#Brynjolf x You

[gloomwitchwrites]

Spring 2024 Collection Masterlist

Spring themed stories from across multiple fandoms.

** Indicates a Community Label

Skyrim: (complete) Lavender: Part One // Part Two (Brynjolf x Female Reader)

Brynjolf only ever brings you flowers when he wants something.

Lord of the Rings: (complete) Flower Crown (Aragorn x Female Reader)

During a spring festival in a small village, Aragorn reunites with the woman he’s been missing.

Star Wars: (complete) Greener Things (Din Djarin x Female Reader)

It isn’t until the woman he loves is in danger that Din realizes he’s wanted her all along.

High Stakes (Boba Fett x Female Reader)

Losing a bet with the infamous bounty hunter places you in his control.

Call of Duty: (complete) Easy Access (Task Force 141 x Female Reader)

A short dress is your idea of an invitation for a bit of fun.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

taglist:

@padawancat97 @foxxy-126 @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot

@firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @garfunklevibes2012 @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady

@spicyspicyliving @thepetitemandalorian @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado

@aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @pearljamislife @miss-mistinguett

@keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @cinnabeanz

@berarenado @saoirse06 @therealbloom @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu

@marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics

@ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @jade1605 @tulipsun-flower

@nomercyforthewarrior @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project

@burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @contractedcriteria

[indicrow]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Brynjolf/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Brynjolf (Elder Scrolls)/Reader, Brynjolf/Dovahkiin | Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls) Characters: Brynjolf (Elder Scrolls), Mercer Frey, Karliah (Elder Scrolls) Additional Tags: let me marry him you cowards, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff Summary:

You briefly hope that Brynjolf will be able to see through the lie but unfortunately, you know him - he's loyal to a fault. How would he take words from the man who'd raised him as anything but gospel?

Before you have the chance to think about it any longer, Mercer stabs his sword into your side.

[gor3-hound]

multi-fandom bot drop // character.ai

ft. gale dekarios(bg3), brynjolf(skyrim), welt yang(hsr), carlos oliveira and leon kennedy(resident evil) (requests in italics)

cw: manipulation, possessive behaviour(yandere god!gale)

bot one: gale -english professor husband gale (modern!au)

It wasn't often you had to run out last minute without being able to make arrangements for someone to look after your baby, but sometimes, it couldn't be helped. You were truly thankful for your husband, Gale, who was always so understanding and patient. He'd been more than happy to take the little one to the university with him today, insisting they'd be a great help for his lectures.

Upon returning home that night, you notice the door to your husband's study open. You smile at the sight you see as you walk in - him lounging comfortably on his worn leather couch with your baby nestled on his lap, a book held in his hands that he reads aloud. You lean against the doorframe, taking a few moments to watch the scene in front of you.

Gale eventually seems to sense your presence, peering up from his book. He smiles instantly once he lays his eyes on you, his head tilting to the side playfully. "Ah, dearest. You're home. Come, sit with us. The esteemed Professor Dekarios was just giving me some pointers for my lecture tomorrow. My class seems to favour the little professor. I might have to make them a permanent fixture in my teachings."

bot two: gale - your new professor

After his failed attempt at proving himself worthy to his goddess by retrieving the tome of gateways, Gale had taken to his tower, isolating himself from others to protect them while doing his best to attempt to understand his newest affliction. His magic was left weakened, the orb draining his powers more by the day. Had it not been for Tara bringing him magical artifacts in which he could harness the power from the Weave to sustain his orb, he would not have survived.

Isolation was doing him no favours. After a year, he'd made little to no progress understanding the magic that had left him so weakened. Heartbroken and wounded, he returned to Blackstaff Academy - this time as a mentor of the Weave - in hopes of answers. Perhaps a fresh set of eyes would be able to aid him in his search.

Things had changed, though. Namely, a new wave of apprentices had made themselves known in the halls. Upon seeing you - his new apprentice - a warmth settles in his chest that he had not felt in a long time, a feeling he had not known since the height of his fleeting romance with his goddess. His heart speeds up as you approach his desk, books tucked tightly against your chest.

By the Gods, she is beautiful. He thinks to himself, unable to take his eyes off of you.

bot three: gale - your husband wants a baby (modern!au)

After a long day's work at the University, there is nothing Gale quite enjoys more than returning to his wife. He pauses by the door briefly upon entering your shared house, taking off his shoes and jacket before heading deeper into the home to find you. He smiles as he spots you in the kitchen, making some steps towards you.

Your back is turned to him as you wash the dishes, and he can't help but watch you for a few seconds, wondering how he ever got so lucky as to marry someone as beautiful as you. With a soft smile, he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, slipping a hand under your shirt to rest on your tummy. He's been driven mad recently, wondering what a family with you might look like. Perhaps it was time he should convince you to indulge him.

He places a few kisses against the skin of your neck before resting his chin atop your shoulder, pressing himself closer to you. "Good evening, my love. You look absolutely ravishing. Although, that's hardly a surprise."

bot four: gale - yandere god!gale

In all his centuries of living, Gale had never found himself drawn to one of his followers as greatly as he was drawn to you. Your connection to the Weave drew his interest - he couldn't help but appear before you, to take you own as one of his chosen.

He can't help but worry for you whenever you are wandering in the Mortal Plane. You'd be much safer with him, in his domain - if he could only convince you as such. Humans are so weak. So frail. You would not live forever, but Gale could not bare the thought of losing his favourite pet.

He needed to make sure you were completely devoted to him. After all, it was for your own good. A test of faith, if you will. He ordered your isolation, and promised he would reward you for it. Now, as he hears the familiar sound of your prayers ringing in his ears, he decides it's time to make good on his promise.

"Did you do as I asked, my darling pet?" Gale murmurs as he sees you, standing in front of your kneeling, sobbing form. He can't help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction, knowing you were willing to leave everything for him. He places a finger under your chin to tilt your head up, making you face him before gently wiping you tears away. "You did well, pup. Truly. I have never had a follower impress me as you have."

bot five: brynjolf - he's impressed with your commitment to the guild

You'd made a fine addition to the Guild since he'd seen you near that market stall in Riften. Bryjolf has known as soon as he'd seen you that you had a penchant for being light on your feet, and having lighter fingers. He always had a good eye for it, and it was clear you'd never worked a day's honest work to get the coin that lined your pockets.

You'd excelled more than he anticipated. He'd grown rather fond of you in the short time you'd spent at the guild so far. He was definitely proud of you, not that he'd say as much out loud - he wouldn't want it to get to your head. Though, after everything that happened with Mercer Fray, he's not entirely convinced you wouldn't make a better Guildmaster than him.

He comes to find you in the Ragged Flagon once you return from another mission, placing a hand on your shoulder. His brows are furrowed with a slight concern as he takes in your ragged appearance. "Alright? No need to work yourself to the bone. You've more than earned your keep. You're one of us now. You've done well, lassie."

bot six: welt - you love listening to him ramble

You certainly were a curious thing. Welt had gotten used to those on the Astral Express treating him as their personal encyclopedia, although he hadn't quite expected you to be so adamant to get him to info dump on every little thing once you'd discovered it.

Not that he didn't like it. He did pride himself on his intelligence, and there were much worse ways to spend his time than having a nice conversation with someone like you, even if it made his heart race when you called him Mr. Yang.

He's not surprised at all when he hears a knock on his door at night. He pushes the glasses up the bridge of his nose as he looks up and gazes towards the entrance of his room, spotting you slowly opening it.

"Good evening, {{user}}. Isn't it a bit late for you to expect me to go on one of my tangents?" He asks, the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement.

bot seven: fuckboy footballer!carlos x sweet cheerleader!user

You're a little bit of an enigma to Carlos. He doesn't want to sound like a jerk - but your lack of interest in him isbreally starting to grate on him. You're sweet, and pretty, and you're on the cheer team, and he's the star quaterback, so you should be eating out of the palm of his hand - but you're not.

That's not to say you don't get all flustered when he flirts with you, cause you do. But you're too shy, backing away before he can put the moves on you. He's got most of the cheerleaders under his belt already, but his focus is purely on you now. You drive him insane, and he wants nothing more than to get some 'alone time' with you.

It's getting to the point where you're distracting him during his games, which really isn't any good. He barely even registers the chatter of his team or the sound of the crowd after they barely scrape by with a win. As soon as the final whistle goes off, he makes his way towards you.

He tugs off his helmet and sets it down on the bench, flashing you his pearly whites as he runs his hand through his dark, sweaty hair. "Hey, {{user}}. Do I get a kiss from my favourite Cheerleader for winnin' us the game?"

bot eight: carlos hitting on chubby!user at the bar

Carlos has only planned to get a couple drinks at the bar with some work friends to settle another successful mission. That all changed after he saw you across the bar, sitting there with your little group of friends.

He was completely enamoured with you. You were seriously cute - exactly his type. His eyes trailed your dress, and the way it hugged your curves. He couldn't help but smile a little when he daw the little tummy you had to go along with your figure. You looked soft, and his fingers practically twitched at the thought of getting his hands on you.

He gets up and makes his way over towards your table, running over a few lines in his head to try and make sure he didn't come off as a creep. He leans down slightly when he reaches your table, having to get a little more on your level to be heard over the music. "Hey, doll. Hope you don't mind me comin' over here. Just thought you were real pretty, wondered if you'd mind havin' a little chat with me?"

bot nine: emo bf!leon x pastel gf!user

Leon sat back on your bed, picking at his chipped nail polish. He likes to pretend that your cutesy aesthetic makes his eyes hurt, but he seems pretty happy surrounded by your plushies in your pastel themed room, making himself comfy as he lounges on your bed.

You set up the movie before plopping down on the bed next to him, dropping some snacks between the both of you. He drapes an arm over your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "What're you making me watch this time, babe?"

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday! 💛

And hoo boy, it is a long one. I'm talking over 3,100 words here. Making a new character in Skyrim has somewhat broken me out of the writers block I've been stuck with for the past few weeks. I'll get back to writing stuff for Elyse eventually, but for now, Thorne is in the spotlight! Plus, I'm having Elyse and Thorne co-exist because I can as Thorne isn't Dragonborn. Will need to take some liberties with the Thieves Guild backstory for Thorne though as a result as Elyse has done some stuff related to Honningbrew Meadery...

I'm relatively happy with it as it currently stands, though whether I make any further edits such as try to add a bit more padding around the dialogue or editing out my million and one mentions of people inhaling/exhaling or post it on AO3 any time soon I'm not so certain about. Thorne needs a hug. And honestly, at the end of this, Brynjolf needs one too.

Tagged by @hircines-hunter and @thequeenofthewinter! Not tagging anyone today but feel free to say that I tagged if you wish 💛

There is implied sexual content near to the end, it's essentially a fade to black situation, so please bear that in mind. I've marked as mature just in case, but it's only implied and nothing actually happens in text.

----------

"Boss. Talk to me – what's the matter? You've got an awfully long face." Thorne's brow scrunched up as she watched Delvin slip onto the seat opposite her in the Ragged Flagon. "Is it Maven? Is she breathing down your neck about something again?" She watched as Delvin leaned closer, attempting to read her expression. "Guild finances in trouble?" A quiet groan escaped her, before her eyes darted to the side at the first sign of movement. That action on its own made Delvin begin to chuckle. "Ah… Brynjolf. Trouble in paradise, hm?"

Thorne's eyes widened at that remark, before she scowled once more and silently stood up. "It's none of your business what the matter is, Delvin."

"You know, if Bryn ain't treating you right… Vex and I could always have a word with him, tell him to-"

"It is nothing to do with Brynjolf!" Her hands slammed down onto the table. It was very much an open secret that she and Brynjolf were together, but that wasn't the problem. It wasn't the problem in the slightest. If anything, Brynjolf was the only reason as to why she remained in Riften, remained the guildmaster of the Thieves Guild following the demise of Mercer Frey many months ago. But how could she tell the guild any of that? That she just… didn't want to be there? "I just… I just need some space to think. Clearly, the Ragged Flagon is not the place for it."

As she began to walk out of the Flagon, everyone's attention now clearly on her, Delvin attempted to follow. "H-Hey! Boss, you don't have to-"

She didn't look back when she heard Brynjolf's voice quietly addressing Delvin, though she did have to blink away the tears in the corner of her eyes as the door to the Flagon slammed shut behind her as she made her way into the Ratways. She hated that she felt this way. She couldn't live like this forever, wallowing in despair, wanting something better for herself… Even if her talents perfectly gave themselves to the line of work of a thief. It was why Brynjolf had took notice of her in the crowds of Riften that day, in spite of her having not long staggered into the city after being attacked and left for dead on the road after all.

Riften was eerily quiet as she stepped out from the Ratways, the smell of fish and salt hanging heavy in the air as the planks of the walkway beneath her creaked with every step. Rain, misty and light yet cold enough to chill her to the bone, fell to the ground around her. The clouds above the city were a dull grey for as far as the eye could see, and honestly… it felt very fitting for the melancholy she was feeling.

Her pace was slow as she made her way up to the upper levels of the city, before reaching the Bee and Barb, with her lethargic attempt at opening the door almost failing to catch Keerava by surprise if not for the sound of her reaching a table and scraping a seat across the floor in order to sit on it. She wasn't paying too much attention as Talen-Jei then tried asking if she wanted her usual drink, though she did give her thanks when a bottle of Black-Briar Mead was placed in front of her, both verbally and through coin.

For a while, she simply sat there, holding onto her drink whilst taking the occasional sip and holding her head in her other hand. It was so much quieter there than in the Ragged Flagon, it gave her a chance to get lost in her thoughts without much distraction. On the other hand, perhaps being left to her thoughts was not the best of situations for her to be in given how negative her mindset had been as of late.

At some point, the doors to the inn opened once more, somebody new coming in – no doubt a regular. She didn't care to look at who it was. Nor did she really care that, of anywhere, they chose to approach her table and put their own drink down on it.

"Lass… You okay? You left the Flagon quite suddenly." Thorne's head shot up at the sound of Brynjolf's voice, before taking a deep breath and nodding, not really paying much attention to the question which she had been asked. He frowned, then slipped into the seat beside hers and reached out for the hand which wasn't firmly wrapped around the bottle of mead. "Talk to me. Something is the matter, and I'm worried about you. I can tell these things, remember? It's all about-"

"Sizing up your mark…" She let out a quiet laugh. "I remember you saying that when we first met." After a moment, she brought her drink up to her lips, before sighing. "What made you decide to join me?"

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow at her question. "I think it's quite obvious, Thorne." Her pulse quickened at his use of her name rather than 'lass' – it was very rare that he would use it, but when he did… She knew that he was being serious. "You're not happy. You've got these little furrows in your brow that never used to be there, dark circles under your eyes, and it's not often you smile anymore." His hand gently squeezed hers. "As I said, I'm worried about you."

Hesitation made her body freeze after she opened her mouth just slightly, though tears were once more pricking at the corners of her eyes as she felt him looking at her. She was like an open book to him, she always had been, but hearing what he had to say… hearing that last sentence… she felt as though time was running out on keeping her innermost thoughts concealed. But she didn't want to hurt anyone-

"… You're not happy in the guild, are you?"

Her mouth fell dry. "N-No, it's not that-"

"Thorne…" His tone insinuated that he knew that she was lying.

"At times, the guild is like the family I never had," she whispered, her voice breaking as she spoke. "Not to mention that I love you, but-"

A warm hand came to rest on her cheek, and she felt Brynjolf's thumb wipe away the tears which were slipping down her face. "Don't force it… Take your time, lass."

"But I'm… I don't know if this life is for me, Brynjolf. Being… Being guildmaster, all the cloak and dagger, being under the constant scrutiny of the law and just hoping that I'm not recognised as a thief by any guard we haven't been able to get into our pockets-" She inhaled sharply. "Two years, Brynjolf… I've been here for two years, and I… still feel like I don't fit in. Except for when I'm with you." Carefully, his chair shuffled closer to hers and slowly her head fell into his shoulders as she stifled her tears. "I'm just… I'm not happy. I thought if I gave it time, then I would feel better but…"

"I understand. You don't need to say anything more."

Remaining leaned against him, she brought her drink to her lips once more and downed as much as she could without choking. One of his arms wrapped around her, and they fell into a comfortable silence.

When he finished his own drink was when the silence was broken, and it was with a question she wasn't quite expecting. "Lass… Do you want to take a step back from the guild? "

She stared at him in a dumbfounded silence for a moment, her back straightening out as she sat up and processed the question. "What…?" She then bit at her bottom lip. "I don't want to inconvenience-"

"Don't think about what is best for the guild, lass. This is about what you want."

But… what did she want, exactly? She was so tempted to simply leave, but she didn't want that on her conscious…

"It was selfish of me to have made you take up the position of Guildmaster, I will admit that… But you have done incredibly lass, even if you cannot see it yourself. I've never seen the guild so prosperous, never seen the rest of the guild so happy. If I knew that it came at the cost of your happiness…" He sighed quietly, before taking hold of her cheek and leaning in. "I never would have proposed it. It should have been me taking that role in the first place."

"Bryn…" She was having to choke back her tears yet again. "I don't know. I- I just… I like to think that I'm good at what we do, but… I don't think that it's for me." Thorne tilted her head back, and inhaled deeply. "I… might have to. Pass on my role to somebody else. Somebody who is happy with what they do, and do it well. Somebody like you."

He quietly whispered her name as he acknowledged what she had said, though allowed her to take a few moments to dwell on it. It came as a shock to him, though it was just as much one to her – she had finally said what had been on her mind for months, from the moment that she was taken to the centre of the Cistern, and the members of the guild unanimously named her their new guildmaster.

A throat being cleared beside the table drew their attention after a few long moments, and they saw Keerava staring at them both. "Did either of you hear me? I suppose not… If you are not ordering any more drinks, then please leave. I need to clean up before the evening crowds come in."

They exchanged a brief look, before Brynjolf rose to his feet, and took hold of her hand. "Come on, lass. We can finish this conversation in Honeyside."

A warmth flooded her face as he mentioned his home. With the money which the guild had been making over recent months, she had thought it fair to split some of the excess wealth between members and associates of the guild. Somehow, Brynjolf had managed to persuade Jarl Laila to grant him the deed to a house with his cut. It was like their own private sanctuary away from the Cistern or the Ragged Flagon, and the only place where nobody dared to disturb them.

The rain hadn't let up as the doors to the Bee and Barb opened, and had in fact grew heavier during their time indoors. Fortunately, their destination was not far, so they wouldn't be looking like drowned rats once back indoors once more.

"Lass… what do you say to making your stepping down from the position of guildmaster something to remember?" Brynjolf asked once they had stepped out onto the streets, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Go out on a high which nobody else could ever live up to. Leave a bigger mark on guild history than you already have."

Thorne raised her eyebrow and pursed her lips together. "What high-profile heist did Delvin try to rope you into this time?"

Brynjolf let out a hearty chuckle at her response as he put his arm over her shoulders. "I always forget you can read me just as I can read you. Just before he started talking to you earlier, he was telling me about some reliable information that there are going to be some very notable targets passing through little old Helgen in a few days' time. I'm talking Jarls. High-ranking soldiers. People who have both expendable money and expensive little trinkets that can easily be replaced if they were to… misplace them, so to speak."

She rolled her eyes and let out a quiet laugh of her own. "And you weren't too keen on doing that, were you?"

"Well, Delvin felt that given our… abilities which Nocturnal granted us, it would be a safe job in the hands of one of us two. And I feel that you have a safer pair of hands than I do."

For a few moments, she thought the proposal over, the sound of both rain and their feet landing in puddles being the only noise which broke the silence. Eventually, she exhaled quietly, then nodded. "Okay. I'll do it. My last job. Go out on a high, as you said."

The rest of their short journey was quiet, in part driven by the fact that she was thinking about what sorts of targets would be in Helgen, and what possibly could have happened to bring together numerous figureheads of Skyrim to such a small mountain town.

When they arrived, he opened the door, and allowed her in first. As soon as the door to Honeyside fell shut behind him though, she turned on her heel and exhaled quietly, before pressing a brief kiss to his lips. "When I return from Helgen… I don't think I will stay once I've fenced everything to Tonilia. I'll pass the torch on to you. I will obviously return to Riften on occasion, but… Knowing that my last job will be one that will go down in guild history, I can at least say I accomplished something in my time here."

"You've done a lot to be proud of, Thorne… Don't put yourself down like that." He then exhaled quietly, and took her cheeks into his hands. "But I assume that this means that… between us is…"

The topic she had been dancing around all night, the thought which had been lingering in the back of her head from the moment he had asked if she wanted to take a step away from everything. It was possible that she could continue her relationship with Brynjolf… but a future in Riften was not on the cards for her, and Riften was his home. The guild's home. She couldn't tear him away from that. "A clean break may be what I need to figure out what I want to do with myself. But…" Her breath trembled as she inhaled. "I won't say that it doesn't hurt suggesting that we break up."

He nodded silently, though she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and gave him a smile.

"We still have time before that comes to pass though. And before you get all mopey over mead as you did when Mercer tricked you into thinking I was dead, remember that it isn't because of you. This is because of me, okay? You've been the light in my darkness, and I cannot thank you enough for it."

Slowly and delicately, he leaned over and pressed a feather-light kiss to her lips, a smirk once more across his face. "Then if this is to be one of our last nights together… Shall we make the most of it?"

...

When Thorne woke up, it was to the sound of birds chirping and sunlight breaking through Honeyside's windows. Brynjolf appeared to still be in a deep sleep beside her, one of his arms draped over her torso as he quietly snored. Slowly, she eased herself out from beneath his arm and the bedsheets, and went around the room, gathering together her clothes from the night before just to throw them into a nearby basket. She then went over to the drawers which she had hastily thrown some spare clothes into one of the last times she had spent the night there to get some of them, and pulled them on as quickly and quietly as she could.

Once dressed, she ran a hand through her hair quickly, just enough to make it not look as though she had just gotten out of bed, then walked over to the kitchen and grabbed one of the pastries which were there. It was somewhat stale, possibly from a day or two ago, but she didn't really care.

The quiet sound of Brynjolf stirring caught her attention as she wiped the crumbs from her face, and she silently gulped. She had wanted to make parting as painless as she could, without the need for goodbyes – even though she knew that she would be back, to return with what she could get away with stealing from Helgen. She wanted to make things easy for him by slipping out before he woke up.

"Lass…?"

She was frozen to the spot as he walked into the kitchen, and by Nocturnal he hadn't even bothered with getting dressed.

"Are you leaving? Already? It's barely sunrise…" He was rubbing at his eyes as he glanced between her and the window. "You were at least gonna say bye to me before you left, right?"

He walked over to her as her lips parted only slightly, uncertain as to whether she was going to tell him the truth of what she had wanted to do. She quickly settled on not doing so as he took hold of her shoulders and squeezed them as best as he could given his half-asleep state.

"… Promise me you will keep in contact, lass," he murmured, pulling her close to him in a quick embrace. "Even if we're not together, we are still a family. I want to know if you ever find the happiness which you are after... Promise me, yeah?"

She was silent for a moment, before nodding quietly. "I promise." She then stepped back, and took a deep breath. "I'm… going to go over to the Cistern to grab some stuff. Give Vex my vault key. Then make my way to Helgen. I don't suppose that whilst I'm gone… you could put some pants on and let everyone know that I'm stepping down as guildmaster?"

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow, now seeming much more alert than he previously had been upon hearing her plans. "I will. But remember that you're coming back after the Helgen job. You can tell everyone when you return…"

"… I know. But I just thought… hearing the news from you will soften the blow a bit. They all know and trust you. I still feel like a stranger to some people. I mean, they go to you to handle their problems more than they do me, so I don't feel that it will make much of a change to the guild dynamic…"

His hands gently cupped her face. "You'd be surprised, lass. Losing you will leave a bigger gap than you could possibly anticipate…" He then took a deep breath. "We will miss you. I will miss you. And if you ever want to come back, or if things don't work out as you venture out into the world, the doors to the Cistern will always be open for you."

Her eyes fell to the floor, before she took a step back. "… I'll… bear that in mind. Thank you, Bryn."

She needed to leave before she changed her mind.

[blacklacelilacs-sfw]

Headcanon that after the Last Dragonborn becomes Guildmaster, Brynjolf and LDB sneak off to Riftweald Manor to fuck on every flat surface possible, especially Mercers bed and little hidden treasure room

[druidgroves]

ok here r all the new tags if anyone is. curious :^)

[maedhrus]

Brynjolf had always supposed that the Dragonborn’s death would have some greater finality.

Mercer Frey returns from Snow Veil Sanctum alone.

[ironwoman359]

A Thief's Gamble - Ch. 12

A Ghost From the Past

Prev: Ch.11 Misdirection || Next: Ch.13 Fic Masterpost

Fic 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.

Chapter Summary: Brynjolf is used to dealing with Mercer's temper, but when an old enemy of the Guild resurfaces, not even he is prepared for the explosion that follows...or for its fallout.

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

Ships: Brynjolf x Dragonborn OC (slowburn)

Word Count: 3,602

Check the reblogs for a link to read on AO3!

— — —

“You forgot to get intel from the girl before she left?” 

Brynjolf closed his hands into fists, forcing his face to remain a mask of calm. 

It was difficult; he was sore and exhausted after his long day of travel. When he’d arrived back at the Guild, he’d intended to share the good news that the payout from the Markarth job was likely to be double what they’d expected and then take a well deserved nap. Before he could get out a single word though, Mercer had asked him about the Solitude job. 

Which of course, he’d completely forgotten to get an update on before sending Ariene off to Markarth.

“What do you mean you FORGOT?!” Mercer shouted, and Brynjolf rolled his eyes.

“Is there another meaning of the word ‘forgot’ that I don’t know about?” he asked lightly, and Mercer glared at him. 

“Don’t test me right now Brynjolf, I’m not in the mood for your games.” 

“I don’t know what else you want me to say,” Brynjolf said with a sigh. “We were being watched in town, and the job turned out to be just as dangerous as Ariene feared. In all the excitement, the mission to Solitude slipped my mind.”

“I seem to recall one of your main arguments for going to help her was so that we could get the intel from Gulum-Ei sooner,” Mercer snapped. 

“She had to rendezvous–”

“Rendezvous with the client in Markarth, I understand that,” Mercer interrupted. “What I don’t understand is why you failed to do the most basic part of your job and get a report from her before heading back here.”

Brynjolf didn’t answer, mostly because deep down, he knew Mercer was right. He should have thought to ask Ariene about what Gulum-Ei said before letting her ride off into the sunset, but after their near death experience and subsequent conversation, he’d been more than a little bit preoccupied.

Mercer, apparently taking Brynjolf’s silence as confirmation of his suspicions, shook his head, his face twisted with distaste. 

“This is exactly what I was talking about,” he growled. “Gallus was getting sloppy towards the end too, you know.” 

“That’s not fair,” Brynjolf protested instantly. “I told you–”

“That this won’t turn out like last time? You don’t know that,” Mercer shot back. He huffed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, regardless of our differences, I don’t want you getting a knife in the back because you got distracted.”

“She saved my life, Mercer,” Brynjolf hissed. “What, you think now she’s going to turn around and murder me?”

“More than once, I’ve been burned by someone who used to have my back,” Mercer said simply. “In this line of work, loyalty means nothing.” 

Brynjolf opened his mouth to protest more, but Mercer waved his hand dismissively. 

“I’m not saying the girl will turn traitor, Brynjolf. Just that, so far? You’re not doing a great job of proving to me that she’s not a liability.” 

“So you’re just going to ignore her record?” Brynjolf asked. “Take a look around, Mercer. The Guild is finally starting to gain some footing again, and it’s nearly all thanks to her. She’s even managed to win over Vex and Delvin. Just because she reminds you of Karliah–”

“Don’t say her name,” Mercer cut him off, his eyes flashing with anger. “This isn’t about her.”  

Brynjolf ground his teeth in irritation, biting back his urge to reply:

Yes, it clearly is. 

Instead, he took a deep breath and folded his arms, fixing Mercer with a steady look. 

“So do you not want to hear about the massive payout we got from the Markarth job, then?” 

Mercer’s expression was still glowering, but at the mention of money, he raised a curious eyebrow. 

“Payout?” 

Brynjolf’s assurance to Ariene that coin would cheer Mercer up didn’t end up ringing completely true. Mercer was still angry, and Brynjolf’s haul of septims wasn’t enough to totally soothe his temper. However, the promise of even more coin when Ariene returned was enough to spare Brynjolf any further scolding.

He retreated from the cistern, and decided that what he really needed wasn’t a nap, but a drink. He made his way into the Ragged Flagon and fell into a chair, burying his face in his hands and letting out a frustrated groan. 

Delvin looked up from his table and grimaced in sympathy. 

“Mercer’s in a mood, I take it?” he asked.

“What do you think?” Brynjolf quipped as Vekel approached with a tankard for him.

“I think that when even coin isn’t enough to calm that rotten old skeever down, then it’s in everyone’s best interest to keep clear of him for a few days,” Delvin said, and Brynjolf snorted.

He took a sip of his ale, then looked at Delvin thoughtfully. As one of the few holdovers from the time that Gallus had been Guildmaster, the old thief had been a constant in the Guild for as long as Brynjolf could remember. He knew the younger thieves in the Guild thought the same thing about him and Vex now, but that was hard for him to wrap his head around. 

Brynjolf had been only nineteen when Gallus was killed, and had only been with the Guild for a few years. Just long enough to come to idolize Gallus, Mercer, and Karliah, but not long enough to really get to know them. Delvin, meanwhile, had been one of the Guild’s top members even in those days. He was even the first person that Mercer had made a lieutenant, though he had always been firm that he didn’t want to lead anyone. A sentiment that Brynjolf hadn’t understood at the time, but now that he was a lieutenant himself, he couldn’t help but  sympathize. 

Being a thief was hard enough; it was so much more daunting when you knew that everyone else was looking to you for direction.

A thought struck him, and he found himself wanting to ask something that he’d never really considered before.

“Delvin?” he asked, and the older man looked up. “Why exactly do you think the Guild is cursed?” 

Delvin looked surprised at the question, but he leaned forward, eager to have someone listen to his theories willingly. 

“It just ain’t natural, Bryn,” he insisted. “I’ve been doing this a long time, longer than even you or Mercer. I’ve seen bad thieves, and I’ve seen bad luck. This? It’s different. It’s affectin’ every single member of the Guild, even the most experienced. Vex got made on a job, for cryin’ out loud. Vex!”

“There were over a dozen guards…” Brynjolf offered lamely, but Delvin waved his protest away. 

“Guards, yes, but guards that she should have noticed sooner than she did. The fact that she didn’t is just plain bad–” 

“Bad luck,” Brynjolf finished, and Delvin nodded. 

“Exactly. And it’s like that every time. Things that shouldn’t happen, happenin’ to folks it shouldn’t happen to. Look, I know you lot think I’m crazy, but I can feel it. Something out there is doing this to us.” 

Brynjolf thought of the crypt in Pinewatch, of the way Rigel had appeared seemingly out of thin air without either of them noticing. It had certainly felt unnatural at the time. But how on earth could you be sure of something like that? 

Delvin swirled his mug of ale thoughtfully, then he smirked at Brynjolf. 

“At least, that’s what it has been like. I can’t deny that over the last few months we’ve actually been on the up and up, for what feels like the first time in ages. Maybe that girl of yours is some kinda good luck charm.” 

“She’s not my–” Brynjolf began, and Delvin chuckled, cutting him off. 

“Don’t give me that, Bryn. Maybe it ain’t official yet, but everyone knows the two of you’ll be an item soon.”

“Are you going to scold me about it like everyone else?” Brynjolf asked tiredly, but Delvin shook his head. 

“Nah. As far as I’m concerned, she’s a good match for you. Besides, she’s nearly single-handedly pulled this Guild outta the gutter. How could I complain? A word of advice, though.” 

Brynjolf leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow.

“Vekel I could understand, but what makes you qualified to advise me on my love life?”

“Very funny,” Delvin said flatly. “Look, all I was gonna say is this: the girl’s a free spirit. And you’ve gotta be quick to make your intentions clear with ladies like that, or you’ll find that they’ve slipped through your fingers.” 

“Do I pay you to sit around and gossip?” a familiar voice growled, and Brynjolf suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. 

Mercer walked up and grabbed a piece of bread off of the plate that Vekel was bringing Delvin, before dropping one of the ledger books in front of Brynjolf. 

“Look over this, and see if your projected take on this oh so special Markarth job will allow us to pay a portion of what Maven plans to give the jarl. She’s not too happy with the idea of paying for the entire bribe herself.”   

Mercer turned and stalked out of the cistern, and Brynjolf sighed. He reached a hand to his forehead, massaging his temples, then grabbed the ledger and stood up.

“You’re not actually going to work on that now, are you?” Delvin asked.

“Gods no,” Brynjolf said. “I’m going to bed. And if Maven and Mercer are lucky, I’ll wake up sometime before the fifth era and I can finish crunching their precious numbers for them.” 

— — — 

Brynjolf did not, in fact, sleep for hundreds of years. However, he did make himself scarce around the cistern for the next several days, opting to do his accounting work from the relative privacy of what passed for his quarters down in the Ratway tunnels that surrounded the Flagon. 

Fortunately, the gold he’d brought back did provide the Guild enough extra funds to foot half of Maven’s “donation” to Mistveil Keep, and Mercer’s mood improved considerably after the guard patrols were pulled back to their normal rotations. He didn’t apologize, Brynjolf could count on one hand the number of times the Guildmaster had done that, but at least he’d cooled down enough for Brynjolf to walk through the cistern again without being treated to withering glares and backhanded remarks. 

Still, when Ariene finally returned from Markarth, Brynjolf made sure to pull her aside before she went to report to Mercer. 

“It’s my fault, not yours, lass,” he said quietly. “But Mercer’s not pleased that he’s had to wait an extra week for the news from Solitude. Tread lightly, alright?”

Ariene’s face twisted in a grimace.

“Honestly, he could be in the best damn mood of his life and he’d be more livid than a cave troll after getting this news. No sense beating around the bush.” 

“Gulum-Ei didn’t have good intel?” Brynjolf guessed, but Ariene shook her head. 

“Worse.” 

She headed into the cistern without another word, and Brynjolf followed, unease stirring in the pit of his stomach. 

Ariene marched right up to where Mercer was bent over his desk, and the Guildmaster frowned at her as she approached. 

“About damn time you got back,” he said in lieu of a greeting. “Please tell me Gulum-Ei gave up some information on our buyer.” 

“He did,” Ariene said bluntly. “It’s Karliah.” 

Mercer’s head snapped up and the room went dead silent. 

“She’s the lieutenant you told me about, isn’t she?” Ariene said, looking at Brynjolf. “The one who murdered Gallus?”

“Aye, lass,” Brynjolf said quietly. “If she’s back…” 

His blood ran cold at the thought.

“You’re absolutely certain?” Mercer asked, his voice low and dangerous, and Ariene nodded. 

“Gulum-Ei acted as a go-between for her with Aringoth, though he swore up and down he didn’t know it was her until after he’d agreed to broker the sale.” 

Mercer swore and slammed his fist down on his desk, and Brynjolf didn’t miss the way Ariene flinched before quickly regaining her composure. 

“Damn that Dunmer to Oblivion! I hoped we’d never have to cross paths with her again, but it seems she won’t be satisfied until she’s destroyed the Guild for good. Did Gulum-Ei have any information about her current whereabouts?” 

“Nothing concrete,” Ariene said carefully. “But apparently she told him she was going ‘where the end began.’ I pressed him for details, but he insisted that’s all he knows.”

“Where the end began…” Mercer repeated, his face darkening. 

He began to pace back and forth behind his desk, muttering the phrase to himself over and over. Ariene glanced at Brynjolf, a questioning look in her eyes, but he could only shrug in confusion.

“There's only one place that could be,” Mercer said finally. “The place where Karliah killed Gallus over twenty years ago…a ruin called Snow Veil Sanctum.” 

“That’s a few hours north of Windhelm, right?” Brynjolf asked, and Mercer nodded absently, still muttering to himself. 

“I’m the only one left who knows all Karliah’s techniques, all her skills. If she manages to take me out…” He looked up sharply. “We have to go out there and stop her before she does anymore damage.” 

“We as in…?” Ariene asked hesitantly, and Mercer glared at her.

“As in you and me, obviously. We’re going to go out there together and kill her. That should put a stop to any more of her attempts to bring the Guild down.”

“Mercer,” Brynjolf cut in, unable to hold his tongue any longer. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Mercer snapped. “This needs to be done, and I won’t hear any argument otherwise.”

“Aye, and I’m not saying it doesn’t, but the two of you can’t go on your own.” 

“I think you’ll find I can do whatever I damn well please, Brynjolf.” 

“This is Karliah we’re talking about, for Shor’s sake!” Brynjolf exclaimed. “She killed Gallus, and she almost killed you! Vex and I should–”

“I don’t need you to remind me what she’s done,” Mercer interrupted, shooting him a withering look. “I am well aware of exactly how capable she is.” 

“So don’t rely on one new recruit for your backup,” Brynjolf insisted. 

“A recruit who’s proven herself capable in combat multiple times over.”  

A part of Brynjolf urged him to back down. He argued with Mercer often, but he could always tell when it was best to put his own concerns aside in favor of the Guildmaster’s will. It wasn’t exactly good for morale if the underlings saw the Guild’s head and second in command fighting over decisions. This would ordinarily be the type of argument where he had to swallow his pride and concede. 

And yet, this time he found that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

“Not three days ago you were complaining that she was a liability,” Brynjolf pressed. “Now you want her to help you hunt down Karliah?”  

“She’s a liability for you, Brynjolf,” Mercer growled. “I’ll be just fine. Which is it, exactly? That she’s a competent thief who deserves my respect, or a green recruit who has no business putting herself in danger? It seems to me the answer is whichever is more convenient for you in any given argument.” 

Brynjolf’s face burned, more from anger than embarrassment, though he could feel the eyes of everyone in the cistern on the two of them as they argued.

“You’re making a mistake,” he insisted, forcing himself to ignore the staring. “This isn’t just another job. Leave the lass behind and let me and Vex come with you.” 

“Karliah is trying to destroy the Guild! I’m not putting my best lieutenants in her path.” 

“You’re too close to this, Mercer,” Brynjolf hissed. “You’re not thinking straight. You shouldn’t–” 

“I am your GUILDMASTER!” Mercer roared. “I’ve made my decision, and you are in NO position to question me!”

The shout echoed around the cistern, and any murmuring from the other Guildmembers stopped instantly. Brynjolf and Mercer openly glared at each other, but before things could escalate further, Ariene’s voice cut through the rising tension. 

“It’s fine,” she said quietly. “I’ll go.” 

“Damn right you will,” Mercer spat without taking his eyes off Brynjolf. “Get your things ready and meet me at the stables within the hour.” 

Brynjolf felt a muscle jump in his jaw, but he didn’t speak or break their eye contact, and eventually Mercer turned and stomped out of the cistern. Brynjolf had half a mind to march right out after him, but Ariene’s hand on his arm stopped him. 

“Don’t,” she said quietly. “It’s not worth it.” 

“It’s not right,” Brynjolf said through gritted teeth, and Ariene shrugged, flashing a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring, but came off as slightly manic.

“Well, look at it this way,” she said, her voice full of false cheer. “Maybe after this, he’ll stop seeing me as a liability.”

She turned and started walking towards the Flagon, and Brynjolf winced.

Damn you, Mercer.

“You don’t have to do this, lass,” he said, falling into step beside her.

“Actually, I do,” Ariene said, ducking through the passageway and into the dingy tavern. “I think he’d kick me out of the Guild altogether if I refuse him.” 

Brynjolf shook his head immediately. 

“I wouldn’t let that happen. Mercer may be too dense to see it, but you’re one of the best we have.”

“I can’t let you use up all your good will with him on my account,” Ariene protested. “You’ve done enough for me already. Syndus!” 

The last was to the fletcher who kept shop beside the Ragged Flagon, who looked up as they approached his alcove. Ariene pulled a coin purse from the satchel at her side and held it up for him to see.

“I need fresh arrows. Two quiverfull.” 

The Bosmer quickly filled her order, and she pulled out a few coins from the purse and handed them over. She turned to Brynjolf and held out the rest of the purse to him. 

“Here. The profits from Markarth. I didn’t get a chance to report to Delvin, but tell him that Endon is happy to open whatever doors are necessary in the city. With any luck, we’ll be able to use the foothold there to start operating more in Haafingar.” 

Brynjolf took the purse, not missing the way that Ariene didn’t quite meet his eyes as she spoke. 

“Are you certain about this, lass?” he asked in a low voice. “Karliah’s too damn smart to let slip where she was going by accident…this is more than likely a trap.”

Ariene sighed, running a hand through her dark hair. 

“I know, but that’s a chance we'll have to take. Mercer is an asshole, but he’s also right. Putting more of the Guild’s leadership in harm’s way than is necessary doesn’t make tactical sense. It’s…it’s better for everyone if I’m the one to go.” 

Brynjolf moved without thinking, stepping forward and taking one of her hands in his. She startled at the touch, but she didn’t pull away. 

“You’re not expendable, lass,” he said softly. “You know that, right? I– the Guild needs you in one piece as much as it needs me or the other lieutenants.” 

Ariene’s looked from where their hands were joined up to Brynjolf’s face. Reflected torchlight danced in her eyes, so deep and blue that he felt as though he could drown in them, and he felt his pulse quicken.

“The Guild needs me?” she repeated, her voice low, and he swallowed. 

Standing inches apart, it was like all rational thought flooded from his mind in an instant. Absently, he reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and he let his hand linger beside her face. It would be so easy to cup her cheek, lean forward and…

The creak of a door and sudden footsteps cut through the silence, and the two jumped apart on instinct. Brynjolf dropped her hand, wondering briefly if he was imagining the flicker of disappointment on her face. 

Damn this sewer’s lack of privacy!

“Well. Good luck, lass,” he said lamely.

She nodded, swinging one of the quivers of arrows she’d bought over her shoulder. The movement made her knapsack shift, and he saw the empty space on her belt where her steel dagger had sat. 

On impulse, he reached for his own belt, unbuckling the sheath of the dagger on his left side. He held the weapon out to her hilt first, and her eyes widened. 

“Here. To replace the one that broke in Pinewatch,” he said.

“I– Brynjolf, I can’t accept that. It was a gift!”

“A gift from Gallus,” Brynjolf agreed. “If you’re going out to avenge him, you may as well take a piece of him with you.”

Reluctantly, Ariene took the dwarven blade and strapped it into place. The silence between them stretched into awkwardness as she fiddled with the straps and straightened the sheath. 

“I guess I should go,” she said eventually. “Don’t want to keep the Guildmaster waiting.” 

She turned to leave, but before she could walk away, Brynjolf called after her. 

“Ariene.”

She looked back at him, and his breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t explain why, but he felt he had to say something before she left, something important, but for once in his life he couldn’t find the right words.

“Just…come back to me in one piece, alright lass?” 

She smiled, though the expression didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Of course I will,” she said. “You still owe me a drink, remember?”

— — —

Prev: Ch.11 Misdirection || Next: Ch.13 Fic Masterpost

[reachwitch]

Roar of a Wolfborn completed 46/46

After losing her family, Sifkni finds herself almost executed. After fleeing, she travels to Whiterun where she encounters the Companions. She knows their secret, as she is also a werewolf. Despite feeling that someone else is better suited for the role, she is soon thrust into the position of Dragonborn. She must learn to believe in her skills and heal from her past to fulfill her destiny. Farkas x LDB {F Werewolf Nord} | Skjor x OC {M Skaal}

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | EPILOGUE |

Hunt of the Blood Moons

After defeating Alduin, Last Dragonborn Sifkni is called to Falkreath for a werewolf problem. She helps solve the mystery, only to have a Great Hunt called on her by Hircine. Sequel to Roar of a Wolfborn Farkas x LDB {F Werewolf Nord}

Chapter PROLOGUE | 1 | WIP

Sivaas

After her pack is killed, Estinan wanders around Skyrim. With no home to call her own, she makes do with hunting or selling her sword arm. She ends up in Riften on a fateful day. With her pockets emptied by a handsome thief, she tracks him through the sewers and begins her strange quest with the Thieves Guild. Brynjolf x OC {F Werewolf Bosmer}

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | WIP

Fury of a Tundra Wolf

Former Harbinger of the Companions, Thea Icehammer, joins the Stormcloak army. She fights alongside the army to bring Ulfric his victory and to free Skyrim from Thalmor and Empire's clutches. Galmar x OC {F Werewolf Nord}

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | WIP

What are Friends for?

Ciara Finley, an aspiring alchemist and healer, finds herself in Helgen. Her childhood friend, Ralof, sits in front of her on the carriage and her fiance, Hadvar, is holding the list for the execution. After a catastrophic breakup, Ciara joins Ralof on his way to Windhelm to join the Stormcloaks. OC x OC  ; Eventual Ralof x OC {F Breton Alchemist/Healer}

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | WIP

Toe the Line

'Toe the line means to follow the rules or act in the way people expect you to' A phrase and act Dyrvina was familiar with, growing up as Jarl Skald's granddaughter. Dyrvina is now sent to Windhelm as a Political message to Jarl Ulfric. Arranged to marry the Jarl of Eastmarch, Dyrvina despises her grandfather and Jarl Ulfric. Ulfric x OC {F Nord} Slowburn

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | WIP

Mother of Hunters

Adelina, a devout Hircine follower and werewolf, is called to one of the Lord Huntsman’s Great Hunts. But as the Hare. She must survive three days with his Hunters and three nights with him personally hunting her. Adelina must survive. If only to prove she is NOT a Hare. She will not ever be a HARE. Hircine x OC {F Werewolf Nede/Nord}

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | Epilogue | Lore Book

Vestige Liselle encounters another Problematic Prince ft. Dragons (and Mudcrabs)

Liselle’s encounters of Tamriel and Oblivion are detailed in mostly journals. ESO Main Questline, a couple Daggerfall Covenant Quests, Clockwork City, Original Plot: Coldfire Codex, Elsweyr, Mages’ Guild, Blackwood | Future Goals: High Isle and Necrom Abnur Tharn x Vestige {F Breton}

Just a Ruin (and Mudcrab) Advocate | 158 Chapters | Journal Coldfire Codex Chap 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 Rage of Dragons and the Vestige | 65 Chapters | Journal Mages’ Guild Fiasco: Journal of Vestige Liselle |  24 Chapters | Journal In Which Liselle’s Fist Lands upon Another’s Cheek | WIP | Journal

Blessings of the Moons

Finnki is the Thane of Whiterun. She takes frequent bounties to keep her life and mind busy. She comes across the scene of an ambush. There’s only one survivor. J'Med. He’s a Khajiit from far-off lands, traveling to Skyrim to shake off his past. Finnki helps J'Med with recovery and fitting into Skyrim. J'Med teaches Finnki about moving on and leaving one’s past. OC {F Nord/Bosmer} x OC {M Khajiit}

Chapter 1 | 2 | WIP

Shadow of the Druadach

Tiernan is the Last Dragonborn. He is also a Reachman. He is a prickly man on his quest to save his world, despite the distrust and prejudice he faces on the daily. While he is looking for an Elder Scroll for Paarthurnax, he meets Rozelia Greensly. A master Mage at the College of Winterhold. She is very interested in the Reach and Reach magic. She joins Tiernan on his adventure, to his dismay. Perhaps the buds of friendship will bloom during their trip to find the Elder Scroll. Last Dragonborn {M Reachfolk} x OC {F Breton}

Chapter 1 | WIP

[esta-elavaris]

Day 1 - "I've got you." - Thorin Oakenshield/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 2 - Family, friends, loved ones - Aemond Targaryen/OC - tumblr / AO3 Day 3 - "You love me?" "I always have." - Papa Emeritus IV/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 4 - Cinderella Moment - Aemond Targaryen/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 5 - X + 1 - Brynjolf/F!Dragonborn - tumblr / AO3

Day 6 - Hot Chocolate - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 7 - Porch Swing - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 8 - Rainy Day - Theodore Groves/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 9 - Massage - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 10 - Playing With Hair - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 11 - Sweet Tooth - Cullen Rutherford/F!Inquisitor - tumblr

Day 12 - Fire & Ice - Aemond Targaryen/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 13 - Reading Together - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 14 - "I hate it." "No you don't." - Cutler Beckett/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 15 - Emergency, Confession, Adventure - Jack Sparrow/OC - tumblr

Day 16 - Singing Each Other to Sleep - Thorin Oakenshield/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 17 - Encouraging Someone to Achieve a Goal - Eddie Munson/OC - tumblr Day 18 - "Did you plan for this to happen?" - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 19 - Keeping Someone Safe - Vilkas/F!Dragonborn - tumblr / AO3

Day 20 - Wearing Each Other's Clothing - Boromir/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 21 - Swoon - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 22 - Picking - Boromir/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 23 - Trinket - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 24 - [Melting Emoji] 🫠 - Aemond Targaryen/OC - tumblr

Day 25 - Nook - Cullen Rutherford/F!Inquisitor - tumblr

Day 26 - Fireplace - Boromir/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 27 - Outdoor Event - Cullen Rutherford/F!Inquisitor - tumblr

Day 28 - Soothing Touch - Ulfric Stormcloak/F!Dragonborn - tumblr / AO3

Day 29 - "Hey, wake up!" - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 30 - Self-worth / Self-love - James Norrington/OC - tumblr / AO3

Day 31 - "You told your parents?" - Arthur Morgan/OC - tumblr / AO3

find me elsewhere: AO3 ~ FF.net ~ long!fic masterpost

[gloomwitchwrites]

Lavender: Part Two

Brynjolf x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), oral sex (female receiving), breeding undertones, mentions of pregnancy

Word Count: 2.6k

After accepting Brynjolf’s marriage proposal, the two of you receive some long-awaited alone time since binding yourselves together under Mara’s eye.

Part One

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

A strong breeze kicks up, rattling the side of the small cabin. A fire burns in the hearth, warm and strong, filling the space with light. The sun is all but gone. Your belly is full. And for once, you aren’t afraid. You are not stressed. There is no impending doom or subtle tension.

Tightening the wool blanket around your shoulders, you gaze into the fire, reflecting on the last few weeks. When you finally accepted Brynjolf’s proposal, he went to the Temple of Mara, and fetched a priestess like he said he would. The two of you bound yourselves together in matrimony.

Then it was done. Over. And your new life began.

The moment you sealed yourself to Brynjolf, the entire atmosphere changed within the Thieves Guild. They dropped their cold demeanors, greeting you with warm smiles and congratulations. The only member who didn’t seem to change at all was Vex, her icy exterior retaining a firm hold. At first, you believed she didn’t like you, but then you quickly realized that she’s sour with almost everyone.

You were not allowed to leave the cistern unless chaperoned, and while that bothered you at the time, you grew used to the routine. Brynjolf never waived in communicating how your mother and aunt fared in Solitude. He made sure to hand over any letters or pieces of communication, and whenever you longed to leave the cistern, Brynjolf would bring you with him to the market.

But all things end, and when Mercer Frey offered up a small retreat for you and Brynjolf to escape to for a bit, the two of you snatched it up without question. In Thieves Guild headquarters, there is nowhere private, and while you and Brynjolf tried to find a bit of quiet, it was ultimately difficult.

Every time you or Brynjolf tried to initiate anything, someone would appear as if sensing the intimacy.

Now, the two of you are alone. Truly alone.

Not simply as friends or lovers, but as husband and wife.

“Lass.”

Brynjolf’s hushed and husky voice drifts over to you. Turning away from the fire, you find him reclined on the bed. He is entirely bare except for a fur blanket covering his groin. The light from the fire casts a warm glow across his skin. Brynjolf bends one knee and lightly taps the bed beside him.

“Come to bed,” he croons, and your legs move without question. It is instinct to do so.

Approaching the side of the bed, your drop the blanket, revealing a thin shift. The chill air instantly pebbles your nipples and Brynjolf’s gaze drops to your breasts. It is a heated look, one that instantly pulls a slickness from your core.

Slowly, you lift your leg, planting one knee on the bed. Leaning forward, you place both hands on the soft bedding, and then lift your other leg. Brynjolf’s emerald eyes flash, his chest expanding and deflating quickly, nostrils flaring. With deliberate slowness, you slide over to him, keeping your gaze glued to his face. Brynjolf watches you the entire time. There is hunger lingering in the depths of his stare.

When you come to rest against his right side, Brynjolf reaches out, cupping your cheek with one hand. He doesn’t say anything. Simply touches. Caresses. Observers. The middle of his brow creases slightly and then softens. That kissable mouth of his turns upward, and there is so much love there it momentarily zaps your autonomy from you.

You would give Brynjolf anything in this moment.

“Do you remember the first time?” he asks.

“The first time?” you reply hesitantly, not sure you understand.

Brynjolf laughs softly. “You know.”

Your cheeks heat, sudden realization dawning. “Oh. Yes.”

Dropping his hand from your cheek, Brynjolf leans back into the bedding. “I was nervous. Excited.” He chuckles. “Couldn’t stay hard.”

“Or inside me,” you add with a smirk.

Brynjolf laughs, the sound of it sweet. “Aye. What a mess I was.”

“Are you telling me you’re nervous, husband?” you tease, placing one hand on his bare chest. He is warm beneath your palm, and you cannot help yourself. You stroke slowly, savoring his heat.

“Hardly,” he replies, his own hand grasping yours. Brynjolf brings your palm up to his lips to place a gentle kiss there. “I’ll be better.”

“Truly?”

Brynjolf’s amused grin widens as your teasing tone. One moment you’re reclining beside him and the next you’re on your back.

“Bryn!” you exclaim, but he has you pinned.

“If we married when he did,” he murmurs. “We’d have ourselves an army by now.”

You gasp and smack his chest. With how much space you have, the strike is weak, but it’s not meant to hurt.

“Don’t like the truth, lass?” he croons, head dipping slightly as if to kiss you.

“You’re terrible,” you reply, smiling.

Brynjolf grins. “You take that back.”

“Make me.”

The words leave your mouth and you cannot snatch them out of the air. You cannot shove them back down your throat.

Brynjolf’s grin grows wider, and you know in this moment that you’ve lost.

His mouth comes down on yours with a fierceness that steals all breath. It is suffocating. Intense. And so different from all the kisses you’ve ever received before, even from him. His large hands roam over the thin shift until your skin is buzzing, as if bees have made a home there. When he retreats it is agony, a staunch shattering that longs to be repaired.

“We have years to catch up on,” he murmurs against your lips, tongue darting out to tease.

“Then we best get started,” you reply, just as softly.

Brynjolf groans and comes back for more. It is sweet like an apple tart with extra sugar. Brynjolf will rot your teeth at this rate, but you’d hardly care even if he did.

His hands slip under the thin shift, bunching the fabric around your hips. The fur blanket that covers his cock is gone and his nakedness is apparent. It presses on your lower abdomen and you flex your hips up to bring him level with your entrance.

Brynjolf’s fingers dig into your thighs as his cock slides through your sex. “Not yet.”

Brynjolf releases your thighs and places both hands on the bed, pushing up to a seated position. His cock stands at attention, nearly meeting his belly button. Every muscle of his is on display, and you long to taste and lick each one.

Years. It’s been years, and your body still craves him like it did before.

“Off,” he says, and it is a command. His red hair lightly brushes over his shoulders as he shifts slightly on his knees.

Your fingers find the neckline but hesitate. It’s not because you’re scared or frightened of him, but because this makes it all the more real. The two of you are bound together under Mara’s blessing.

Brynjolf’s gaze softens. “Want my help, lass?”

Heat rises to your cheeks as you ease the neckline over one shoulder and then the other. It falls to your waist, revealing your breasts. Brynjolf is right there, reaching to help ease the shift down your legs.

When you are bare to him, Brynjolf groans. His hands return to your thighs and you part them, wanting him closer. Brynjolf briefly straightens, drawing back slightly, the tips of his fingers grazing over your inner thighs.

At first, you think he’s pulling away from you, but he only wants to admire, to gaze on your body for a bit.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. Those emerald eyes of his darken. “Wife,” he whispers, as if he’s testing it out.

“Wife,” you repeat back to him.

His chest heaves. “Finally.”

Brynjolf surges forward. One hand presses into the bed by your head while his other grasps your hip. Your mouths connect, and the liquid fire returns, roaring through blood and bone until you’re drowning. All these years you’ve waited and resisted, believing that loving him would only ruin him. How wrong you were. This man is enthralled. It’s clear from every touch and kiss.

Brynjolf breaks away only to return his mouth to your skin. He kisses your jaw and the curve of your neck. He moves down to your collarbone and then between your breasts. Brynjolf descends further over your stomach and stops just above your sex.

You are still spread completely, legs forced apart by his expansive shoulders, entirely open for his view. Brynjolf’s gaze is locked on your sex. He is fixated, and when he finally glances up, his pupils are blown.

“May I taste my wife?” he asks, voice rough with lust. Brynjolf slides back a bit, forcing your legs over each of his broad shoulders. His mouth hovers just above your pussy.

“You may,” you reply, voice soft, almost inaudible.

The corner of Brynjolf’s mouth quirks into a smile. His head dips, breath hot against your slickness. It draws forth a shiver, one that has him groaning against your inner thigh. Brynjolf’s lips hover there, pressing lightly on your soft skin.

“No squirming,” he says before gently biting.

It’s not painful, more of a surprise that has you seeking refuge away from his mouth.

“Oh shove it, Bryn,” you mutter.

He laughs, and then his tongue is on you.

It is not tentative. Not hesitant. It’s not like the first time when the two of you stumbled through the motions. This is completely different. Completely other. Brynjolf is sure of himself, as if he’s known your body all his life, and he knows exactly what you need.

His tongue traces, moving from entrance to clit with deliberate slowness. Your back arches, but Brynjolf’s hold is firm. His large hands firmly grasp your outer thighs, keeping you parted. When his tongue makes another pass, a gasp escapes you. It is strangled. Nearly choked.

Brynjolf repeats the motion, and this time you whimper.

“So sweet,” he purrs. “And all mine.”

His words are liquid sin, dipped in Dibella’s teachings. When Brynjolf puts his mouth on you again, he tastes and tastes and tastes until everything in you clenches. That tension coils up like a serpent under the leaves, waiting to strike. There is no escape. No chase. You are completely open and raw, unable to contain the venomous bite inside you. The serpent shows its fangs, and you are a willing victim.

Brynjolf sucks your clit into his mouth and that cracks your control, shattering it like poorly forged steel. Your fingers slide through his red locks, tugging until he growls. Your hips flex, pushing your cunt against his mouth.

Those large, strong hands of his hold tight, keeping your hips still. But Brynjolf doesn’t guide you away. Instead, he keeps you pressed against his mouth, the flat of his tongue tearing your resolve into shreds.

“Stop. Bryn. I’ll suffocate you,” you gasp, trying in vain to create distance.

“Then I’ll die happy,” he replies casually before diving in for more.

Between your legs, you watch as Brynjolf adjusts his position. He freely offers you a clear view of the tip of his tongue as it circles and teases your clit. You are unable to look away. The sight of him worshiping your body like this sends your body buzzing, and that coiled tension returns, blooming fast.

Your gaze is fixed on that one point, of how his pink tongue plays with you. Brynjolf doesn’t need to use his fingers. By the Nine, if he did, you’d likely explode, shatter like hammer against ice.

You melt like the snows in summer. You do not stifle or attempt to restrain the moans that leave your lips. They are wild. Untamed. And all for him.

Who would hear you but him?

By the time you begin to come down, Brynjolf is already bringing your thighs together, angling them back toward your chest. You don’t care. Don’t event mind. Everything inside of you is light, as if you float amongst the clouds, soaring like a hawk.

“My wife,” he says softly, drawing your gaze back to him. Your lashes flutter, and a contented smile spreads across your face. Brynjolf’s mouth and chin are shiny with your juices.

He makes no move to clean himself.

“Husband,” you reply.

With a suddenness that surprises, Brynjolf’s hand grasps the nape of your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, only holds. He tugs, drawing you upward but not entirely into a seated position. Your fingers dig at the bedding beneath you, all the muscles in your body that were once languid are now tight with strain.

In this position, Brynjolf’s cock slides through your slickness in a back-and-forth motion until all you can hear is your own pleasure.

“Brynjolf,” you gasp, reaching for him.

He murmurs your name as the head of his cock bumps against your clit. Your only response is a strangled groan, one he answers by rocking his hips back enough to hold himself at your entrance.

On an exhale, Brynjolf begins to ease in. This is not like before. Not at all. You are stuffed. Filled.

“You’re doing so well, lass.” Brynjolf retreats slightly before pushing forward again. “You can take it.” He gives you more with each roll of his hips.

“By the Nine,” you say as he bottoms out.

“Don’t go praising the gods now, lass,” chides Brynjolf. “They don’t deserve your sweet words.”

You’d laugh, maybe even tease back, but Brynjolf is hungry, and he gives you no respite.

There is no subtle softness. No slowness. Brynjolf drives forward, each thrust concentrated strength. The hold on your neck disappears, and you slump back to the bed, but that doesn’t matter. In this position, you are pinned beneath him, unable to do anything but take. But you gladly accept it, each steady stroke a delicious bite.

You never want to leave this place. Never want to leave him.

Brynjolf adjusts your legs, spreading them out and up, pushing them toward your chest. It forces your hips up a bit but it only creates a deeper angle. Leaning forward, he plants one hand above your head and the other near your shoulder.

He grunts above you, beads of sweat rolling down his neck. Reaching up, you slide your hands up his chest and then over his shoulders, keeping him close. Taking the hint, Brynjolf relaxes a bit, draping himself over you as he thrusts.

Like this, you can reach him.

Flexing the muscles in your neck and shoulders, you arch up to kiss him. You only manage to graze his jaw but it’s enough. Brynjolf tips his head downward, and then he’s meeting you, each kiss desperate.

What were once steady thrusts become needy, quick bursts that signal his end. While you cannot move your legs much, you do manage to hook your heels over the backs of his thighs. This changes something within him because Brynjolf nearly crushes you as he groans out his releases.

You cling to him, holding tight as his hips stutter, the last few thrusts of his shallow and weak. Brynjolf’s lips brush against your jaw, then your cheekbone before falling against the curve of your ear.

“Did you want that army?” he asks.

“Do you?” you reply, turning your head enough to gaze upon his face.

The soft smile you receive tells you all you need to know. “Little versions of us running around the cistern? Brandishing knives?” You roll your eyes and Brynjolf chuckles against your throat. “I’ll take whatever you offer me, lass. You know that.”

He still inside you, and so you roll your hips, finding that he’s already becoming hard again.

“Let’s start with one.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth

@miaraei @coffeecaketornado @miss-mistinguett @cherryofdeath @ninman82

[bekaroth-reads]

Brynjolf x reader pt .2

[Decided to make a sequel, though I guess you don't have to had read the first part to understand this. Once again I write gender neutral reader in general, so instead of Brynjolf saying lad or lass, I have him saying bairn like how you might call someone kid. Proof read but quickly so there's probably a lot still wrong, haha]

It doesn’t seem like it would be possible for someone to startle awake while also not moving an inch, but that was exactly what Brynjolf did. There was enough of his mind conscious to know he needed to check his surroundings, however the rest of it as well as his body protested. Once he was finally able force his eyes open, there wasn’t much he could see aside from a blur… and a piercing light of some kind.

Wanting to shield himself from the bright onslaught he went to turn. This action was cut short as the second he started to move Brynjolf felt like his was going to explode.

“Look who’s still alive!” A familiar voice teased in a thankfully soft voice.

“Bairn?” He questioned horsely, “By the Eight! What in Oblivion happened?”

You walked over to him, poured some water into a cup, and stared to mix something into it. Brynjolf was only minutely aware of any of this.

“It seems that you had a rather eventful night.” You laughed as you tried to get him to drink the concoctions you had made.

He was aware enough now to grunt and pull his head away, not wanting to risk upsetting his churning stomach further. As you came more into focus he pressed drudgingly with his interrogation. “Did I get in a fight?”

Brynjolf gave a sour look and a glower as even not knowing what the answer was, you thought is was funny and that it was certainly at his expense.

“Oh, yes. You had a valiant fight against some mead, and sadly lost.” You postulated before finally catching him at an angle that let you actually get the cup up to his mouth, “Now, drink this.”

He obliged you, but wasn’t afraid to let you know how he felt about the drink.

“Shor’s Stone! That’s vile!” He spat mostly figuratively, but somewhat literally.

“Got it from the apothecary. Supposed to help with the hangover.”

“Ya, know what’ll help that bairn? Put out that bloody light!” He groaned.

This made you actually laugh, which made him winch.

“Sorry.” You apologized as you tried to quiet back down. “But, I can’t put that light out, Bryn. That’s the sun.”

After this, you started prattling on about something along the lines of how there was rumored to be a way to actually black out the sun, but he wasn’t even to the point of comprehending any of that.

“Bairn, I’m not in the mood.” Brynjolf warned as he finally managed to move an arm and rest it over his eyes.

“For what?” You questioned.

“For games!” He grumbled, “Hardly a place in the cistern that the sun gets to.”

Based on the fact that you had to hod back another laugh, it seemed that something else caught you funny. You moved some of his fiery hair behind his ear as best you could with his arm in the way.

“Bryn, we aren’t in the cistern.”

This made him bolt up, suddenly aware that this bed was much too comfortable to be one of the ones they were able to sneak into the hideout. A few moments after his pounding temples stopped protesting the quick movement, he noted that he was in a rather nice, if slightly under decorated house.

It must have been yours. In recent times you had started to do favors for the Jarl, as a sort of means to have an insider in on her plans (as well as a way to make up to the people of Riften for the things you were told to do during your initiation), and the house was an opportunity you weren’t going to pass up.

Something else that he was more aware of now that he was more awake was that he was at the very least bare-chested. Not being one to miss out on a chance to fluster you, he decided to better his morning by doing just that.

“It seems that I lost a bit more than my wits last night. That your doing, bairn?” Brynjolf hummed as he leaned closer to you.

“Well, yes- but not for the reason you think!” You were quick to add. It was pouring last night and I figured there was no point in you getting pneumonia on top of the hang over.”

Your tone changed to a playfully, parental one, “You were on this side of the town square, stumbling around and about to fall into the lake. When I went to see what was wrong with you, you practically passed out on top of me. There was no way I'd be able to sneak you down to the hideout."

"Could have let me fall." He chuckled almost bitterly. While he was trying to play the comment off as a joke, you felt a shift in his demeanor. Maybe there was a more serious reason he was black-out drunk last night.

Not sure if what else to do, you sat next to him on the edge of the bed. Resting your hand on his you quietly assured, "I like you too much to risk you drowning."

Again your comment was continuing the façade of teasing, but there was a more serious intent to it you both knew was under the surface.

To your surprise Brynjolf leaned forward, reached a hand around to rest on the side of your head and move it closer so that he could place a gentle kiss on your hairline.

"Gods bless you! You're too sweet for this line of work." He sighed almost longingly, but in a way you couldn't quite work out why.

Looking over to him there definitely was a much more somber tone than he wore much of the time. Whatever was causing it, it seems the wrong time to try and talk about it. So, you simply moved on by placing your index and middle fingers on varying points on his brow to see if the tension was starting to let up.

"How are you feeling?" You asked.

"Now that I can see that bonny face of yours clearly, lovelier than anything my tonics ever promised to do." He was back to his flirting, and looked happy to be so.

Brynjolf wrapped you in his arms and held you close as he could, resting and nesting his head on the crook of your neck, relishing in the way you both squirmed and sought his attention.

"I do need to ask one more favor of you, bairn. Be sure not to tell anyone I was so pissed last night." There was another hint of somberness to Brynjolf's voice for another moment, before it abruptly changed back to playful. "If word got out that a Nord couldn't hold his drink, I'd never live it down!"

You matched his tone. "Oh? And, what can you bribe me with to not tell?"

There was something of a dark chuckle from him, like he knew something you weren't catching on to.

"Bairn, I'm sitting here in naught but a sheet and my small clothes, and you're asking how I plan to bribe you?" Brynjolf let said sheet fall a bit lower than was considered descent.

He leaned forward once again and kissed you. You were so dazed by the suddenness of the situation that you were basically along for the metaphorical ride.

Just as you were gaining your footing in this situation and things were starting to heat up, there was a pounding on the front door.

Seeing as you were clothed, you were the one to go answer it. To your surprise it was none other than Mercer.

"I'm doing a neighborly call to see if you've seen a certain red head around." He pointedly explained.

Your face must have heated up or possibly still been heated from before as all you said was, "Well," before he cut back in.

"I'll take that as a yes. Look, just have him come down as soon as possible." He sounded more exasperated than upset, though still upset nonetheless. Mercer didn't even wait for you to reply before he walked away, grumbling something to him.

"Sometimes I swear he's trying to ruin my life on purpose." Brynjolf huffed as he came up behind you, watched Mercer walk away for a moment before pulling you back into the house and shutting the door.

"I see you found your pants." You snicker as you note that he was now at least half dressed.

"Aye, they're dry enough to wear. Little smokey from being by the fire." He replied as he pulled you close to him once more.

While you were rather attracted to Brynjolf and more so actually cared for him, there was still some doubt in your mind about how he felt about you. So, you played off trying to back out of his hold by teasing, "I might think you're still a bit drunk with how handsy you are."

While he did laugh at the joke, he was also quick to ease your worries. "Hey, look at me." He placed his hand under your chin to help with the action. "I would never hurt you; not in any way, bairn."

Rather than something teasing or extravagantly passionate like many would expect from him, Brynjolf once again placed the gentlest of kisses to your forehead. There was something that finally made it's way through to you with this action. It wasn't just his way of showing gentle affection.

It was his way of saying, "I love you."

[yeehawbvby]

Go, Lass (Brynjolf x F!Reader)

Rating: Teen+ (explicit language, canon-typical violence)

Summary: The guards of Markarth have you cornered in the Silver-Blood Inn, eager to steal you away to Cidhna Mine. Luckily, you’re gifted a bittersweet goodbye with your favorite guildmate before you’re imprisoned for only the gods know how long.

Author’s Note: This was a fun little idea I had based off my current Skyrim run! It takes place after The Forsworn Conspiracy/before No One Escapes Cidhna Mine, and before you meet with Endon for Silver Lining. The reader-insert doesn’t have to be the Dragonborn, and your race isn’t specified either.

Sorry for any errors, I didn’t proofread before posting. Hope y’all enjoy! x

Check it out on ao3!

___

“C-come on, I didn’t really kill all those people! Surely you’re overlooking some details—“

“Oh no, we’ve all heard stories of your honeyed words. You’re not getting out of this one that easy.”

Shit, shit, shit, you thought to yourself.

Looking back and forth between Brynjolf and the Markarth guards, you panicked. Your heart raced as your shoulders slumped and your chest visibly began to heave.

You’d never been arrested for stealing, in all those years of doing it to survive, followed by making it into a profession with the Thieves Guild; but due to a failed attempt to help a determined Breton rid Markarth of the Forsworn, you’d really fucked up. 

Lots of weird politics. Far more killing than you were used to. So many ways to be framed in so little time. In the end, your comrade didn’t even make it — the guards made sure of his demise as soon as they’d been tipped off. All poor Eltrys wanted was a safe future for his wife and child, but that was supposedly too much to ask for in such a corrupt city.

The reason Bryn tagged along on your trip back to Markarth for this job was to bring you comfort and backup. You were two peas in a pod (albeit, Brynjolf seemed to see you as a sister whilst you hid your romantic feelings in plain sight), and you knew he’d help you if you truly needed it, no questions asked. 

You’d kept your fingers crossed, upon the law’s arrival, that the tall Nord’s presence would intimidate the guards into brushing it all off. Unfortunately, your downfall seemed certain. 

In that moment, the guards, citizens and denizens onlooking all wanted you imprisoned for life. And your favorite partner in crime was there to witness it all, barely even knowing what had gotten you into such a mess. His face looked neutral as ever, but his body language said otherwise. You knew Bryn well enough to be able to tell how tense he was.

You had three options. Option number one: run. Never come back. Screw this silversmith job that the Guild desperately needs, someone else can take care of it!

…Although, whoever is sent in your lieu might just muck it up. 

Option two: Fight. Main issue there is that it would be subjecting yourself and Brynjolf both to a death sentence.  

Option three: Turn yourself in. The prospect was terrifying, but you’d gotten yourself out of countless sticky situations. Perhaps you could figure out the details of an escape plan later. Maybe you could even organize a full-fledged jailbreak.

Everyone surrounding you knew what choices you had, merely not realizing the extra details that went into your third prospect. The inn was quieter than a crypt as they waited with baited breath to see what you’d do. 

“I…” You looked over your shoulder at Bryn, a deep exhale shaking your form as his beautiful emerald eyes met your own gaze. “I submit.” His eyes widened. The guards made a move to capture you, but you halted them, your face whipping their way.“Wait.”  

“What in the Gods’ names makes you think we—“

“I’m a cold-blooded killer, aren’t I?” You lilted, eyes stabbing into the man who’d been doing the talking for all of his crew. “If you don’t allow me to bid my friend farewell before I spend the rest of my fucking life in the mines, I could take out everyone in this room. Starting with them.”  

You tilted your head towards the small family that hid behind the counter. The parents gasped, and their son whimpered in fear, hugging himself closer to his mother. Playing into the façade, you drew a smirk across your features. 

“…Very well. You have one minute.” The guard added, glaring at Brynjolf, “No funny business or you’ll both perish.”

“Yes sir,” you lazily saluted. 

You turned around to face Brynjolf, who looked pale with discomfort. 

“Look, I don’t know what you’ve done, but—“

Before Bryn could get another word in, you tip-toed to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tender hug. 

As he returned the gesture, you turned your face until your lips brushed his ear, and ever so softly whispered, “I will get out of there.” Bryn shifted a little, and you continued, “I don’t know when, or how, and maybe I won’t even survive; but trust me when I say that I’ll see you again soon, one way or another. I’ll make damn sure of it.” 

Your partner in crime wanted to laugh. He knew you. He knew what you were capable of. No matter how foolish you were to already be conspiring an escape, he believed you could do it. But he didn’t wish to draw suspicion from the guards, so he simply nodded, an amused exhale that could’ve been mistaken for despair shaking his armored chest as he tightened his grip around your form. 

You pulled away, but before you could make your way towards your captors, you felt a tug on your arm. Turning to the source, Brynjolf pulled you close, replacing his grip on your bicep with a tender caress to your cheek from both hands.

Before you could process what was happening, he tilted your gaze upward and dipped down to your height, sealing the goodbye with a kiss. You melted into his touch, your palms finding refuge against his broad shoulders. 

As Bryn’s auburn beard tickled your chin, you smiled, basking in the taste and feel of his mouth. The warmth of his breath. The calluses of his large hands barely scratching your cheeks. After a few short seconds that you wished could be hours, he separated.

A crooked grin graced Brynjolf’s lips as he whispered to you his parting words:

“Go, Lass. Make their ancestors weep.”

[skyrim-forever]

Fic Masterlist

Finally doing the proper fanfic writer thing and making a master list of my fics!

TES/Dante's Inferno Crossover

The Dragonborn's Inferno

Ondolemar

I'm only happy when I'm with you (Chapter 1 teen, chapter 2 explicit)

Beg for me (Explicit) (AO3 Link)

Neloth

A Master Wizard and His Feelings (Mature)

A Solstheim RomCom Part 1 (General)

A Solstheim RomCom Part 2 (General)

Lucien Lachance

Match made in the Void (Explicit) (AO3 Link)

Erandur

Everyone has a past (General) (AO3 Link)

Brynjolf

TesFest: Teeth

Serana x Teldryn Sero

Devour Me (Explicit)

Elenwen x Rikke

Until You Break (Mature)

[magnavox-selfship]

Romantic F/Os

Arranged in alphabetical order by name. Not comfortable with canon x canon ships; neutral toward doubles. I don't block based on sharing status but I ask you not gush about them to me.

Bold = current focus/favorite.

💜 Breakdown - Transformers: Prime - #🍊 i intend to live

💜 Brynjolf - The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim - #💎 walk with the shadows

💜 Chuck - Dead Rising - #🌻 by your side always

💜 Cosmo - IF - #🔎 we found each other

💜 The Dealer - Buckshot Roulette - #🍺 dancing on the edge of love and hate

💜 Death - Family Guy - #🪦 drop dead gorgeous

💜 Gabriel - ULTRAKILL - #🪽 angel in shining armor

💜 Hide - Lethal Company - #🌹 lethal lovers

💜 IG-11 - The Mandalorian - #🦾 love is all i can give to you

💜 Joker - The Lego Batman Movie - #🃏 TBD

💜 K-2SO - Star Wars: Rogue One - #💿 together in electric dreams

💜 The Kidnapper - Welcome to the Game - #🐺 show me your darkness

💜 Lt. Simon "Ghost" Riley - Call of Duty - #💀 i carry your heart with me

💜 Lord Nighty-Knight - Megamind vs. the Doom Syndicate / Megamind Rules! - #🌑 partners in love and crime

💜 Michael Myers - Halloween - #🔪 TBD

💜 Miguel - Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse - #💥 bite me

💜 Miraak - The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim - #🐉 fate decreed us

💜 Robot - IF - #🤖 TBD

💜 Stalemate - Spider-Man (OC) - #♟️ TBD

💜 V1 - ULTRAKILL - #🟡 to hell and back

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Skyrim Masterlist

A/N: The reader is almost always gender neutral unless I specified differently in the title.

My other Masterlists are -> here

Scenarios

When you hug them (Aela the Huntress, Ghorza gra-bagol, Grelka, Shahvee, Balimund, Derkeethus, Farkus, Vilkas, Scouts-Many-Marshes, Ghorbash the iron hand, Brynjolf, Cicero, Lord Harkon, Serana)

If you can't swim (Shahvee, Derkeethus, Scout-many-marshes)

Relaxing with their S/O (Aela the Huntress, Cicero, Serana)

S/O is the Same Gender as Them (Aela the Huntress, Shahvee, Balimund, Farkas, Vilkas, and Scout-many-marshes.)

He celebrates your birthday with you (Derkeethus)

Oneshots

Accidental Insanity (Cicero x Assassin!Reader)

Headcannons

Coming soon...