to get her help?

I don’t think she’d allow it.

Could we bring someone down here to look her over? Someone that won’t blab?

I don’t think she’d allow that, either.

Ultimately, Thrynn looked her over…with all of his limited healing knowledge, gleaned here and there from his days of patching himself up amidst bouts of banditry. Kirsi didn’t seem to notice it much. The unease in Brynjolf’s stomach gnawed deeper.

She’s more exhausted than injured, he ultimately concluded.

It didn’t cheer them much. Then, on the fifth day, she rose. The signal was given by Vipir, who strolled through the Flagon whistling a jaunty little tune, and Brynjolf was moving swiftly thereafter. Ignoring the looks that followed him. He entered the cistern expecting to find her sitting up, or maybe at the little cavern that they designated as a kitchen. Instead she was up, she was dressed, and the contents of her pack were strewn across her bed as she methodically took inventory for the trip ahead. Wherever that would be.

Brynjolf felt alarm streak through him – very much not liking the prospect of her barrelling off into the unknown after worrying them all sick for the better part of a week.

“What happened to your dagger, lass?” he asked rather than voicing any of that.

Ever since she’d commissioned it from Balimund, he’d never seen her parted from it.

“Lost it,” she muttered sourly.

“Where?”

She could have that thing wrenched out of her hand and flung into the Sea of Ghosts and she’d go diving in after it.

“Sovngarde,” she grunted.

Not in the mood for serious conversation, then.

“When are you heading out?”

“Why? Are you coming with me?”

Brynjolf made a very quick, very impulsive decision then.

“If I’m invited.”

Stilling, she turned her head and stared at him for a few long moments.

“You’re being serious?” she asked, tone unreadable.

“Things here can keep for a while,” he shrugged. “I trust the others to stop the place from burning down in my absence.”

And it was far, far better than torturing himself wondering what she was up to and how she was doing, should she leave alone.

“And you wouldn’t just rather speak another time?”

Brynjolf forced a strained laugh. “I deserve that.”

Kirsi tilted her head as if in agreement. Then, finally, she sighed.

“Don’t wear your Guild armour. Don’t pack light, either. I don’t know how long I’ll be this time,” she said, watching as he nodded along. “And Brynjolf? You have to listen to me while we’re out there. If I say no…extra-curricular activities in a certain hold, I mean it.”

“We did well enough together at Irkngthand, didn’t we?”

She considered his words for a long moment, with eyes that he knew had sussed out many a foe, and then finally she nodded.

“Fine. We leave after midday.”

“We leave,” he countered, “once you’ve eaten something.”

That earned another sigh, but it was followed by another nod, and Brynjolf took it as a good sign that she listened to him.

Stepping out into the world again felt like a gradual lightening for Kirsi. Even with the worried looks Brynjolf kept pretending he very much was not sending in her direction. They stopped at Honeyside just long enough for her to switch out weapons, stock up on potions, and for Iona to fix her new travelling companion with a withering glare, and then they were out of Riften.

She didn’t know why she’d agreed to let him come along. Well, she did know, she just wasn’t a massive fan of said reasoning. This was the first time he hadn’t given her the brush-off in months, and even in her exhaustion and the numbness that had overtaken her since defeating Alduin, she didn’t want to squander whatever chance there might’ve been for things to go back to normal between them.

…and she was at least present enough to know that weeks spend wandering and camping on her own would do little to help her mental state, at present. Maybe she could’ve hired someone to watch her back and provide civil conversation, but she also didn’t want to shoulder the responsibility of that. Brynjolf had asked to come along, and so his hide was therefore his own concern.

Being out and moving felt good, though, and with every stray breeze that caught her hair and every birdsong that met her ears, she felt more like her old self. Maybe she just needed to be reminded that it was all still here. When they set up camp for the night, she was even laughing when Bryn went out of his way to try and make her do so…although she knew just how dour she must’ve been since her return when she saw how surprised he was to get any sort of response at all.

“I’m not asking that you tell me now, lass,” he hedged when dinner was eaten and there was little to do but doze by the fire ‘til morning came. “But I have to know…are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Probably not,” she admitted quietly.

And he accepted it readily enough. Or hid well, if he did not. Well, save for one comment, spoken incredibly lightly.

“I dread to think what’s so salacious and sinister that even I can’t be told about it.”

She snorted quietly, staring at the stars above. “It’s not salacious. Nor sinister. It’s just…a lot.”

Keeping her countless lives separate was something she always endeavoured to do, all while being painfully aware that bits and pieces were bound to crash in on one another at some point. This wasn’t like keeping a spouse and a lover secret from one another, it was bigger and more all-encompassing than that. She toed the line between doing what she could to keep those boundaries in place, while staying detached enough that she wouldn’t fall to pieces should the lines in the sand be erased by a crashing wave.

It was just…neater. The guild had to stay secret for obvious reasons – she could only imagine what Vilkas or Ulfric would think if they saw her slipping into the Ragged Flagon and making all sorts of underhanded deals with her friends down there. She could even kid herself that it was easier for the guild if they didn’t know about any of the rest of it. That maybe they’d balk if they realised their Guild Master was the Dragonborn, or Ulfric’s best soldier, Thane of too many holds to count, or even Archmage of Winterhold’s college. All those titles didn’t particularly lend themselves to secrecy.

But that wasn’t why she kept it from Brynjolf. She didn’t want to be the Dragonborn, nor Stormblade, nor the Harbinger, or whatever else she was known as across this land, when Brynjolf spoke to her. When he deigned to speak to her, these days.

Which was why it was a risk bringing him with her.

But she was a thief, was she not? She was good at sneaking.

It took the better part of three weeks for them to get to Whiterun – with Kirsi gradually healing herself with magic and potions both as they travelled. By the end of the first week she was smiling freely again, and by the end of the second she was cracking her own jokes to go along with his. Brynjolf didn’t press the matter of what had gotten her into such a state, and she didn’t make any more allusions to his steadfast avoidance of her prior to it, so he did what he could to avoid looking that gift-horse in the mouth.

When Whiterun loomed before them, jutting up above the rest of the landscape, she issued those aforementioned orders that he’d promised to follow back in Riften. No stealing, no conning, no shenanigans. If I have to start bullshitting, go along with it. He’d shrugged and agreed, too pleased at her swift change in spirits to start arguments now.

And the time for that bullshitting came alarmingly quickly, for they hadn’t yet yet cleared the Honningbrew Meadery when a group of warriors came walking from the other direction, spotted her, and immediately approached.

“Shit,” she breathed.

Brynjolf’s hand had been straying towards his sword when one called out.

“Kirsi! You’re back!”

They were two men and a woman, the first to greet her being the bigger of the two men. Twins, Brynjolf quickly realised, despite their difference in stature – both sporting long dark hair, and dark war paint around their eyes. The woman, another redhead, watched he and Kirsi curiously as the men stepped forth to shake her hand and then pull her into a one armed hug that mostly consisted of a thump on the back.

“Farkas,” she greeted with a tired smile, then repeating the gesture with the other two. “Vilkas. Aela.”

“We didn’t know when you were coming back. After that business with the dragon at Dragonsreach…” Aela greeted.

“Well, I’m back now,” she interrupted quickly.

“With a sellsword, too. Can’t fight your own battles these days?” Vilkas asked, his eyes lingering on Brynjolf.

Brynjolf returned the scrutiny with a lazy smile. It didn’t endear him to the man…but he hadn’t particularly intended it to.

“Not a sellsword – a friend,” she said. “This is Brynjolf. Brynjolf, these are the Companions.”

“Companions to who?” Brynjolf greeted wryly.

“Ysgramor,” Vilkas sneered.

“Oh. You must be older than you look, then.”

“We’re only here for the night. For a comfortable place to sleep and a good meal,” Kirsi interrupted – shooting a look in his direction that was too amused to hold any real bite to it.

“You’ll find both in Jorrvaskr,” Farkas said. “You and your friend. Come. It’s been too long.”

If any other than Brynjolf noted her reluctance, they did not show it.

They arrived to the Companions’ long-hall just in time for dinner – which was swiftly followed by drinking and merry-making thereafter. Brynjolf was accustomed to fudging the details as far as his identity was concerned; not often introducing himself with ‘good morning, I’m a high-ranking member of Skyrim’s biggest criminal enterprise, Dark Brotherhood notwithstanding’, and so he was able to do so here without blinking.

Well, there was one moment that gave him cause to blink. Harbinger. He had heard of the Companions, of course, he wasn’t a fool. His question by the gates had mainly been to rankle the dark-haired man who clearly loathed his presence and whatever his association might’ve been with Kirsi. Any doubt Brynjolf had as to that loathing was gone when he saw how the man’s eyes followed her about the hall throughout the night. And more-so when Brynjolf dragged her up for a dance, bringing yet another smile to her face…and a matching one to his own.

The glare gained yet more frost to it when Ria asked Kirsi about her new scar, and she lifted a hand self-consciously to it, muttering something about a dragon. Brynjolf took it to be a joke – it was what people used as an explanation for every minor cut and scrape since the beasts returned to Skyrim, but the Companions murmured appreciatively.

“I’m sure it’ll fade, with time,” the Imperial offered reassuringly.

“It suits you,” Brynjolf said simply, returning Kirsi’s gaze boldly when she eyed him in surprise – as if trying to figure out whether he was teasing or not.

When the hour grew so late that it was technically early, Kirsi finally drummed her hands against the long table at which they’d feasted, announcing loudly.

“It’s time we headed to Breezehome – I’ll come by in the morning before I leave.”

“Why not stay here? Tilma readied your quarters while we’ve all been up here. Your friend can bed down with the whelps,” Vilkas commented.

Njada made a noise of displeasure somewhere down the table. The suggestion put her in an uncomfortable position - Brynjolf could see that easily enough. Refuse, and it would be a rejection of the people whom her role here was to offer guidance. Accept, and a lesser man might be insulted in Brynjolf’s shoes. But Kirsi considered it, sighed, and then spoke.

“The Harbinger’s quarters are big enough to share, Bryn. Come on – Tilma will have a bath waiting, too.”

Brynjolf grinned as he watched Vilkas’ regret at saying a word wash over his face.

The rooms below Jorrvaskr were cooler than the hall above, not so warmed by bodies and smoke and revelry, but a bath did indeed wait there for them in the bedchamber next door to the sitting room, steam rising steadily from it.

“Ladies first,” Brynjolf shrugged.

Weeks on the road together had shed them of whatever modesty might have remained, and Kirsi shrugged and began to strip off.

“Multiple rooms, eh lass?” he commented, taking stock of the fineness of the room.

“They’ll always feel like Kodlak’s rooms to me,” she commented quietly. “My predecessor.”

“Even so, it’s funny to think what bed you chose to fall into when you needed that rest when this waited for you here.”

“Don’t act like you don’t remember what I said at the time.”

“Mm. Still, there’s a lad up there that would’ve waited on you hand and foot while you recovered.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“I’m sure you don’t,” he snorted, but then a furious motion caught his eye even as he studiously trained his gaze straight ahead.

Kirsi was in the bath, the water steadily turning murky after weeks of travel – which made it a little easier for him to keep his eyes stuck on her face, despite the flush that crept up from his neck towards his cheeks. She motioned once across her neck as if to say ‘stop’, and then pointed to her ear, and then the door.

Brynjolf almost laughed. In what world would they be overheard all the way down here? But there was no room for argument in her gaze and he slumped back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, one question on his mind.

Who are you, Kirsi?

Despite Kirsi’s fears, Brynjolf finding out about her identity – one of them, at least – did not instate the sort of distance she’d feared it might. Oh, a fair amount of good natured ribbing came her way, but with Brynjolf that was always a decidedly good thing, and so she left Whiterun in a better mood than she’d arrived…and in a mood that was unrecognisable to the one she’d departed Riften in.

Rescuing townsfolk from bandits holding them hostage? You’re joking. What are the guards doing? Resting?

You make saving lives sound like a bad thing.

It might be, depending on what it pays. How much?

What?

How much each time? What’s the going rate for a saved life?

…It doesn’t matter. It pays in more than gold. Goodwill. Contacts. Reputation.

By the Nine, it’s a pittance, isn’t it? How much Kirsi? I’ll just keep irritating you until you tell me.

…A hundred gold each time.

When he stopped laughing – which felt like hours later – he pointed out he could make ten times that depending on the job he took. Her pointing out that she could also raid whatever lairs the jobs sent her into did little to help.

Don’t tell me half the goods you fence to Tonilia are gotten honestly, lass. It’ll break my heart.

And it was too difficult to act annoyed by him when she was laughing along.

From Whiterun they turned north to Windhelm. Kirsi withdrew her rule against larceny for all of an hour so that Brynjolf could liberate a farmhouse of a couple of bottles of wine – more for the thrill than anything else, and because free wine tasted better. That night when they made camp, they mulled it over a fire and huddled together far more closely than the barely-encroaching chill necessitated. By the time they were a few tankards deep, she felt giddy and foggy and overall like herself again, matters of fate and destiny and death and Sovngarde, and what a Dragonborn was worth once they’d achieved their purpose, fading behind Brynjolf’s jokes and the way he kept smiling at her and looking at her.

The night was pressing on when she found herself pressed against him beneath a blanket, their backs against a tree, her head on his shoulder as she was pulled further and further towards sleep.

“Lass?” he murmured lowly. “Kirsi?”

She didn’t respond – the original intention being to not respond right away, needing to blink herself into wakefulness before she could wrap her lips around syllables, much less words. But after a moment of silence, he relaxed and pulled her closer.

“I won’t give you the brush off again,” he murmured.

They were words that should have been basic decency, but they had the sound of a vow. As well as that not intended for conscious ears. So she pretended to be asleep, and soon she was no longer pretending.

It took another two weeks for them to reach Windhelm, not helped by their unhurried pace that defied the cold snapping at their heels. Kirsi, aptly named after the frost, seemed to enjoy it if anything. And Brynjolf? Brynjolf…endured it. With a smile. Primarily because he was happy. Happier than he’d been in a while…and more content than he’d admit in this strange and unexpected little routine they’d slipped into together by now.

He was happy as they slipped into Windhelm in the early hours of the morning, when he watched Kirsi pay a little brown-haired lass a hundred times what the entire stock of flowers she peddled were worth, when he found out that had been Kirsi’s main reason for wanting to come here in the first place (for it had been a while since she’d last given the wee girl a stupid amount of gold, and she was worried the last lost may have run out by now), and he was happy when they slipped into Hjerim – her stupidly big Windhelm home – and began to cobble together a hot meal.

Most of all, he was wrapped up in the atmosphere that had fast begun to overtake them. The one that had him enforcing that distance all that time ago, that stupid distance, convincing himself that his own worries were valid concerns about business and the running of the guild and not just cowardice over not wanting to face how he’d feel if it went tits up. That worry was still there, and it would gnaw at his insides like a pack of skeevers if he let it, but it was overpowered by how much he could get used to this. The little smiles. The looks. The complete lack of personal space between them as they went about their little routines.

That happiness was put on pause when a knock interrupted their dinner preparations.

Cursing beneath her breath, much as she had when they’d been spotted by the Companions, she cleaned her hands free of flour from the bread she’d been making and strode for the door. Brynjolf followed, a dagger in hand behind his back, a force of habit.

“Jorleif,” she greeted tiredly. “What is it?”

“Still not one for pleasantries, I see,” Jorleif replied. “High King Ulfric invites you to sup with him tonight – he was pleased to hear you were back in Windhelm.”

“I brought a guest with me.”

“Bring the guest, please!” Jorleif responded happily enough. “Galmar will be there, too. A real reunion, through and through.”

“When?”

“As soon as you can get to the Palace of the Kings, I expect.”

“…Wait here.”

Turning away from the door, she almost walked straight into Brynjolf – and then breathed a soft laugh at the weapon in his hand. Taking up the bread dough in its bowl from the kitchen table, she strode back to Jorleif and thrust the bowl into his hands.

“Here. Have the cooks bake this, I don’t want it going to waste. Move quickly, or else the cold will ruin it."

Whether it was a ploy to be rid of the messenger quickly, a way to amuse herself, or she was truly very excited about that particular loaf of bread, it had the intended effect – the man was quickly gone, and she turned a look filled with trepidation in Brynjolf’s direction.

“How would you like to have supper with the High King of Skyrim?”

Had he not overheard the exchange, he’d never have believed her.

Rather than rush to her wardrobe to change into finery, she settled for brushing the flour from her armour (and her hair) and then leading the way out of the door. It was a short walk to the palace – and Brynjolf’s disbelief did surface when he saw how Ulfric Stormcloak greeted Kirsi. With a warm greeting, and a hug.

“When did you arrive, Stormblade?” he asked, paying Brynjolf all the attention High Kings likely usually paid people who didn’t immediately interest them.

“This morning, my King,” she bowed at the neck and was forcibly straightened, Ulfric having none of it.

“This morning? I should set the guards on you for being here so long without coming here. And who’s this?”

He had not yet looked at Brynjolf, but it was plain he had not escaped his notice.

“Brynjolf. A friend – and a travelling companion. Bryn, this is Ulfric Stormcloak, and his housecarl Galmar Stone-fist.”

This is Ulfric. Like he was a friend from the tavern and little more. Was he supposed to bow? Brynjolf did not bow – not to anybody. He didn’t much want to start here. So instead, he cleared his throat and looked between the two of them.

“I wasn’t aware you rubbed shoulders with royalty, Kirsi. I imagine how you met must be quite the tale.”

Galmar breathed a harsh laugh. “She’s not told you? By Talos, if I’d survived Helgen all within a hundred leagues of me would know the tale at all times.”

Helgen? Brynjolf stared in disbelief. The look remained on his face throughout dinner, and he was in less of a mood for teasing than he had been in Whiterun.

Do you remember Korvanjud, girl? When you snuck up onto the walkway and rained fire down on those Imperial bastards from above?

Ulfric had cut in there. I remember it. I still owe you that drink, don’t I?

You fought in the war? Brynjolf had asked, unable to help himself.

She’s not told you that either, lad? By Talos, I don’t know how Ulfric would’ve won the damn thing as swiftly as he did without the Dr-

Galmar. Kirsi had cut in, fixing the man with a hard stare.

…Without the driving force that Stormblade here proved to be. Ulfric had covered for his housecarl – and Brynjolf didn’t buy it for a second.

They returned to Hjerim that night in silence.

“Brynjolf, sooner or later you’ll have to say something to me.”

After dinner, they’d retired back to her home wordlessly, and Kirsi didn’t try to break the silence until they were out of the city gates early the next morning. Brynjolf suspected she was worried that High King of hers would issue an invitation for breakfast, too, if they didn’t make themselves scarce.

“The Companions were one thing. Harbinger, do-gooder, whatever. I figured you need easy money to supplement your finances, a cover for all of the ill-gotten gold you make with us. Whatever. Soldiering? Not my business either – the civil war never interested me, and maybe it’s a good thing that your mighty High King’s victory stopped Maven from being directly in charge of the Rift. It’s even a relief to know your not being scared of her has reasonable roots that go beyond plain old foolishness. Maybe even who you are – whoever that is – provides you with useful contacts, I don’t know. But that’s the point. I don’t know. And the more I see, the less I know.”

“Bryn…”

“Are you a highborn lass, then? Is that it? Because you’ve done too much for us for me to call that a conflict of interest, you know?”

“Not at all. I’m as common as the muck beneath our boots.”

“Most peasants don’t sup with High Kings.”

“A twist of fate, little more.”

“One you don’t trust me enough to explain.”

“It’s not like that.”

“What is it like?”

Sighing, she shook her head and looked out across the snow landscape, visibly searching for the words.

“Most folk like me in the context they know me in. You insist Vilkas is in love with me, and maybe he is, but only in the context he knows me in. He could barely square himself with my throwing a fireball at a draugr – some nonsense about it not being an honourable way or fight, I don’t know what the- anyway, if he does love me, he loves Kirsi, the Harbinger of the Companions and Thane of Whiterun. The one who disappears and returns having cleared out a cave of bandits, or rescued a citizen, or beat the shit out of someone who threatened a villager. That’s not me. You know that better than anybody. If he saw the rest of it? He’d go from being attracted to me, to wanting to take up arms against me very damn quickly. I can’t even resent him for it, either. He believes what I’ve led him to believe.”

It was clear she wasn’t done when she paused, and so Brynjolf waited in silence for her to continue.

“Ulfric…he’s less rigid, perhaps. Not that he’s in love with me. If he was ever going to pursue anything like that, it would be because of what I am and not who I am.

“I’m sure he has enough soldiers to take his pick from, lass.”

“It’s not that I was referring to,” she muttered sourly. “So long as I’m subtle about whatever else I get up to, I’m sure he doesn’t care. But is that better or worse than Vilkas’ outlook? I don’t…I can’t have that happen again. Not with you.”

“You think I’d go running because you give gold to orphans and run an outfit of block-headed warriors?”

“I don’t run then. And they’re not block-headed,” she said softly. “And it’s more than that.”

“How much more, Kirsi?”

“Much more. An entire world-load of complications. And you’ve shut me out before for less.”

Brynjolf faltered. “Kirsi…lass…”

They were interrupted by the screech of a dragon, and then a blast of fire.

The battle was a hard-won one. She’d fought worse dragons, after all – the worst dragon – but she was certain the ones that were left were growing fiercer, as if in some desperate bid to cling onto the foothold they’d previously dug out for themselves in this land.

They hadn’t been far from Kynesgrove, and so they’d been joined by miners and guards as they battled the beast, but that threatened to be more of a help than a hindrance – making sure none were in the line of fire as she shot spells and bellowed Shouts at the dragon until finally she could make the killing blow, driving her blade through its eye.

She turned to Brynjolf then, looking at him almost mournfully as she fought to regain her breath, well-accustomed by now to the feeling of the dragon’s soul whipping about her body and finally sinking in. It felt like she was being held before a bonfire, the heat just shy of actually burning. Brynjolf stared, his face splattered with dragon blood, his eyes wide.

“I’m the Dragonborn,” Kirsi breathed.

Like the skeever wasn’t already out of the bag. How long had she refused to use Shouts around him? Even in their pursuit of Mercer through Falmer-infested caves. All for nothing. Brynjolf continued to stare – a time during which she did her best to predict what he would do. Mostly, her money was on an awkwardly mumbled “I’m heading back to Riften, I’ll see you next time you complete a job”.

Instead, though, he threw down his blade and strode towards her, few paying them much mind at all as they trailed back towards whatever they’d been doing when the dragon descended. Now it was Kirsi’s turn to stare…right up until he was within arm’s length of her, when he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her towards him, pulling her into a kiss that filled her with fire more than the souls of a hundred dragons ever could.

When he pulled back, he stayed close, one rough fingertip trailing across the scar at the side of her face. Kirsi was fast deciding she wasn’t going to have the face sculptor get rid of it, after all.

“No more secrets, lass?”

“No more secrets,” she confirmed softly, eyes flickering down to his lips and then up to his eyes again. “Although…”

Her hands had come to rest at his chest and she felt him stiffen, dreading what she was going to say next.

“I’m also the Archmage at the College of Winterhold,” she said. “I thought we might go there next.”

Brynjolf breathed a laugh, his forehead pressing against hers. “I can live with that.”

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

#esta's flufftober '23 fills #flufftober 2023 #flufftober2023 #brynjolf/f!dragonborn #brynjolf x f!dragonborn #skyrim fic #skyrim fanfic #skyrim fanfiction #brynjolf fanfic #brynjolf fanfiction

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fandom-imagines · 2 years

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Most people, if not everyone, longed to meet their soulmate; the person that they had been bound to by the heavens, and Y/N was no different, but somehow meeting hers whilst covered in blood wasn’t exactly the plan.

Her eyes stared towards the man, who coincidentally was also covered in blood, as the dragon lay at their feet, painting both of them with its blood. The only part of them which wasn’t covered in blood was the tattoo on their wrists, linking them to each other.

“So, you’re my soulmate,”

“Seems that way,”

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maysoulrose · 1 year

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The Thief and The Moon chapter 5 | skyrim fanfic

chapter 5 of my little self indulgent skyrim fanfic with Brynjolf and my dark elf, Allustria.

——————————-chapter 5———————————————

Allustria dropped her pack by her claimed bed. She took a gander around the cistern. Every other bed was taken, apart from Brynjolf’s, who had gone back to the tavern. Mercer left as well. She had overheard that he had a manor in the town and would go there in the evenings.

The elf rummaged through her bag and took out a few belongings. First, her nightgown. She appreciated the privacy screen near her bed and happily used it. She may be comfortable with her body and flirting around, but she still didn’t want to give anyone a cheeky peek.

She slipped out of her fur armor and into the chiffon dress. It was loose and breathable. It fell off the shoulders, creating a straight line across her chest and arms. The sleeves were loose from shoulder to elbow, then billowed out in a bell shape. Her feet padded along the ground, the dress barely dusted the stones as she walked. She folded her armor and placed it in the chest at the foot of the bed.

Allustria flopped, flat on her back, covered herself in the furs, and stared at the curved ceiling. The constant sound of water pouring began lulling her to sleep. She turned onto her side, sliding her hand underneath her pillow. It found the hilt of her blade and she felt her eyelids become heavy until sleep took her.

——————————————————————————-

“That woman.. She wants me.” Delvin leaned back in his chair with his arms supporting his head.

“Shut up.” Brynjolf sat across from him and downed a mug of ale.

“You saw what she did! I told you, ladies love shaved heads.” He gave his friend a playful wink. “C‘mon now, Wanna make a bet to see which one of us can bed her first?”

Brynjolf nearly choked on his second drink.

“Of course — not!” He said between coughs.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t find her attractive. She’s like Lady Dibella sent down a drop of sunlight that took the form of the perfect woman.” Delvin closed his eyes, nostrils flaring, and hands gripping an imaginary butt.

“Quit doing that! Of course she’s beautiful. It’s just— I don’t know, she’s not someone you can just bed and move on with your life.”

“Oh? Sounds like you’ve thought about it already.” Delvin looked too smug, so Brynjolf punched him in the arm.

“No! I’ve only just met her. I wouldn’t want to… sully a… potential…friendship. Plus I’m busy! You’ve seen the state of things. We can’t risk any distractions.”

“Pfffshhhh. Quit tellin’ fat lies! That’s never stopped you before from trying to get with any of the other dames in this town.”

“I don’t know. I feel like she deserves more effort. There’s something different about this one. I don’t want to scare her away.”

Delvin wasn’t expecting that. Was Brynjolf thinking long term with her? That’s a first. They must’ve really hit it off. He needed a little nudge in the right direction though, or else she would indeed get away.

“Well. If you’re not gonna, I will, so if you’ll excuse me, I have a sensual dark elf angel to bend over a bed and plow until she’s screaming for more.” Before Delvin could stand up, Brynjolf had slammed his dagger down into the wood of the table, creating a sizable crack. Delvin froze, mid stand, and gulped. Eyes as big as saucers, he slowly sat his rump back down where it belonged.

“Sorry about that. I got the message..”

————————-

After having a couple of drinks with Delvin and catching up with the latest guild news, it was time to hit the hay. Brynjolf helped his drunk friend to his bed by slinging an arm over his shoulder and dragging him along. Vex was snoring in the bed next to his. After Delvin began snoring himself, Brynjolf was the only one left awake. It was a quiet night.

In the cistern, the sounds of water pouring from the walls, and the occasional crackle from the fire beneath the cooking spit and torches, filled the air. It was hypnotizing. Made it quieter in a way, since you couldn’t hear anyone tossing and turning.

Brynjolf dragged himself to his bed. Kicked off his boots, and removed his armor. Giving his back a good scratch from being in the stuffy leather all day. He took his thumb and popped a couple of his toes, then gave all of his limbs a nice stretch.

He grabbed a cotton shirt and loose pants to change into. But first, to bathe! He quietly went over to the waterfall right next to his bed. A few years back he had taken the time to map out the pipes and discovered that this one led straight to the lake, so he knew the water was mostly clean. It’s his little secret though, he didn’t want just anyone hearing about it and stealing his personal shower.

He stripped off his pants and undergarments, then waded into the pool. Taking in sharp breaths, he slowly got used to the cold and dunked his head under the pouring liquid. He scrubbed his face with his palms and ran his fingers through his hair, combing it back.

He reached up, fully on his tippy toes, and felt around the wall of stones. On the top of a brick that jutted out, he found his secret soap stash. Grabbing a chunk, he scrapped it all over his skin. His arms, chest, and the parts of his back that he could reach.

He stopped for a moment, Letting the water rush down his neck. Thinking how nice it would be if someone could help him get to the places that were hard to reach. He blushed at the thought and slowly turned his head to look behind him. Past his bed and across the entry archway, there she lay. Even though he was in cold water, the sight of her lying there got him excited. He felt a tiny throb pulse through his core and between his legs.

Brynjolf shook his head and pushed his face back into the stream of water.

‘Come on, you’ve only just met her.’ He stuck the soap bar back up in its hidey hole, washed off all the remaining residue, and waded out of the pool. He swished off all the water droplets that clung to his skin and slipped into his fresh pair of pants. Moving over to the cooking spit next to his bed, he used the fire to warm up while he put on his shirt.

Squatting there with his arms outstretched, he dared look in Allustria’s direction again. She was on her side, facing him, peacefully asleep. Her arms were tucked up near her face, one hand under her cheek, the other under the pillow. Her nightgown covered all of her apart from the tips of her toes and the tops of her breasts. Brynjolf’s heart stopped for a moment.

Her lips were barely parted. She breathed softly, her chest rising and falling. The fabric was beautifully draped over all of her curves. Tucked in her cleavage, hugging the curve of her side, draped over her thigh, and in between her legs. He couldn’t help but picture her laying there with nothing covering her at all. He imagined lightly tracing his fingertips up her leg, past her thigh, rubbing his palm softly in the small of her back. Kneeling and kissing her shoulder, then collar bone.

Brynjolf suddenly had to catch himself from falling face first into the fire. He had been slowly leaning more and more and eventually lost his point of balance. When catching himself, his foot slipped and smacked into a pot which made a rather loud noise. Allustria jumped up with a start, knife in hands, pointing it toward the source of the sound. When her eyes landed on Brynjolf, her exhale puffed against a strand of hair that had fallen in her face.

Brynjolf was red as a beet. He sat there, frozen in his squat. Her sudden jump had pulled the nightgown down slightly, revealing just a touch more of her desirables. He could feel he was rock hard from his lustful imagination.

“Are you alright?” She whispered, still clutching her blade, eyebrows furrowed. Her eyes widened and dropped her arms. She just noticed his slicked back hair and slightly wet shirt, clinging to his arm muscles. Feeling a rise of arousal in her attraction for him.

“Yeahimokay!!!” Brynjolf hissed a little too quickly and a little too loud. “Just almost fell, haha! How are you? Are you okay?” He jumped up from his squat and bit his tongue ‘shutupshutupshutup’ he screamed in his mind.

Allustria raised an eyebrow, her eyes fell to the incredible tent in his pants, then flicked back up before he would notice.

“Yeah… I-Just a little startled.” She slid her feet off the bed. “I think I’ll just get some water or something.”

“Sounds great. I need some fresh air. Want any? -er I’ll be.. I gotta go.” He spun around, crossed the bridge, and disappeared into the ragged flagon.

“I thought he needed air…” She said, confused.

Allustria felt a little flustered. He looked sexy with his shirt clinging to his arms and chest muscles like that. His hair combed back away from his face… It made her legs weak. She hadn’t noticed how cut he was before, being covered in the guild armor. She tried to piece together what had happened. He obviously had a raging erection. He was so flustered and panicked, it must have been embarrassing for him when she woke. She made a note to not let him know she saw it. But maybe she should.. after all, she was no stranger to easing a man’s desires. She couldn’t lie to herself. She desperately wanted to get him out of those clothes to see what lies beneath.

She hesitantly followed his path to the door of the Ragged Flagon. Reaching for the handle, she stopped and spun herself around, changing her mind at the last second. Just as she was about to walk away, she heard a muffled sound beyond the wooden door. Allustria quietly approached once more and placed her ear against it, trying to decipher what was happening beyond.

read it on the fanfiction site

#skyrim fanfic #skyrim fanfiction #brynjolf x dragonborn #thieves guild #skyrim thievesguild #brynjolf fanfic #skyrim brynjolf #brynjolf #the thief and the moon

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argisthebulwark · 6 months

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Most Ardently

summary: Terms of endearment Skyrim men would use for you as your partner. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Vilkas, Cicero, Brynjolf, Farkas, Miraak, Erandur, Teldryn, Arnbjorn warnings: minor allusion to suggestive content, mention of blood. and some swears.

Darling Vilkas, who wields terms of endearment with both kindness and sarcasm. Who knows how to get under your skin or comfort you with just one word. "Oh darling, have you forgotten who trained you? More than anyone else, I know your limits." He would sneer, face flushed when he rounds on you after a disagreement. "My darling," Vilkas would whisper in the dead of night, when your hands are tangled in his hair and you can taste the wine on his breath. "My darling." He breathes just before kissing you, all worries melting away. Cicero is giddy at the idea of his Listener having special titles only he is permitted to use. Who spins you around the Sanctuary when your mood is low, showering you in kisses and praise until he sees the smile he loves so dearly. He would say it often, soft and full of love during a stolen moment alone or brashly in front of any new recruit whose eyes lingered a touch too long. "Oh, darling Listener." He would sigh, gazing at you with unabashed adoration. "Cicero loves you more than words can say."

Sweetheart Brynjolf, who says it with that crooked smile that never fails to melt your heart. Who murmurs the pet name when he finds you slumped behind the Guild Master's desk glaring at the rolls of parchment piled haphazardly before you. Brynjolf who scoops you into his arms, planting a kiss on your forehead and allowing you to grumble about your day. "Hold still, sweetheart." Brynjolf would breathe against your skin, clutching you to his chest as the manor's steward paces its hallways. Farkas, who cups your face so gently and speaks as if you are the only one in his world. Who calls you his sweetheart as he wipes the blood of fallen bandits from your cheeks and checks you for injuries. Who helps you out of your armor after a hard day, sinking into a warm bath and combing the hair away from your face. "You alright, sweetheart?" Farkas would call over the clashing of swords, needing an assurance that you haven't fallen.

My love/My beloved Miraak, whose voice drips with devotion when he calls out to you. That touch of reverence never fades from his tone, eyes softening when he stares at you. Miraak who attempts to cover the depth of his love with sarcasm but would fall to his knees for you if asked, who believes his unnaturally long life's only purpose is to adore you. "My beloved," that deep voice rumbles through his chest as he gazes up at you, ungloved hands twisted in your robes. "One whose soul speaks to mine." Erandur, who speaks tender words of love as a form of worship. Who sings your praises with every breath. Whether it's a retelling of his salvation to an enraptured crowd in some small tavern or against the skin of your thighs he devotes himself to you, the one he loves. "My love," he would murmur over and over, lavishing attention upon you. "My most beloved, you must take better care of yourself. I cannot imagine this world without you, my heart."

Fucker Teldryn, who slaps a hand on your thigh with his head thrown back in laughter. Your gut muscles ache and your voice is hoarse from hours of laughing at each other's stories but you never want such a night to end. Other patrons have stumbled off to bed and you're sure that Geldis is glaring daggers at the pair of you but Teldryn's easy laugh is far more intoxicating than the drinks forgotten on a nearby table. "Oh, you fucker." Teldryn would say, the affection clear in his voice. He drags your chair closer to his, allowing you a closer look at his flushed cheeks and sharp teeth. Arnbjorn, with his gruff exterior that you somehow cracked through. His tough heart that you wormed your way into, the softness he saves for the rare moment alone. He is not one for tenderness but conveys his feelings in a way you understand, a subtle love language you learned over time. "Why do I like you again?" He would grumble, forced annoyance coating the affection in his tone when you squirm closer to him. "Fucker." The word is harsh, a contrast to the soft way his calloused hands brush over your skin. "I didn't want to fall for you, y'know."

#skyrim #skyrim fanfic #x reader fanfic #writing #vilkas #cicero #brynjolf #farkas #miraak #erandur #teldryn sero #arnbjorn #skyrim x reader

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coffee-at-daybreak · 1 year

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no more games | brynjolf x f!reader

can't sleep it's skyrim sexyman thirsting time. also! this is really only labeled as f!reader bc bryn says "lass" a few times but otherwise there are no explicit pronouns used for reader. it also gets like the slightest bit steamy but i don't think it needs any tags, lmk if i should though! anyway hope you enjoy tysm for reading!!!

Not even the pouch of septims tucked along your belt makes a noise as you slip into the entrance of Nightingale Hall. The singing of crickets fades behind you, replaced by the eerie silence of the cave.

You continue all the way down the windy tunnel, past the waterfall and run down bridge alongside it. You pass through the archway leading into the main interior hall, bathed in warm light from the nearby torches. Then, you finally relax.

Your shoulders droop and your lungs expand with a deep breath. You pull your hood off your head and reach for the newly attained loot at your belt. A small, hefty pouch of septims, with a valuable piece of jewelry wrapped tightly around it.

You drift closer to one of the torches to get a better look. A necklace, you realize. In your hurry to snatch it off that sleeping nobleman at the Bee and Barb, you'd barely gotten a glance at it. All you knew at that moment was that it was valuable, and you had to have it.

With deft fingers, you pull the necklace off the pouch and hold it up to study the material. It's made of shiny gold, and has a large pendant dangling off of it. The pendant is round, with a small but glimmering red stone in the center, and intricate markings etched into the gold around it.

You're turning the treasure between your fingers when you hear a low whistle come from behind you.

"Now that's quite the prize," Brynjolf's voice flows across the hall. You turn around to see him slipping in from one of the nearby tunnels.

You turn back to the necklace, trying to ignore the sudden jump in your heart rate. "You know me - I have to take anything that catches my eye."

Brynjolf chuckles. "I don't blame you for it, lass." He stops next to you. "Where'd you get it?"

"Some rich drunkard at the inn. I don't think he'll miss it much." You hold out the necklace by the pendant for him to see. When he goes to take it, his fingers just barely graze over your own. The flicker of warmth you feel from them seems to shoot all the way up your arm.

He studies the necklace for a moment, giving you a chance to study him. His emerald eyes are bright with awe, and his russet hair looks even brighter, nearly matching the intensity of the torch light. He's in his Nightingale garb, but everything's slightly .. unkempt. He definitely didn't just come back from a job like you.

"Flawless ruby, for sure," he murmurs. "Very valuable, indeed." His eyes flick to catch your own. "And quite the beauty."

You cross your arms and hold his gaze. You pretend not to notice the gesture - and pretend you don't feel a blush crawling up your neck. "I am not trading that in to Delvin. Don't even ask."

He grins. "What if I take it off your hands?"

You reach over and snatch it from him. "Not for sale."

He chuckles again, a low rumble from deep within his chest. You tuck the necklace into one of the many pockets at your belt and start to head back to the waterfall cave. Crashing into one of those old beds there sounds rather tempting right now.

"What are you doing here right now, anyway?" You ask Brynjolf as you walk. His footsteps trail behind you.

"Housekeeping, of course," he replies. "This place has more cobwebs than the Ratway."

You smile at the hint of disgust in his tone. "Afraid of spiders, are you?"

"Aye, just a bit. I don't much like the thought of them crawling around while I sleep."

You roll your eyes in amusement as you stop next to a bed. The gentle rushing water of the fall and creek echo around the room. The familiar smell of wet stone and misty air flows to your nose. It's not the most pleasant scent, but it's a significant difference from the cistern.

"I'm surprised you're up at all," you say with a snicker. "It's rather late."

Your gloves come off, and you stoop down to start working off your boots. You hear another couple approaching footsteps.

"What if I said I was hoping to run into you here?" Brynjolf asks.

This time, your heart feels like it's leaped into your throat. You try to swallow the nerves down, and focus on slipping off your boots. "You can run into me anytime in the cistern - anywhere in Riften, really. Why here?"

"Because we're alone."

You straighten up, and turn around, and nearly jump back. He'd moved much closer now, a mere hand's width away. The sudden proximity just about takes the breath out of you.

His eyes seem dark, but there's a little bit of torch light reflecting off of them. And when he smiles, they seem to glimmer. Very much like the stone of that necklace. Something about his eyes is much more captivating, though.

"I know you feel it, too, lass," he murmurs, voice so soft that you wouldn't be able to hear it over the water if he weren't so close. The cave air suddenly feels warmer than it did a moment ago.

You gulp. "Feel what?"

Brynjolf's head tilts slightly, and he lifts an eyebrow. You know he's clever enough to figure out when you're playing dumb. But of course, he has to play along.

He takes a step closer. You back up, but your back meets the rough stone of a wall, and you freeze.

"Don't be coy, now." His eyes break away from your own, only to travel around your face. You see them looking at your hair, your cheeks, your nose. Then back to your eyes. "I don't exactly try to hide it anymore, if you couldn't tell."

You exhale. Your breath comes out choppy. You don't try to hide it either, because the first thing you look at when you break your eyes away from his is his lips. That slight smirk in them makes your insides coil.

You had felt a connection with Brynjolf from the moment you'd met. It didn't take long to realize it was more than just a platonic connection. You'd never forget the way your heart went into a frenzy when you and Karliah returned from Snow Veil Sanctum and Brynjolf was trembling with relief. Or the way you'd held each other in Bronze Water Cave, trembling from both the tumultous battle with Mercer and the freezing water you'd so desperately escaped. And the little moments in between the big ones had the same effect. It felt like a game - a tedious, frustrating game of throwing flirtations and quips at each other to see who would crack first. You couldn't deny it any longer, and truthfully, you were tired of trying.

"You know it's not wise, though," you say. Your words are a protest, but the way you tilt your head up, closer to his own, is the opposite. "We're Nightingales now, after all. Sworn to duty, with no distractions."

Brynjolf pauses for a moment. His hand lifts, and finds the side of your face. You suppress a shiver as the warm skin of his thumb brushes your cheekbone.

"I think we can find a balance, lass." He leans a tad inch closer, and his breath is ghosting over you.

You let out another shaky breath. Your eyes flutter closed when his thumb moves lower. It trails along your cheek, under your jaw, down your neck. He spreads his hand along the side of your neck, and you know he must feel your racing pulse somewhere in there.

"I took an oath to Nocturnal because I had to," he whispers. "But you-" his other hand circles your waist, pulling you closer, and by the Gods you nearly collapse against him. Your hands press flat against his chest in an effort to steady yourself. You grow weaker still as he continues, "I'd willingly lay my life down for you. I'd do anything for you."

His voice seems to flow around you. You can hardly imagine your surroundings anymore - you only feel his hand trailing your side, his breath tickling your skin, his heartbeat thumping beneath your palm. His entire presence is like honey, as if you could melt right into it.

"Bryn-" Your hushed breath is cut short. His hand is coming off your waist, and coming up between the two of you.

You open your eyes. He's holding up the golden necklace, dangling from his fingers.

He grins. That stupid, charming grin.

You narrow your eyes. "Really?"

"Easy pick." He leans back, but his other hand doesn't come completely off of you. It glides from your neck to your shoulder, leaving sparks in its wake. He gives the necklace a light swing with his other hand. "Take it back if you can."

You merely glare at him. He still wants to play games. You don't.

Your hand flies out. Brynjolf reels back instinctively. But instead of your hand fishing for the necklace, you hook it around one of the buckles on his chest, and pull him in until your lips meet.

Heat floods you instantly, from just about everywhere. He kisses you back so fiercely that you nearly lose your footing again. But his arms are quick to take you in, one squeezing around your waist and the other coming up along your back. Just as you break the kiss for a gasp of air, his hand buries in your hair, and he's angling your head to bring you back in.

You clutch at him, pressing as close as you can. It almost feels like you could mold into him, with how perfectly your body fits against his own. It feels right - he feels right.

You lose track of how many kisses you exchange, how many gasps of air you trade, how many times your hands grip each other in a new spot. You lose yourself completely in him, in his firm lips, in his powerful arms, in that faint taste of Black Briar mead on his tongue and -

Someone clears their throat behind you both.

In an instant, Brynjolf breaks the kiss and whirls on his feet. He pulls you with him though, earning a small gasp from you when his arm stays hooked firmly around your waist. His other hand is quick to pull out a dagger and point it in front of him.

Karliah leans against the archway, her violet eyes glimmering in the faint light of the cave. "Good evening," she murmurs.

Brynjolf huffs, his chest heaving against your own. "By Talos, lass. Thought you were an intruder."

You're struggling to catch your breath, especially since you're still pressed up close to him. Your head is spinning and a fuzzy warmth takes over your face as you glance up at Karliah.

The Dunmer tilts her head. "No, but it seems I did intrude on something." She leans off the wall. "My apologies. I'll be off... housekeeping."

She disappears down the tunnel as quietly as she came. There's a brief second of silence save for the gurgling water nearby and your heart still roaring in your ears.

You can't help the giggle that builds up, though, and drop your forehead against Brynjolf's chest. "Alone, huh?"

He scoffs, his breath tickling your hair. "Sorry, love. In my defense, the girl's a ghost."

You laugh again. Just as you start to catch your breath, you feel Brynjolf's hand hook under your chin, and he's tilting your head up. There's another fluttering warmth in your belly as you meet his gaze.

"No more dancing around the matter, right?" He asks, voice soft but serious. His eyes search yours intently. "No more games?"

You hum thoughtfully. You lift a hand up, where the golden necklace peeks out from your fingers. "I make no promises."

He chuckles, head shaking with amusement. "Aye, that's what I expected. So be it."

He yanks the necklace from you once again, and dives back in to crash his lips to yours before you can protest.

#skyrim #elder scrolls #elder scrolls skyrim #tes #tesv #dovahkiin #dragonborn #brynjolf #brynjolf skyrim #brynjolf x reader #x reader #reader insert #thieves guild #fanfic #its been years and this man still has a chokehold on me #as always feedback is appreciated!

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skyrim-forever · 9 months

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TESFest Day 3: Teeth

Hi everyone, I got this idea and couldn't get it out of my head! I'd also like to dedicate this piece to @argisthebulwark as it features their special guy Brynjolf. You've brought me so much joy with your writing so I wanted to begin to return the favour with this short little piece <3 (also Brynjolf is so fun to write I'm def gonna write more with him).

Prompt: Teeth

Tagging: @tes-summer-fest

Words: 498

Warnings: T, suggestive but not much.

The Cistern was a buzz with celebration in honour of the newest recruit’s latest job. It hadn’t been an easy one, that’s why Brynjolf assigned it to them; they had shown a natural talent that day in the Market. And after a few jobs, the Master Thief figured they could take on something a bit more intense.

The job involved a trip to Solitude, into the East Empire Company headquarters to locate some documents of a visiting company member. From there, they were instructed to steal the documents from the safe, as well as steal a necklace. Whether or not they were interested in cleaning the place out, he left that up to them. He also added a little… challenge, if they found themselves so inclined.

“Ey, supposedly the man has two gold teeth” he said. They turned their head quickly in his direction.

“Is that a challenge Brynjolf?” He shoots them a grin and places a hand on the small of their back as he passes by.

“Think of it as a chance to prove your stuff.”

Whether or not they ‘proved their stuff’ remained to be seen, but they did succeed in getting the necklace and the document from the headquarters with none the wiser. And for that Brynjolf was impressed. After a few rounds of drinks, they wander over to him. Their normal saunter exaggerated due to their success.

“I suppose congratulations are in order, well done.”

“The pleasure is all mine Brynjolf.” They offer him a small bow complete with a wide grin on their face. “But don’t think I forgot about your little challenge.” Oh he’s intrigued. Dipping to the side pockets of their guild armour, they pull out two pieces of gold that shine in the candlelight of the Cistern. “You even managed to take the man’s teeth, I gotta say I’m impressed.” Brynjolf took both teeth in his hands, tossing them slightly in the air. “Any chance you’ll tell me how you walked out without him noticing?” They catch the teeth mid-air.

“Oh you know me Brynjolf, I never kiss and tell.” They gave him a smirk while brushing their hand slowly across his armour. He decides to match their energy by grabbing the hand on his chest, placing a chaste kiss on it.

“Is that so?” They hum a bit under his touch, placing one hand on his side and moving the other from his face to shoulder.

“Everyone’s gotta have their secrets, you of all people should know that Brynjolf.” Just as he was going to make a move, close the distance between them, they slink away. He lets his eyes linger on their form a little too long, as he watches them rejoin their friends. It is only when he reaches into his side pocket, does Brynjolf know something is missing. They had pickpocketed him! Brynjolf lets out a dry chuckle, serves me right for letting my guard down. This new recruit was sure going above in beyond.

#tesblr #my writing #skyrim fanfic #skyrim fanfiction #tesfest23 #brynjolf #brynjolf x reader #x reader #x reader fanfic #skyrim x reader

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ironwoman359 · 8 months

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A Thief's Gamble - Ch.1:

No Risk, No Reward

Next: Ch.2 - All Eyes on Us Fic Masterpost

Summary: Brynjolf is certain that the only way the Thieves Guild will return to its glory days is by bringing in new, talented members. Unfortunately, Mercer doesn't agree, and it's not like Brynjolf's latest attempts at recruiting have gone well. But when he meets a stranger in the marketplace one morning, he's willing to take the risk and bring her on board....only time will tell if his gamble pays off.

Content: Brynjolf POV, Thieves Guild quest spoilers, game typical violence

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 2,781

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

AN: I have nothing to say for myself other than that Brynjolf is one of my favorite Skyrim characters, and this is an excuse for me to flesh him out both as an individual and in relation to the player. Has this probably been done a thousand times? Yes. Do I care? Absolutely not. Thanks for reading! (and let me know if you want to be tagged in updates, I'll do so if you like!)

--- --- ---

Brynjolf had a headache.

He’d had a faint one building behind his eyes for most of the day, but after listening to Keerava complain- loudly- that the Guild was asking more than she could afford for protection and that if he knew what was good for him he’d jump of the pier…his head was well and truly pounding.

“Want me to top that off for you, Bryn?”

Brynjolf blinked, and looked up to see Vekel looking at him expectantly, a flagon in his hand.

“Sorry lad, what was that?”

Vekel chuckled, and filled Brynjolf’s tankard with ale.

“You’ve been distracted lately, my friend. Better not let Mercer catch you staring off into space like that.”

“Now there’s an earful I don’t need,” Brynjolf agreed, lifting his tankard in acknowledgement before taking a swig.

“Well, go on then,” Vekel prodded. “Tell us what’s going on in that big brain of yours.”

“It’s nothing lad, just a headache,” Brynjolf said, but Vekel shook his head.

“I’m not just talking about today, Bryn, you’ve been off ever since you pulled that job on Brand-Shei.”

“Have I?” Brynolf asked, and Vekel nodded.

“You have. Which doesn’t track,” Dirge piped up, walking over to the bar. “Because you said that the job went off without a hitch.”

“So if you’re not thinking about the job, what are you thinking about?” Vekel asked.

A face came to Brynjolf’s mind unbidden, bright eyes and sharp features framed by dark hair, but he pushed the image away.

“You know as well as I do that the Guild’s seen better days, lads,” he said, taking another sip. “Just trying to work out how to bring her back to her former glory.”

“Aaaah, so that’s why you’ve been distracted these past few days,” Vekel said knowingly. “You think you’ve found another recruit, don’t you?”

“So what if I have?” Brynjolf demanded, arching an eyebrow at the barkeep. “If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: what this outfit needs is some fresh blood.”

“Except the last three recruits you tried to bring on board washed out before they could make any serious coin,” Dirge pointed out, and Brynjolf frowned.

“At least I’m actually trying to solve the problem,” he said. “If we ever want to get back on our feet, the Thieves Guild needs to actually employ some master thieves.”

“Aaaand, the last few kids you pulled into this mess were ‘master thief’ material?” Dirge asked, and Vekel snickered.

“Give it up, Brynjolf,” he said. “Those days are over.”

Brynjolf sighed.

“I’m telling you, this one is different…” he began, but Dirge scoffed.

“We’ve all heard that one before, Bryn! Quit kidding yourself.”

Brynjolf opened his mouth to reply, but paused. Beneath his friends’ ribbing and the quiet clinking of cups on tables and forks on plates from the Flagon’s few other patrons, there was another sound. The sound of boots on stone, the steps slow and cautious as they approached.

“It’s time to face the truth, old friend,” Vekel said. “You, Vex, Mercer…you’re all part of a dying breed. Things are changing!”

Brynjolf turned, saw exactly who he’d hoped he would, and a smile spread across his face.

“Dying breed, eh?” he repeated. “Well what do you call that then!”

The woman was slight, an Imperial by the looks of her, and she had a bow drawn, one arrow knocked loosely on the string.

“Well well, color me impressed, lass,” Brynjolf said, nodding to her. “I wasn’t certain I’d ever see you again.”

The woman’s eyes flitted around, lingering on Dirge for a moment before eventually slinging her bow over her shoulder.

“Getting here was easy,” she said, stowing her arrow in its quiver.

Brynjolf chuckled.

“Reliable and headstrong? You’re proving to be quite the prize. The name’s Brynjolf, lass.”

“Ariene,” said the Imperial.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Brynjolf said. “So... now that I've whetted your appetite with our little scheme at the market, how about handling a few deadbeats for me?"

Ariene frowned, shifting her weight.

“Deadbeats?” she asked. “What’d they do?”

“They owe our organization some serious coin, and they’ve decided not to pay,” Brynjolf explained. “I want you to explain to them the error of their ways.”

Ariene nodded thoughtfully.

“Sounds good…who are they?”

“Keerava,” Brynjolf said, ticking the marks off on his fingers, “Bersi Honey-Hand, and Haelga. Do this right, and I can promise you a permanent place in our organization.”

“And…how do you want me to handle it?” Ariene asked carefully.

Brynjolf sighed, his mind drifting back to the insults that Keerava had thrown at him that morning.

“Honestly? The debt is secondary here. What’s more important is that you get the message across that we are to be ignored.” He frowned, and looked pointedly at the bow strapped to Ariene’s back. “A word of warning though…I don’t want any of them killed. Bad for business.”

To his surprise, Ariene’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and she nodded.

“Will I get a cut?” she asked, and Brynjolf laughed.

“Of course you’ll get a cut. We take care of our own.”

“Then consider it done.”

“Alright then lass, get going. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

The woman nodded and turned without another word, heading back into the ratways the way she came.

Brynjolf grinned, and turned back to Dirge and Vekel.

“Anything to say now, lads?”

“Sure, she made it down here,” Vekel said dismissively. “But that doesn’t make her a master thief. A hundred septims says she’ll turn out just like all the others.”

“I told you Vekel, this one is different,” Brynjolf insisted.

Still, as he sat back down at the bar, it was hard to ignore the facts. He’d been trying to breathe new life into the Guild, but Vekel and Dirge had a point. Previous recruits hadn’t stuck around long. Some didn’t keep up a high standard of work, others realized how poor the Guild’s standing really was and abandoned it. A few had even been caught and either killed or imprisoned.

Brynjolf knew Mercer was running out of patience with his attempts, but he didn’t see any other options. They couldn’t rely solely on Maven forever, and the way Brynjolf saw it, their dwindling reputation and cash flow needed to be addressed, or the Guild, and everyone in it, would be history.

You’d better come through for me, lass, he thought, bringing his tankard to his lips. Because I’m putting my last bet on you.

--- --- ---

Despite his high hopes, part of Brynjolf was worried that the woman would simply take the money for herself and disappear after shaking down her three marks. After all, it’d taken her several days to reappear in the ratways after the job on Brand-Shei, and Brynjolf had been doing this for a long time.

His gut told him that she would pull through, but having a contingency was just as important as having good instincts. He’d put the word out to his contacts within the city guard to alert him if an imperial woman fitting Ariene's description tried to skip town, and he had a few others keeping eyes on the docks and weak points in the city walls in case she tried to slip out that way.

Mercer had given him the usual grief about wasting manpower, but Brynjolf knew that if the coin came through, he’d let the matter go. And as the day drew to a close and no runners came bursting into the Flagon to tell him that his recruit had killed one of the marks or vanished with his gold, the more sure he became that this had been a good call.

“I still don’t know about this, Bryn,” Delvin grumbled. “Even if this new recruit of yours is as good as you say, that don’t mean that the curse ain’t gonna affect them, same as the rest of us.”

Brynjolf rolled his eyes.

“Mentioning the curse in every other conversation isn’t going to make more people believe you, old man. It’s just going to make them think you’re crazy.”

“You can call me what you like,” Delvin said, shrugging. “Don’t change the facts.”

“Brynjolf,” Dirge called, and Brynjolf looked up to see Ariene walking towards them, a sack of gold in her hand.

“Well well, look who’s back,” he said, shooting a smug look over his shoulder at Delvin, who just shook his head and took a sip of his ale.

“So lass,” he said, getting to his feet. “Job’s done, and you even brought the gold.” He spotted movement behind her, and saw one of his runners slip into the Flagon. They flashed him a quick hand signal, and he smiled. “Best of all, you did it clean. I like that. Dumping bodies and keeping the guards quiet can be expensive.”

Ariene nodded, and held out the coin purse.

“Here’s what they owed us,” she said, and Brynjolf took it.

“Well done, lass. And it would seem I owe you something in return.”

He turned and picked up a few potion bottles from the table behind him.

“Here you go, I think you’ll find these quite useful.”

Ariene took them, examined them for a moment, then nodded, slipping them into a satchel at her side.

“What’s next, then?” she asked.

“Well,” Brynjolf said, hefting the bag of coin in his hand. “Judging from how well you handled those shopkeepers, I’d say you’ve done more than simply prove yourself.”

He looked back at Delvin and raised an eyebrow. The man nodded, and Brynjolf smiled at Ariene.

“We need people like you in our outfit.”

Ariene looked around, and Brynjolf saw her eyes linger on the rickety tables, on the grime covering the tankards, and the empty seats covered in dust. She looked up at him, and after a moment of meeting his gaze, she nodded.

“If there’s more gold where that came from, then I’m in.”

“That’s the spirit!” Brynjolf said, grinning. “Larceny’s in your blood…the telltale sign of a practiced thief. I think you’ll do more than just fit in around here.”

Brynjolf turned to lead her to the cistern but she hesitated.

“Before we go, I have to ask…” she trailed off, and looked around the room again.

“What’s on your mind?” Brynjolf asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Word is your outfit isn’t doing…well.” One side of her mouth ticked up in a half smile, and she gestured vaguely around them. “True?”

Brynjolf chuckled.

“You’re a sharp one, lass. Aye, we’ve run into a bit of a rough patch lately…but it’s nothing to be concerned about.” He let out a sigh, then flashed her a small smile. “Tell you what. You keep making us coin, and I’ll worry about everything else. Fair enough?”

Ariene nodded slowly.

“Fair enough.”

“Now, if there are no more questions? How about you follow me, and I’ll show you what we’re all about.”

Brynjolf led Ariene through the back room, sliding away the false panel in the storage cupboard and stepping through to the passageway beyond.

“So everyone in the tavern back there, they’re all members?” Ariene asked.

“Not everyone is,” Brynjolf explained. “Vekel owns the Ragged Flagon, and Dirge works for him. Tonilia, well, she’s got her own business. But they all work closely with us. We keep coin in each other's pockets and watch each other's backs.”

“And you lead the Guild?” asked Ariene, and Brynjolf scoffed.

“Me? No, lass. I’m just a lieutenant. I keep things running as smooth as I can, but I’m no Guildmaster. Mercer is the one who makes the decisions around here. And speaking of…”

He led her into the cistern, where Mercer was waiting for them on the dais in the center of the room.

"Mercer?” he called. “This is the one I was talking about...our new recruit."

Mercer sighed and folded his arms.

"This better not be another waste of the Guild's resources, Brynjolf," he said.

He turned to Ariene, and looked her up and down slowly. A frown spread across his face, and he folded his arms.

"Before we continue, I want to make one thing perfectly clear,” he said, addressing her. “If you play by the rules, you walk away rich. You break the rules and you lose your share. No debates, no discussions... you do what we say, when we say.”

Ariene raised an eyebrow and folded her arms, mirroring Mercer’s pose.

“Do I make myself clear?" Mercer demanded, and Ariene glanced over at Brynjolf.

“Rules?” she asked, looking back to Mercer. “We’re thieves. What’s the point of rules?

Mercer took a slow step forward, stopping only when he was mere inches away from her face, and Brynjolf grimaced.

“I'll let that comment go because you're new here,” Mercer growled. “Ask things out of turn again, and we have a problem. Now, are. We. Clear?"

Ariene, to her credit, didn’t react beyond a slight tensing of her shoulders, and she nodded once.

“Crystal,” she said evenly.

“Good,” Mercer said, stepping back. “Then I think it's time we put your expertise to the test."

“Wait a moment,” Brynjolf said, frowning. There was only one job going on at the moment that Mercer was concerning himself with…a job that Brynjolf had not intended for a fresh recruit to try and take on all alone. “You’re not talking about Goldenglow, are you?” he asked, and Mercer nodded. “Even our little Vex couldn’t get in!”

Mercer just raised an eyebrow.

“You claim this recruit possesses an aptitude for our line of work. If so, let her prove it.”

“Goldenglow?” Ariene repeated, and Mercer turned back to her.

“Goldenglow Estate is critically important to one of our largest clients,” he explained. “However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson. Brynjolf will provide you with the details."

He turned, clearly signaling that the conversation was over, and Brynjolf folded his arms.

“Mercer. Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Hmm?” he looked back at them, and Brynjolf looked pointedly at Ariene. “Oh, yes. Since Brynjolf assures me you'll be nothing but a benefit to us, then you're in. Welcome to the Thieves Guild.”

He turned and strode away, and Brynjolf blew out a breath before smiling at Ariene with what he hoped was a reassuring expression.

“Well he’s cheerful,” Ariene said quietly, a grin playing at the edge of her mouth, and Brynjolf tilted his head.

“How much of that ignorance was on purpose?” he asked, and she shrugged.

“I wanted to see how he’d respond to confrontation. Evidently, not well.”

“Well, I could have told you that,” Brynjolf said with a quiet laugh. “But never mind that now. You’re in. Welcome to the family, lass. I'm expecting you to make us a lot of coin, so don't disappoint me."

Ariene nodded.

“So how do I get my cut of the spoils?” she asked.

“Simple,” Brynjolf replied. “Do as you're told and keep your blade clean. We can't turn a profit by killing.”

“Fine by me.”

“You should talk with Delvin Mallory and Vex. They know their way around this place and they'll be able to kick some extra jobs your way. Oh, and talk to Tonilia in the Flagon... she'll set you up with your new armor.”

“Speaking of the Flagon, I could use a drink,” Ariene said. “Let me buy you one too…as an apology for upsetting Mercer.”

Brynjolf shook his head.

“I told you lass, you just worry about making us coin. I’ll worry about everything else, and that includes Mercer, alright?”

“Well then...consider it a thank you,” she suggested.

“A thank you?” he repeated, and she actually looked a tad sheepish.

“I can tell you were taking a chance, bringing me in to all of this,” she said, her voice quiet. “It was a risk; a risk that you didn’t have to take. And I…appreciate that.”

Brynjolf smiled.

“Well, I suppose I have time for a quick drink. A drink, and a toast to the newest member of the Guild.”

Ariene brightened, and turned to head out of the cistern and back into the Flagon. Brynjolf went to follow, but glanced back over his shoulder. Mercer stood at his desk, leaning over a set of plans with a frown on his face.

“Tell you what lass,” Brynjolf said slowly. “You go on ahead, introduce yourself to the others. I’ll join you in a moment, and we can discuss business.”

Ariene nodded, and Brynjolf watched her go, waiting until the door to the Flagon closed behind her before turning and striding across the room.

“Mercer!” he said, and Mercer glared up at him. “We need to talk.”

--- --- ---

Next: Ch.2

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paper-cuts-galore · 2 years

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Just random Skyrim prompt things

J’zargo carrying TLD to their bedchambers after overworking themselves learning a new and complicated spell

Brynjolf and TLD in the cistern of the thieves guild sitting on the edge near the water discussing business and whatnot

Miraak’s touch-starved ass getting flustered after TLD compliments him and gives him a quick goodbye hug before leaving apocrypha

TLD accidentally dropping a valuable item and it rolls of the cliff, and Lydia dives off the edge to get it before realizing she jumped off the wrong cliff

#skyrim #elder scrolls #j’zargo #j’zargo skyrim #the elder scrolls #lydia #lydia skyrim #brynjolf #thieves guild #fanfic #writing prompt #prompt #skyrim fanfic #miraak #tes #miraak skyrim #khajiit

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shivering-isles-cryptid · 1 year

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Skyrim Incorrect Quotes: Laylah Bundle Pack Edition

Some small quotes about my Skyrim OC

Mirabelle: We’ve had multiple complaints and reports about your experiments.

Laylah: Some people are just jealous of my awesomeness and superior magic skills

Mirabelle: You gave multiple slaughter fish legs and the ability to breathe in land and then released them in town.

Laylah: They’re also jealous of my ability to run faster than them.

Skjor: This is Widowmaker, because no man will return from an encounter with it

Aela: This is Sharpshot, as the only thing sharper than the arrows is my aim

Vilkas: This is Blood Drinker, as once it is unsheathed, it can only be returned after tasting the blood of its enemies

Laylah: This is Steve.

Brynjolf: What ya got there lass?

Laylah: Mercer’s diary

Rune: That’s extremely disrespectful of you.

Brynjolf: What’s it say about me?

Nazir: You’ve completed every contract I’ve given you in under a month, how do you do it?

Laylah: Skill, finesse, and the blessings of our Dark Lord.

Babette: Its dumb luck, isn’t it?

Laylah: In every way.

Arngeir: You’ve learned a great deal of the voice already Dragonborn, I believe there is little left for us to teach you.

Laylah: You taught me two words and then sent me to die. There better be little left.

Laylah: How do you sit in this chair? The stones a pain in the ass.

Ulfric: You get used to it.

Galmar: The stone’s cushioned by his massive butt.

Tullius: We need you on our side, the Empire…

Laylah: Your Empire. Not mine. Redguard, remember?

Rikke: You can’t possibly side with Ulfric!

Laylah: Nope, I’m a third party. Welcome the Army of Laylah Rulez!

Tullius & Rikke: …

Meridia: A NEW HAND TOUCHES THE BEACON!

Laylah: Nope.

Meridia: Wait! No! Don’t close the chest! Come back!

Harkon: I can think of only one reward fitting your task.

Laylah: Is it you?

Harkon: My blood!… Wait, what?

Laylah(simping over the vampire DILF): Nothing, continue.

Thanks for reading. Laylah is always the OC I have in mind when I make my Incorrect Quotes, but I always just put Dragonborn so y’all can just put in your instead. I’ll probably make more posts about her now that she’s apart of this account, but I’ll still do my usual Incorrect Quote stuff.

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vivifriend · 2 months

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Fluffy February Day 23: Dance

Haven't been writing as much fluff as I wanted but I had some time today. Ironically I didn't even notice the prompt I chose was today's until after I'd started writing. @fluffyfebruary

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Prompt: Dance

Word Count: 1012

Characters: Brynjolf, Dragonborn OC, Maul, Lynly, Rayya

Rating: T

Relationships: Brynjolf/Dragonborn,

No warnings.

#skyrim fanfic #fluffy february #my writing #Brynjolf #Maul #Skyrim OC #Lynly Star-Sung #Rayya

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accio-peach · 1 year

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guys I am actually writing again. specifically I am writing brynjolf fic

#brynjolf #Brynjolf smut #brynjolf fanfic #Skyrim #skyrim au #me #peach talks

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gaqalesqua · 4 months

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Facing Mercer Frey in Irkngthand comes both earlier and in a more savage form that the Dragonborn expects.

TW: noncon

#skyrim #fanfiction #karliah #mercer frey #brynjolf #dunmer #breton #nord #tw: noncon #Skyrim Fic #skyrim fanfic #skyrim fanfiction #female dragonborn #nsft

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fandom-imagines · 2 years

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Jealous!Brynjolf

Fandom: Skyrim

Pairing: Jealous!Brynjolf x Thief!Reader

Words: >1k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, jealousy/possessiveness?

I found this in my files and felt like sharing.

Thievery was something that came easily to Y/N; it ran through her blood, much like theft had run through her family for centuries. It wasn’t like the thieves guild, however. No, this was a family business with the only leader being her uncle.

Perhaps Y/N was doing this out of boredom, or maybe even to get a thrill, but either way she had found herself trying to steal from a random, and unfortunate, person in the middle of the busy streets of Riften, her eyes scanning the many people in search of the easiest target.

“You know, Lass,” a deep voice sounded behind her, “you should be less obvious about what you’re searching for.”

This was the first time Y/N had potentially been caught, having been too good in the profession to have been caught by a normal citizen which meant one thing: Thieves Guild.

Spinning on her heels and forcing an innocent look on her face, Y/N looked at the man.

“What do you mean?” She asked, a small smile on her lips in hopes of throwing him off.

The red-haired man smirked, reading her perfectly.

“You know exactly what I mean, so don’t try that on me. Never made an honest coin in your life, have you, Lass?”

“I don’t know what you mean,”

The man chuckled, rolling his eyes slightly. “Name’s Brynjolf, and you are?”

She hesitated for a moment, debating whether to give him an alias or not. “I’m Y/N,”

“Well then, it’s a pleasure to meet you Y/N. Now, I need your help.”

That was the start of Y/N’s association with the Thieves Guild, one she had to keep secret from her family who would be quite betrayed if they ever found out, but something about working with them made her happy; one of them made her happy, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself just yet.

The man she was thinking of, although she didn’t know it, was seated the opposite end of the room, sipping some beverage he was particularly fond of after a successful heist. The group he had gone with were all sat together, and Y/N gave him a proud smile as she caught his eye, shaking her head as he raised the drink to her before sipping it.

“You look quite lonely over here,” an unfamiliar voice said, taking a seat in the empty chair beside her. “Mind if I keep you company?” It was a youngish boy, maybe around twenty, who had a flirtatious smile on his lips which had the girl almost rolling her eyes.

“Go ahead,” she agreed, albeit unwillingly, and gave him a small smile, unaware of the burning gaze on her and the new thief. “I was quite bored anyway.”

The two of them chatted for a while, the younger boy occasionally dropping the odd flirtatious comment which Y/N simply brushed off, hiding the blush on her cheeks which didn’t go unnoticed by the red-haired man of her admiration, despite how hard she tried to hide it.

At first his company was awkward, painful one may say, but they slowly warmed up to one another, eventually becoming fast friends, although there was something more from the boy, unlike his new friend who only had eyes for one man, something that she had only recently admitted to herself.

“Everything all right over here, Lass?” The familiar accent sent shivers done her body, his breath fanning across her ear as he hovered above her.

“Everything’s fine, Bryn! This is my new friend,”

Brynjolf muttered something beneath his breath, a few words that Y/N was unable to catch, no matter how close he was to her. His sudden hostile behaviour left her confused yet slightly aroused? His rough tone caused her body to react in a new way, one she had never experienced with a person before, as she began to imagine how he would mutter dirty phrases into her ear as he slid inside of her.

Shaking her head in annoyance as her thoughts, her head rested against the red-heads chest, unable to feel the way his heart rate picked up immensely at the contact, the muscle feeling as though it would beat out of his chest any moment. So maybe he liked her also.

The way the pair melted into each other’s touch went unnoticed by the other, simply relishing in their touch.

“Are you two like together?” The guy who had kept Y/N company the entire night asked, incredibly confused at their actions.

Before Y/N herself could answer, Brynjolf did so for her. “Yes, we are, so do us both a favour and piss off.” He simply smirked as the man raised his hands in surrender and moved on to another woman.

“Bryn, what the? I was talking to him!” Y/N almost yelled, lightly hitting the redhead in the chest to express her annoyance without hurting him.

Brynjolf chuckled, leaning into her ear to whisper to her.

“I didn’t like how he was looking at you, Lass,”

#Skyrim #Skyrim x reader #Skyrim imagine #Skyrim imagines #Skyrim fanfiction #Skyrim brynjolf #Skyrim brynjolf x reader #Skyrim brynjolf imagine #Skyrim brynjolf imagines #Skyrim brynjolf fanfiction #Skyrim brynjolf fanfic #Brynjolf #Brynjolf x reader #Brynjolf imagine #Brynjolf imagines #Brynjolf fanfic #Brynjolf fanfiction #the thieves guild

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maysoulrose · 1 year

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The Thief and The Moon chapter 3 | Skyrim fanfic

—————————chapter 3———————————

Allustria walks through the door she believes to be her destination. A cistern pool shows itself. She sees a group of people chatting at a bar. Taking in her surroundings, she discovers that this place is pretty run down. A bouncer is waiting by the sign that says ‘The Ragged Flagon’. Accurate. He gives her a stare, and lets her in.

She sees the man she met in the market and overheard him talking about her. The people he’s chatting with both glance at her direction and kind of look at each other. She smirks and takes her place about a foot behind Brynjolf.

“I bet she’s on her way right now!” He turns and narrowly misses crashing right into her! His face full of shock for a split moment just before he clutches his chest as if to prevent himself from having a heart attack. He mutters something to himself. Vex and Vekel begin cackling at him.

“I can’t believe you got scared like that! Surely you, of all people, would hear someone coming from a mile away! She’s not even trying!” Vex clutches her gut in laughter.

Brynjolf clears his throat and brushes himself off. He’s now in a set of leather armor, stained black, and covered in pockets and pouches. Allustria wanted to know what he kept in each one.

“So, you made it! Color me impressed, Lass.” Choosing to ignore the clattering oafs behind him, and that he almost shat himself moments ago. “I knew I had a good feeling about you.”

She smirked at him, finding him ignoring his embarrassment kind of adorable.

“Getting here was pretty easy… once I opened that damnable lock..” She muttered that last part, turning her head away.

“Reliable and headstrong? You’re turning out to be quite the prize.” Her eyes flick up at him and he gives her a mischievous smile. She suddenly felt… shy, and could feel her cheeks warming from the way he spoke to her. His accent was unique to this place. She loved it.

“Well, are you going to show me around?” She said, coyly. Pushing through her shyness with ease. “Introduce me to everyone?” Allustria bites her lip with a canine and lets the sharp tooth drag across the pink flesh as it forms a smile. Brynjolf swallowed a lump in his throat from that cheeky little lip bite.

“Er, of course!” Brynjolf sweeps his hand through the air as he twists around to face the two behind him, who had finally stopped laughing.

“This here is Vex. Our best at break-ins. Vekel the man! He works the bar and is dating Our lovely fence down here.” Sitting at one of the tables, Tonilia looks up.

“Keep it in your pants, I’m not interested.” Seemingly only hearing that he had called her ‘Lovely’.

“Yeah, Brynjolf.” Vekel scowled at his flirtatious remark. Brynjolf puts his hands up and backs off. He winks at Allustria, who raises an eyebrow paired with a smile.

“Over here is Delv- hey! Where’s Delvin?”

“Last I saw ‘em he was passed out in the back.” Vex took her place, leaning against a stack of boxes with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Ah. Too much mead from last night? Well. He’s the one to get you some jobs. Same with our little Vex here, if she has some to spare.”

Allustria takes in the tiny area. A dock that was basically empty, nothing much but cobwebs and forgotten crates, apart from the bar. A few tables and chairs here and there. It was quiet. There was another door that led to more of the sewers and a little back room with a couple of beds, presumably where Delvin was crashing.

“How about we get you your first job, then we can get you fully initiated.” Brynjolf touches the elf gently on her arm to get her attention back to him. She snaps her head to look at him in response. The sensation tingled.

“I have a couple of patrons who are late on their monthly payments, and need to be taught a lesson.” He continued.

“Got it.” Allustria flicked her wrists and two daggers appeared out of nowhere.

“Woah there! Not so fast, Lass!” A little bit of panic washed over him, “We need them alive. In fact if you could do this without any bodily harm, that’d be preferred.”

Allustria squints her eyes a bit, feeling a little suspicious of their ways.

“The way things work down here is, if they’re dead, they can’t pay us. Keep that in mind.” He placed a hand on her wrist and lowered the weapon. She stared at him for a moment.

“….Alright.” Almost sounding disappointed. Brynjolf breathed a sigh of relief, not realizing at first how trigger happy she was. He chose to trust that she’ll abide by their rules unless proven otherwise.

Allustria slides her daggers back up into her bracers. That made him wonder what she does with the blade attached to her thigh.

“Tell me the targets and I’ll get it done.”

—————————————-

Allustria took care of the jobs fairly easily. Keerava caved after learning that the elf knew about her family somehow. Helga denied paying but then changed her mind as soon as she saw Allustria eyeing her prized Lady Dibella statuette. Bersi, the shop owner, had no questions when he heard Brynjolf had a new lackey out intimidating people for their debts and gladly paid up.

Evening had come. Brand Shei’s booth was empty, most everyone was packing their wares up for the night and heading to the Bee and Barb or Haelga’s bunkhouse. Just finishing Brynjolf’s request, she decided to go right back into the sewers. Thanking her past self for lowering the bridge, so she didn’t have to go the long way again.

Upon entering the flagon, Allustria immediately notices a jump in activity. Quite a few more people had arrived, enjoying mead and each other’s company.

“Well, well, well, aren’t you a beaut’” A man with a shaved head was sitting at the table nearest her when she emerged from the shadows. His armor matched Brynjolf’s and he too, had a unique accent, but his was different.

“You must be the new recruit. C’mere, lemme get a look atcha.” He opened his arms and patted his thigh.

“Delvin, you’re drunk! Leave her alone!” Brynjolf yelled from his seat at the bar. But to everyone's surprise, Allustria took his offer and planted herself on his lap. She wrapped her arms snuggly around his neck and lowered her gaze to his. He was grinning ear to ear.

“I’ll be yours for the night if you give me something worth my while. That is, if you can handle me.” Allustria soothed.

“R-Really?” He managed to say. Allustria smiled, revealing her slightly sharpened canines when she felt movement beneath her. Delvin was completely enthralled.

“Mmm.” Allustria tilts his chin up with her fingers. “Maybe some other time.” She swings her leg, lifting herself up with its momentum. He sat there in stunned silence, not noticing his obvious bulge.

Laughter bursts from the crowd after witnessing her little show. Brynjolf gets up and greets her.

“So! I hear you got those errands done!” Making a mental note that she was quite the flirt.

“Of course. Here’s the payment.” She hands it off. He gives her a proud smile.

“Everyone! Meet Allustria! The newest member of our merry little band of thieves!” He slips a hand around her waist and raises his mug, sweeping it through the air, spilling about half its contents. She felt incredibly aware of how forward he was with touching her. Even though she had just sat her rump on a complete stranger seconds before, his tight grip on her side gave her butterflies.

“Cheers!” Everyone Yells, clanking mugs and flagons alike. Vex hands Allustria a drink, who then clinks it against Brynjolf’s before chugging the mead down, herself. Letting her hand rest against his back for support.

Throughout the next few hours, the party ensued. Allustria had an actual conversation with Delvin and tried to meet all the new faces. Sapphire, who was just gorgeous, Rune, who is sweet and really enjoyable to chat with, and Thrynn who used to be in a bandit group. Allustria didn’t get to talk much with anyone else before Brynjolf took her aside.

“I think it’s about time I show you what we’re really about.” Leading her to the back. He takes a side glance at her over his shoulder, and opens up the dresser in front of them. The whole cabinet unfolds and reveals a secret entrance. Allustria’s eyes spark up with obvious excitement! Brynjolf smiles and takes a step inside, turning and offering a hand. She takes it, stepping over the lip of the door frame and follows him through another door a few feet away.

Behind it reveals a massive opening. Two waterfalls are spilling down the walls, a large pool of water in the middle of the room with stone bridges meeting in the center. Beds circled around the curved walls, as well as tables, archery targets, and an alchemy table. There was no one there, apart from a man perched at a desk covered in maps and loose paper. He notices them arrive and meets them at the center of the pool, moonlight from above showered down on them.

“Allustria, This is Mercer. The leader of the guild.” Brynjolf introduces. Mercer looks her over.

“Brynjolf assures me that you’ll be of use. I hope that’s true, for your sake.” Mercer barely even looks her over. Brynjolf clears his throat and glares at him, nudging him a little. “Oh and uh. Welcome to the guild.”

Brynjolf turned and smiled at Allustria, but it faded when he saw her face was as stern as a rock.

“And since you seem so capable, I already have a job for you.” Mercer continues to give her the details of breaking into the GoldenGlow Estate which sits on its own private island in the lake just outside the walls of Riften.

“Are you sure?” Brynjolf takes him by the arm and turns him away, for a more private conversation. “Even our little Vex couldn’t get in.”

“You say that this ‘Allustria’ is promising, let her prove it.”

Brynjolf struggled to think of an argument. Mercer turns back to the elf.

“I’ll get it done.” She says, not needing him to say another word.

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5

read it on the fanfiction site

#brynjolf x dragonborn #skyrim fanfiction #brynjolf skyrim #dark elf #dunmer #elder scrolls #fanfic #skyrim fanfic #brynjolf fanfic #the thief and the moon

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