#brynjolf x fiona

[eeveevie]

From this prompt list. This is some cute AF shit right here 👌

Brynjolf x Fiona 

861 words | [read on Ao3]

Winterhold was no place for a man like Brynjolf to be, even if he was a Nord. He never understood why anybody lived in such a desolate, frozen city—especially one that had been plagued by such tragedy, such as the Great Collapse. The Sea of Ghosts was not a body of water he wanted to take up residence near for any period of time. The only reason why Brynjolf found himself in the city was because Fiona requested his company on the journey, and he wasn’t about to pass the opportunity to travel with her—especially considering what occurred the last time she traveled this far North.

At first, he believed she had business with the Mages’ College, but Fiona quickly dismissed the assumption, reminding him she wasn’t blessed with any magical talent. Instead, their trip was of a personal nature, returning to the snowy lands to visit with Enthir and pass along a few of Gallus’ belongings, handed down by Karliah. Brynjolf had to wonder why they didn’t just invite the sorcerer to the warmer climate of Riften instead.

Upon the pair’s arrival in Winterhold, Enthir was eager about whisking Fiona off for a tour of the College grounds—something Brynjolf had little to no interest in. So he moseyed about the town, secured their room at the tavern, perused the local shop and stared off into the seemingly never-ending ocean before pacing along the snow-covered cobblestone streets. Admittedly, he was likely staring off into space, counting the number of pine-needles on the nearby tree when a tiny voice echoed nearby.

“Mister, will you help me?”

Brynjolf was momentarily alarmed to find himself propositioned by a small child, wondering for a moment if he was about to be scammed before pushing the thought away. He wasn’t in Riften, or in Windhelm for that matter—he didn’t have to be so skeptical. The little girl was holding a pile of snow in her hands and when he looked past her, a few more children were running through the empty pathway, hurling chunks of snow at one another.

He grinned, catching on immediately. “Ah, need help with a snowball, lass?”

She nodded enthusiastically, holding out her hands to him as he crouched down to her level. Instead, he scooped up some fresh snow from the ground, packing it tight into his gloved hands, rounding it into a compact shape. When he passed it off to the girl, she was delighted. Brynjolf began work on a second snowball.

“Why don’t we team up, eh?”

The energetic girl ran ahead, chucking her snow at her friends excitedly. The two boys were confused at first, but when they saw Brynjolf they were immediately thrilled to have a grown-up to help with their afternoon of fun. And since he didn’t have much to do in the small town while he waited for Fiona, he was happy to join. Rushing about the streets almost made him forget how cold it was, tossing piles of snow and relishing in the sounds of children’s laughter—it wasn’t an activity he’d ever find himself part of back home. He was hit in the chest and he dramatically fell to his knees, pretending to be wounded.

“Oh! You got me!”

The little boy pointed over his shoulder. “More enemies!”

Without thinking, perhaps too caught up in the moment, Brynjolf tossed the snowball that was in his hand over his shoulder. When he turned to look at who was approaching, it wasn’t another child—no, it was Enthir and Fiona—her face covered in powdered snow.

“Brynjolf?!” she shrieked, but if he expected her to be upset, he was pleasantly surprised by the grin that overtook her features. Perhaps she still had a few surprises for him, after all.

He offered a little, inconspicuous shrug. “Aye, lass. It’s me.”

“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” she responded wickedly, marching through the snow a few paces before dashing over to chase after him.

He jolted up from his spot quickly, sprinting past the children as they all echoed out their amusement as Fiona ran after him, arms outstretched in dramatic fashion. Little did they know she could very well tackle him to the spot, shout and bend him to her will if she really wanted. Eventually, he allowed her to catch him, laughing as she wrestled him to the soft, snowy ground. At first, he was pleased at the notion of having her atop him, but soon enough his mind registered that this was about revenge, but it was too late. Fiona swept up a pile of snow and with her free hand she tugged on the collar of his jacket and shirt before slipping the cold powder down. Brynjolf squirmed along the ground beneath her, but despite it all could only chuckle.

“Oh, you wicked, wicked woman,” he chastised. Fiona leaned closer, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. A small bit of warmth that didn’t spread nearly far enough, given his current state.

“Don’t worry Bryn,” she assured. “There’s a bath inside the tavern’s basement. If you ask nicely, I might be inclined to let you join me.”

[potatocrab]

For the writer asks: numero uno, s'il vous plaît! ❤️

Permission to toot my own horn! 📯

1. What is your favorite fic you have under your belt?

Long fic? 👀 Salvation is a Last Minute Business or, my Noir AU. I love this for a multitude of reasons. Self-indulgent writing for a rare pair (Deacon x Madelyn), throwing myself into historical research, writing something I’ve wanted to write for years (Noir/ mystery/ crime), and the fact I finished it in less than five months. Talk about a passion project. AND I’m still passionate about it. Working on a sequel and a third installment. Writing side-stories and feeling excited about it!

I’m sure by this point, my followers are sick and over me blabbing about it, but I am damn proud of that niche little thing I put out into the universe, yep yep. 

Picking a one-shot is super difficult, because I have hundreds. That isn’t an exaggeration. HOWEVER, I am fond of the following from each of my OTPS: 

Dragon Age:

Legacy (Alistair x F! Warden)  

Shadow and Light (Varric Tethras x Bethany Hawke) - A long fic! 

Skyrim: 

Dream of You (Brynjolf x Fiona - F! Dragonborn) - this is NSFW

Fallout 3:

Truth or Dare (Butch x Rosie - F! Lone Wanderer) - because first kisses are *chef’s kiss*

Fallout 4:

False God (Deacon x Mads -F!!Sole Survivor ) NSFW; you know, a Taylor Swift song about oral sex = Deacon doing what he does best

Red (Madelyn Hardy x Nathaniel James -Sole Survivor Spouse) - introspective, but one of my personal favorites that I wrote in February.

💙

[eeveevie]

For the line of dialogue asks, “Kiss me before I go” for Fiona and Brynjolf, please?

Brynjolf x Fiona 

772 words | Ao3

Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be  most pleased.

Fiona read over the letter, clenching her teeth in frustration at seeing the familiar name. This wasn’t the first time the Cultists from Solstheim had shown themselves—she had encountered them in growing frequency over the last several months—from Solitude all the way to Falkreath. It wasn’t until the Cultists began showing up in Riften under the cover of darkness, attacking anybody they could just to get to her that she knew she needed to react.

She spent most of the night hunched over her Guildmaster desk organizing the books, ensuring that her plans would come to fruition with or without her presence in the city. Most of the Guild seemed to understand that she was planning on heading away—but for how long, neither she nor the others didn’tknow. The hardest part about the situation was undoubtedly what she was goingto say to Brynjolf. He would want to go with her to Raven Rock but what she really needed more than anything was for him to remain to keep the Guild in thriving order.

“Nocturnal preserve me,” she whispered, bowing slightly as she passed the statue in the Cistern on her way out—she would need the blessing for what she was about to ask of her second—her lover.

Fiona found Brynjolf at Honeyside, in his usual spot by the fireside, slowly nursing a cup of brandy. They had shared the homestead for nearly three years, and with that came a lot of habits for her to memorize—Brynjolf was very much a creature of habit. He acknowledged her return with a warm smile, hardly moving except to open his arm in invitation.

“You’re home early,” he commented as she approached. Fiona could only nod, the stress of the situation causing her chest to feel the heaviest it had been in months. Even in all the years of knowing Brynjolf, she had no way of knowing how he’d react—he had a way of being moody when he didn’t get his way, and she didn’t want to disappoint him.

She settled down across his lap, smiling when he pulled her into a hug. She tucked her chin against his shoulder, sighing when she thought about leaving him behind to fight an unknown enemy. When she had taken on the responsibility to defeat Alduin, he had traveled with her to so many differentplaces just to have the chance to fight at her side. It was something Fiona waseternally grateful for but this time he would need to trust her.

“Usually long stretches of silence are followed by bad news,” he teased, running a hand down her back.

Fiona hesitantly pulled away, raising a hand to cradle the side of his face. She offered a small, but reserved smile. “I need to travel to Solstheim. After the Cultists.”

Brynjolf nodded but was silent as his eyes searched hers, waiting for the other boot to drop. “Alone?”

“Alone.”

He let out a long grumble, eyes fluttering closed. Fiona brushed her thumb across his cheek, bracing herself for the inevitable argument. But instead, after a long moment, he simply opened his eyes and let out a long sigh. She looked at him with concern and he shook his head.

“I won’t pretend not to be upset lass,” he admitted. “But I’ve learned not to argue with you on matters you’ve already decided on.”

Fiona wasn’t sure what to think, but her heart soared, the weight of the situation lifted off her shoulders. “Really? You do realize that decision includes one that makes you acting Guildmaster.”

Brynjolf’s expression faltered a little, but he ultimately laughed. “How wonderful, I get to boss Delvin around.”

She shifted, snuggling up to him in another much more contented embrace. “I need to return to the Guild and make more preparations.”

Brynjolf didn’t seem ready to let her go so soon, even if it was only back down to the Ratways.

“Kiss me before I go.” Fiona wasn’t asking—she just wanted extra confirmation that everything between the two of them was and would be okay. He promptly acted, kissing along her jawline first before pressing softly against her lips. It was soft and passionate—everything Fiona needed after the day she had.

“I’m going with you,” Brynjolf spoke as he pulled away, startling her at first. He softly chucked at her expression, quickly kissing her again. “At least to the Cistern, to help with your plans. You aren’t leaving until everything is safe and sound.”

She grinned, leaning against him. “Yes, Guildmaster.”

(reminder that new prompts are currently closed while I catch up on projects)

[eeveevie]

Oh, oh! #43. Touching noses together for Bryn and Fiona? Iffen you're so inclined (p.s., I blame you for the fact I not only just started up a new Skyrim playthrough, but that I now fully expect to see Fiona in the Cistern every single time. XD)

(yes! thank you so much! my writing block spell is OFFICIALLY BROKEN) 

Brynjolf x Fiona

Touching noses together

754 words | Ao3

Brynjolf was bored.

Not that life in the Cistern or the Thieves Guild was boring—but jobs were far and few between, at least the exciting ones—and so, Brynjolf was bored. That afternoon he was pretending to make busy by loitering near the alchemy station, and it had nothing to do with the fact Fiona was working there…or maybe it was.

Fiona hadn’t been with the Guild for very long, but ever since he had recruited her, and gone on a few missions with the lass, he couldn’t help but find her interesting—for the lack of a better word. Captivating was better, but he didn’t  feel like using such a heavily weighted term quite yet. Not when he was certain Delvin could read his thoughts, already giving him enough gripe for corrupting the newest recruit.

He watched her carefully, admiring her skill for mixing potions and poisons—she was certainly far better at it than he would ever be. She knew he was nearby, perched up on the table and toying with some containers, but otherwise paid him no attention. He was still trying to figure what made Fiona…Fiona. Baring their trip to Falkreath the previous month where they had quite the drunken heart-to-heart, he had yet to learn much more about her. But he wanted to.

“Tell me more about your parents,” he called out, absentmindedly twisting a jar of mushrooms in his hands. Fiona visibly flinched, hands faltering as she continued to chop ingredients for whatever potion she was mixing.

“W—what?” she looked at him, brows furrowing before her expression went neutral once more. “A little unexpected…”

Brynjolf chuckled, shrugging at her startled state. “Just curious.”

He could tell she was hesitant and for a moment, the silence dragged on with only the sounds of the alchemy table echoing between them. Finally, Fiona sighed. “I don’t have a lot of memories…” she trailed before the smallest twinge of a smile pulled at the corner of her lips. “They used to embarrass me with their public displays of affection.”

Brynjolf laughed at that. “Ah, so that sort of thing embarrasses you, lass? I’ll have to remember that.”

Fiona shot him a warning glance, but it was all tease and no vitriol. “I must’ve convinced them to stop because the only thing I vividly remember is their nose kisses.”

“Nose kisses?”

She eyed him skeptically. “Oh, come on Bryn. Don’t tell me you’re so lewd that all you know is messy tongues and rough snogging.”

“I know things about kissing,” he playfully argued, crossing his arms in defiance. He paused, wondering if he could get away with a little flirtation. “Though, I wouldn’t mind a demonstration.”

“Of course you would,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

Brynjolf sighed, relaxing slightly where he sat. He expected her to leave the conversation at that—sure he was disappointed, but he was used to that by now, especially with Fiona. But soon he noticed her glancing at him from over her shoulder, nervously fluttering her eyes away when she realized he had caught her looking. He smirked, watching as she bottled the potion she had just refined and with a few, slow careful steps she was standing right before him.

“Change your mind?” he asked, careful not to sound overzealous, even though there was a certain kind of pitter-patter to her heart that he couldn’t explain. Fiona didn’t answer, instead positioning herself between his knees, resting her hands along the table on either side, framing his body.

Brynjolf stayed perfectly still, not daring to close his eyes until she tilted her head closer, the tip of her nose brushing against his. The contact caused a spark to shoot all the way down to his toes, his gut igniting with an emotion he had been struggling to quell since that first fateful meeting in the Bee and Barb. It was so innocent, so unlike any kiss he’d had before and perhaps that’s what excited him more. Fiona’s nose pressed a little harder against his, sliding against the bridge in a gentle sweep. Her lips were close enough to his that he could move a fraction of an inch and be kissing her for real, but for once in his life he found restraint.

Fiona eventually leaned away, and when she did, she was smiling as if she had stolen a secret from him—one he hadn’t even realized he had been keeping. Brynjolf could only smile back. At least with Fiona around, he’d never be bored.

platonic touch meme | leave a

[eeveevie]

#26 from the platonic touch meme for Brynjolf x Fiona? Please and thank you. :)

26: Offering their snack - includes the time-honored shout-out to Scott Pilgrim (thank you for this) 

Brynjolf x Fiona 

565 words | Ao3

Fiona was settled on her usual Ragged Flaggon barstool, desperately trying to keep her patience as she watched Vekel carefully prepare the evening meal for the guild. He wasn’t one to rush, regardless of how many hungry mouths gathered around the Ratway, waiting for a bite. Surprisingly, the tavern was nearly empty that evening—Fiona could only think that it meant more foodfor her.

“Here you go,” Vekel announced, placing a plate of freshly baked bread in front of her, the gesture pulling her from her thoughts. “Should tide you over until the stew is ready.”

She grinned, the aroma instantly making her mouth water in anticipation. “It’s the beef stew, right?”

Vekel smirked as if her question even needed answering. “Wouldn’t cook anything else for you, Fiona.”

Just as she was about to risk burning her fingers and sate her rumbling stomach, an all-too familiar hand snuck around her to snatch half a loaf away. Brynjolf didn’t even bother with a greeting as he leaned against the bar next to her, smug expression visible even through his chewing. Fiona shook her head, noting his disheveled appearance—clearly he had just returned from some kind of job—he certainly smelt like he had been travelling.

“If you ask politely, I might share,” she prompted, gesturing to the plate.

Brynjolf only smiled and picked up another piece, ignoring Fiona’s hand swats to try and stop him. “Don’t mind if I do,” he certainly seemed chipper. “Haven’t eaten since I returned.”  

“Perhaps you should’ve bathed first.”

“Only if you’re offering to help wash my more delicate areas,” he replied with a wink.

Fiona rolled her eyes, despite the fact she could feel a slight heat on the back of her neck—the mental image of Brynjolf naked in the Riften river wasn’t such a bad one to have. To distract herself, she pulled off a large chunk of bread and finally took a bite—softly sighing at the warmth that radiated through her.

“If I could get Vekel to bring me a plate of bread every evening, I would be a very happy man,” Brynjolf mused.

“Happier than the barmaids in Shor’s Stone do?” she teased. “You know,” she stopped to watch him stuff another piece into his mouth. “Bread makes you fat.”

He made a displeased face, pausing mid-bite. “Bread makes you fat?”

She couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the way he spoke, little crumbs flying out from his lips. Fiona nodded, though she could tell that he was not truly horrified, but it had caused him to stop stealing from her plate—if only temporarily.

“Oh yes. Fills you out,” she couldn’t help but giggle at his furrowed brows. “If you aren’t careful, you’ll lose that manly physique that all those tavern girls love.”

He was pouting now, but Fiona knew it was mostly an act. Even Brynjolf wasn’t that vain.

“Even if that were to happen,” she smiled, reaching out to dust some of the crumbs from his face, allowing her fingers to linger on his chin. “You’d always be welcome to share my food.”

Brynjolf returned her smile and was about to cover her hand with his own when Vekel returned—interrupted—with a steaming bowl of beef stew. Brynjolf’s eyes lit up and Fiona tutted her tongue in disagreement.

“Except for this,” she spoke sternly. “The stew is mine.”

platonic touch prompts | leave a 💙  

[eeveevie]

24 Fiona

Prompt: “You’re trembling.”

Brynjolf x Fiona 

645 words | Ao3

For the fourth night in a row Fiona awoke from a nightmare, images of hellfire and dragons fading as soon as she snapped open her eyes. She let out a deep exhale as she stared up at her bedroom ceiling, inspecting the wooden planks as she willed the seconds and minutes to go by, hoping her heart and mind would settle. If it was to be like the previous nights, she would be awake for the next few hours, restless and yearning for a good night’s sleep—something that would never come—leaving her exhausted come daylight.

Fiona was doubly frustrated, knowing she had added an extra dosage of sleeping herbs to her evening tea before crawling into bed that night. Perhaps she had formed an immunity or was truly that stubborn when it came to sleep. There was some small comfort in knowing that at least Brynjolf was managing to rest—the man could fall asleep on a pile of rocks if he needed to. He was curled up on his side, softly snoring, the sound giving something Fiona to concentrate on…or so she hoped.

Still, she found herself fidgeting, worrying about the images that had flooded her dreams as of late. Her chest tightened, and she could feel her breathing quicken—now was not the time for a panic attack.

“Fiona?”

She turned her head to find Brynjolf glancing over his shoulder at her with a groggy expression and guilt instantly radiated through her. He began to shift towards her.

“Shh,” she tried to push at his back, encouraging him to stop moving. “Go back to sleep.”

Brynjolf only continued to roll over, lazily blinking. “And let you suffer through a fourth night?”

“You noticed?”

He let out a soft laugh as he scooted closer, propping himself up onto one elbow to look down at her. “Of course I noticed. Just let you pretend you weren’t bothering me so you could keep your pride.”

“How thoughtful of you,” she mumbled sarcastically in reply.

Brynjolf took a moment, brushing his fingers across her brow and through her hair. “You’re trembling,” he whispered. Fiona hadn’t realized it until he pointed it out—she raised one of her hands into her field of vision to confirm and found them shaking. “Was it Mercer or…”

“Or,” Fiona confirmed. “Dragonborn.”

A stretch of silence fell between them, Brynjolf softly brushing his fingers through her hair and across her cheeks, offering her a neutral expression. It was exactly what she needed—and yet…

“I’m afraid,” she finally admitted. She wasn’t sure why, but she almost expected him to laugh—maybe it would’ve been easier that way. But instead, he only tucked her closer, his warm hand tracing a soothing line down her spine.

“That’s fair,” he replied. “This isn’t a simple circumstance we’re talking about here—you aren’t…baking cookies or stealing from the Jarl.”

His joke only made her softly chuckle into the curve of his shoulder. “Bryn, you know I can’t back cookies for shit, right?”

“Right,” he hummed, pressing a light kiss to her temple before pulling her away to gaze into her eyes. “But you’re a damn good thief. And I’ve seen you kill how many dragons now? You’re a beautiful, powerful, magnificent force to be reckoned with. Have faith in that.”

Fiona could do nothing but grin, knowing he was right. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably get along just fine,” he shrugged. “But Gods know how lucky and thankful I am to be by your side.”

It was only a matter of time when Fiona would need to listen to the call of her dreams and leave Riften and the Guild—if only temporarily—to track down and defeat Alduin. But at least she knew that when the time came, she wouldn’t be alone—that Brynjolf would be right there by her side. 

dialogue prompts | leave a 💙

[eeveevie]

this wasn’t on the prompt list for platonic touches but i thought it may be cute all the same ? if not feel free to delete this ask ! maybe for fiona and bryn tracing scars while one person sleeps ??

(any excuse for these two to share a bed *rick and morty i’m in meme here*)

Brynjolf x Fiona 

626 words | Ao3

Fiona wasn’t sure what time it was, but she knew it had to be late—or early. Regardless, it was well passed a reasonable hour for her to get even a decent amount of sleep. It was frustrating, especially considering she hadn’t had to seek shelter in some cave or rickety cabin. No, tonight she had rented out the last room available in Dragon Bridge. But even with the soft pillows and warm blankets surrounding her, she couldn’t fall asleep.

As if on cue, a quiet snore echoed through the room, causing Fiona to turn her head towards the source. If she wasn’t so annoyed, she would’ve laughed at the sound. Brynjolf—snoring. He had insisted—as always—on accompanying her on her travels, and to his excitement they had found themselves where they had many times before, sharing a bed. Fiona reminded him it was out of convenience and nothing else, despite how little she really believed her own words the more they traveled together. Part of her wondered if he had a running deal with all the tavern owners to ensure they always ended up in this situation.

Another snore and Fiona slowly rolled to face her bedmate, rolling her eyes at his obvious state of comfort. Brynjolf was sprawled out on his back, one arm draped over his chest, the other hooked up around his head. It was ironic, given that he had boasted about having enough energy to “show her a wonderful evening”—promptly falling asleep within moments of his head meeting the pillows. Fiona was mostly glad for it—not that she didn’t want to flirt and play their usual game—but the way her emotions had been fluctuating lately, she wasn’t sure if she would’ve been able to deny him.

The more she thought about it, she found herself subconsciously scooting closer to his body, to his warmth. She propped herself up on one elbow, leaning in to study his face in the darkness of the room. Long eyelashes, broad nose…okay, so maybe Brynjolf wasn’t arrogant for saying he had “the most kissable lips in  Riften.” Fiona let her gaze linger on the faded scar that marked his cheek—he had yet to tell her where it came from—but it added to his ruggedly handsome persona.

Hesitantly, she reached up, pausing for a long moment before tracing a few  fingers down the jagged line. Her touch continued, moving up across his eyes and brows to brush a few auburn locks away, before brushing back down towards his lips and jaw. She repeated the soft touches, seemingly transfixed, fingers lingering across the scar.

Fiona barely registered the slight shift of his arms, the corner of his lips twitching. “Change your mind about fooling around, aye?”

Brynjolf peeked one eye open and she instantly froze, fingers frozen against his jaw. She made to move away but he caught her hand, smirking as he kept her in place. Fiona couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse or even a witty one-liner in response. Instead, she opted for the truth.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Brynjolf studied her for moment, eyes glancing across her features and expression softening. Finally, he tugged her closer, shifting to make space for her body next to his. “Come here, lass.”

Fiona was reluctant at first but finally settled when he silently prompted, resting her head against his chest, softly draping her arm across his torso. Brynjolf encircled his arms around her, running one hand down the length of her spine before resting it on the small of her back. Fiona relaxed against him, listening to the steady sounds of his heartbeat, allowing herself to fall into a blissful state. Perhaps she’d have a good night’s rest after all. 

platonic touch prompts | leave a 💙

[eeveevie]

perhaps #27 (kissing the back of hand) with fiona and bryn for the platonic touch prompt ?? love love love your writing 💕

Whatever happened in Solitude when Bryn and Fiona first met is just going to be a forever #noodleincident 

Brynjolf x Fiona

568 words | Ao3

Brynjolf would never tire of Solitude. Even though it was on the opposite side of Skyrim, miles away from the place he called home, it held a special place in his mind—a hold where significant memories had been forged. One memory was constant, however, when he thought of Haafingar and that was the first night that he met Fiona. Of course he didn’t know it was her that first night.

All these years later, they had found themselves back in the Blue Palace again one Frostfall eve, at another one of Elisif’s masquerade affairs. It was the perfect opportunity to work undercover, casing the city and working nobles for potential marks. If they played their cards right—and they always did—they would walk away with plenty of more gold for the Guild’s vault by the night’s end.

Much to Brynjolf’s chagrin, he had spent most of the soiree separated from Fiona, feeling uncomfortable in his finery and mask as he stood in some balcony corner. While it gave him the advantage to overlook the guests that came and went, it also gave him full view of where his Guildmaster—his lass—was currently being fawned over by the Jarl’s council.

Now, Brynjolf didn’t consider himself a jealous man…but as the years went on in his relationship with Fiona, he found himself more and more protective. Rather, he hated when he found himself in a situation where he couldn’t shout from the rooftops that she was the love of his life and the woman he indented to marry—if only he could get the damn stubborn woman to say yes.

Falk Firebeard’s laughter coupled with his intrusive thoughts made it all too much to bear, and with a sigh he left his post. He journeyed down the stairs to where she was standing with the group to the side of the designated dance floor. He took note of her questionable expression—their plan was going off script—but he had good reason, at least he hoped.

“May the beautiful lass honor me with a dance?” he asked, extending his hand as bent over in a half-bow.

While the other men gave skeptical glances, Fiona only grinned, eagerly accepting his request. The moment her fingers met his, he was quick to cup them, bringing them to his lips for a soft kiss. She struggled to hide her laughter as he guided her into the flow of the song that was already playing, one hand placed firmly on her waist.

“I thought you’d never come to whisk me away,” she sighed, stepping closer to rest her arm against his chest.

“Say the word, and I can have you off this dance floor and away from these stuffy nobles in five—two minutes.”

Fiona snickered, the blue of her eyes shimmering behind her velvet mask. “The last time we were sneaking in this palace, I poisoned you when you tried to kiss me!”

Brynjolf shrugged. “Different circumstances.”

“What if I shackle you to the bedpost again?”

“I wasn’t going to protest,” he replied. He was feeling woefully nostalgic now.

“Well then,” Fiona pulled away as the song ended, fluttering her skirts into a curtsy. She allowed him to take her hand once more, watching him carefully as he pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Meet me upstairs in five—two—minutes.”

He wouldn’t dare be late.

platonic touch prompts | leave a 💙

[eeveevie]

#11 for Fiona ~ Happy (almost) New Year!~

“We could get arrested for this.”

Happy New Year! Here’s a short lil’ holiday themed fic for the last day of the year, and the last thing I’ll write for 2019. See you in the New Year (lol tomorrow) with lots more stories including these two~ 

(just the teeniest hint of sexual content here)

Brynjolf x Fiona 

595 words | Ao3

It was the last day of Sun’s Dusk and as evening approached, the market was alive with people ready to celebrate the incoming new year. While the New Life Festival wouldn’t traditionally begin until the first of Morning Star, it wasn’t uncommon for cities within Skyrim to start celebrating early—especially in Riften.

Fiona had been transfixed by it all—the crowds, the lights, the food—it was unlike anything she had seen since she arrived in Skyrim. The previous year, she had spent the new year on the road, alone. At that moment in her life, she preferred it that way. But now, she was Guildmaster, Dragonborn—she was hardly alone—and had a lot of reasons to celebrate.

She had just finished off a round of drinks with some of her Guild members in the courtyard and was about to visit the stall selling fortunes when she was whisked away by an all too familiar figure, hand gripped tight as she was led down the crowded streets to the lantern lit alleyways.

“Are we going somewhere?” Fiona asked Brynjolf, giggling when he eyed her over his shoulder with a small shrug.

“Maybe.”  

He was dressed in finery, different from the typical ones used when hawking the Falmer’s blood elixir in the marketplace—it was a good look. Finally, he tucked them away into a dimly lit area, away from the prying eyes of the celebrating city. With a heated kiss, it was quickly made apparent what was on his mind—not that she minded. Fiona returned the kiss eagerly, resting her hands along the sides of his face and smiling when she felt his arms wrap slowly around her waist. She clung to him, softly moaning as their kiss continued to deepen, Brynjolf backing her against the nearby brick wall.

“We could get arrested for this,” Fiona thought, breaking away from the kiss with a sigh. She watched as Brynjolf’s hands drifted and started to skim up and down her sides, one teasing to ruck up her skirts for easier access. He eventually lifted her leg and she hooked it around his thigh as he leaned to situate himself closer.

“We should get arrested for this,” he replied, rolling his hips against her. She groaned in response, raking her nails through his hair, dragging her fingers down to pull at the laces of his finery, desperate to feel at any trace of his skin as she could.

Despite how delightful he was making her feel in that moment, she couldn’t help but tease. “Wouldn’t you rather partake in the New Life festivities?”

“And miss out on the fireworks?” he asked with a grin. Brynjolf didn’t miss a beat, one hand managing to sneak its way across her silken thigh, fingers ghosting across her undergarments.

Fiona was in a love-drunk haze. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re speaking innuendo or not.”

Instead of responding, Brynjolf continued his trail of kisses, lips focusing on that favorite spot of his below her ear, teeth nipping along the sensitive skin of her neck before dipping lower along her collarbone.

Out of the corner of Fiona’s eye she spotted a shadow, but in her distracted state, she was in no state to warn Brynjolf. Instead the two of them jumped the moment the guard made his presence known.

“Hey! You two!”

Brynjolf and Fiona caught eyes, both laughing as they clasped hands, instantly dropping into a run to get away.

“Honeyside?” she asked, breathless.

Brynjolf nodded, tugging them through the maze of alleyways towards her—their—estate. “Honeyside.”

dialogue prompts | leave a 💙

[eeveevie]

the archer

I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost The room is on fire, invisible smoke And all of my heroes die all alone Help me hold onto you [x]

Fiona struggles with her insecurities when faced with becoming Guildmaster. Brynjolf reminds her that she isn’t alone. 

🏹

Brynjolf x Fiona

957 words | Ao3

Fiona’s shoulders were sore by the time she shot the last arrow from her quiver, all but one stuck firmly in the large tree trunk a few yards away from where she stood. Despite the fact that her body was aching, it was welcome sort of pain—she always found comfort in working out her internal turmoil through target practice. She tugged the ebony arrows from the thick bark, ready to continue on into the night—she would keep shooting until her fingers bled or until she collapsed into the grass of exhaustion.

She had snuck away from the Cistern well past midnight, trekking up the southern hill past Nightingale Hall to the Shadow Stone. She had always been restless when she tried to sleep, but as of late her mind was frazzled and overloaded. So much had occurred in the last few weeks—too much. Snowveil Sanctum, Mercer’s betrayal, her introduction to the Nightingales, Irkngthand…and between it all, Karliah and Brynjolf had decided to name her as Guildmaster. Not to mention, her relationship with Brynjolf had blossomed into something more.

Fiona had handled each event as they came with as much grace and perseverance as possible, going through the motions day by day. But now that everything had settled, the reality of the situation slapped her square in the face. She was the new leader of the Thieves Guild and so many were relying on her to restore the group to its former glory. All the insecurities she fought to keep stifled deep down started to bubble up to the surface.

Was she really the right choice?

It was bad enough she was still struggling to face the enormity of her Dragonborn destiny. The Guild—especially Brynjolf—knew the truth of that at least, and how she had run away from those responsibilities by hiding out in Riften. The last thing she wanted to do was run off again, but she was terrified. A large part of her figured she was stuck in the same cycle she started when she escaped from that damned arranged marriage all those years ago in Cyrodiil, always running, never able to feel comfortable in one place for too long.

She lined up her next shot, but her aim wasn’t as steady as she wanted it to be. No matter how much she tried to calm her breathing, she couldn’t focus on the makeshift target. Instead, Fiona dropped her arms, shutting her eyes as she exhaled loudly, tossing her weapon and arrows to the side before slumping down into the mossy ground. When she opened her eyes, she directed them towards the night sky, willing the stars and constellations to align and show her some kind of sign.

The leaves behind her crunched, but she didn’t flinch, recognizing the foot placement, knowing exactly who was trying to sneak up on her. Too bad Brynjolf had never been the best at doing so. The irony of him attempting it on the grounds of the Shadow Stone right then didn’t escape her. Fiona would’ve laughed if she wasn’t feeling so despondent.

“Here you are lass,” he announced, breathless from his search. “You’re a tricky one to find.”

Fiona frowned, unable to face him when she heard him approach where she sat. “I didn’t mean to disappear on you, make you worry.”

Or did she? The guilt began to eat at her—what did she ever do in her life to deserve him? A panic set in when tears began to prickle the corners of her eyes, just as Brynjolf knelt down onto the grass beside her. She hated having anybody see her cry—especially him. He dipped his head down to catch a glimpse of her face, expression quickly switching to one of concern.

“Fiona?”

His hands were on her instantly, bringing her into a lose hug. Gods bless him, he didn’t ask what was troubling her, or why she had vanished from Riften. He simply cradled her close, one hand brushing back her hair in comforting strokes. When she first met him, she would’ve never pinned him for a patient man, but now?

“You’re too good to me,” she sighed, clinging to his shoulders, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck.  

Brynjolf softly chuckled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

They stayed like that for a long while, sitting under the silent night sky. For the first time that day, and perhaps in weeks, Fiona felt calm. It was foolish, but perhaps she was just in her head about being in over her head. If she looked at it rationally, Karliah and Brynjolf were right—she was more than capable of being Guildmaster. Just as she was more than worthy—and ready of being Dragonborn.

Still, when she finally leaned away to glance at his profile, she had to ask. “Do you really think I can do this?”

Brynjolf didn’t seem the least surprised by her question, but didn’t hesitate to respond, either. “Of course.”

Fiona blinked, tilting her head so it was pressed against his. “You really have that much faith in me?”

“I do,” he answered, turning his chin to steal a kiss from the corner of her mouth.

“Even though I’m flighty?” she laughed, brushing her nose against his. “Unpredictable?”

“Those are some of the best parts,” he teased, kissing her again, this time full on the mouth. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said firmly, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “As long as you stay, I’ll stay. If you go, I’ll go.”

Fiona sighed, a wave of insurmountable relief washing over her. “You know, you’re the first person who has ever dared to stay in my life.”

Brynjolf only smiled. “With you? It’s a good place to be.”

❤ 2/29 ❤ 

[eeveevie]

You ask for prompts and I am here! Do a Fiona for 45!

“How much of that did you hear?” 

Brynjolf x Fiona 

609 words | Ao3

It wasn’t everyday that Fiona left the comforts of the Cistern or the Ragged Flaggon, but for once, she needed to escape the Ratways. That evening she had accepted Delvin’s invite for a meal and drink at the Bee and Barb, not caring that the Breton most likely had ulterior motives for bringing her topside. But that thought quickly left her mind as she settled at the bar, Keerava’s freshly made lamb stew warming her body and soul. Of course, the tall tankard of Nordic mead helped her mood as well.

“So…” Delvin drawled after taking a long sip of his ale. Fiona braced herself, thinking through all the possible questions he was about to ask. “You and Bryn are gettin’ awfully close.”

“And what about it?”

She hadn’t meant to sound so defensive, but she was getting tired of this line of questioning from Devlin, from Vex—from everybody in the Guild. Sure, she and Brynjolf had gotten friendly in the last few months while they went on more jobs across Skyrim together, but that wasn’t anybody’s business. Then again…the two hadn’t really made their…flirtations (though she hated calling them that) less than discreet.

“Well,” Delvin shrugged, taking a sloppy spoonful of his stew. “I was only curious if it was headin’ anywhere interesting is all.”

Fiona eyed him, never knowing if she could fully trust the man. Sure, Delvin offered the best and honest advice most of the time, but he was a thief. Then again, so was she. After a moment, she sighed—it may have been the alcohol buzzing in her mind, but for once, she felt like speaking freely.

“It might,” she finally answered. Delvin’s expression told her he was actually genuinely surprised. She nursed her drink a little. “Brynjolf would have to act on some of his words though. He paints a pretty picture, offering all these grand gestures of romance and adventure.”

Delvin was grinning behind his raised tankard.

Fiona faltered when she realized she had inadvertently revealed too much. “I mean, all that would be nice, I suppose if that happened…wouldn’t it?”

Delvin’s eyes glanced for the briefest of moments over her shoulder. “Sure would.”

Startled, she turned around and found the man in question leaning against the tavern wall, that signature smug expression of his something she recognized all too well. Fiona was flabbergasted as Brynjolf approached the small distance, standing to her right, so she was forced to face away from Delvin.

“How much of that did you hear?” Fiona rushed, heat radiating across her cheeks and down her neck.

Brynjolf grinned, resting his cheek in his palm, elbow against the bar. “Oh, all of it, my dear lass,” he winked. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t repeat it.”  

Fiona could hear Delvin chuckling behind her—she half expected him to have disappeared by now. Still, she took Brynjolf’s words half as a dare, half as confirmation that she wasn’t completely out of her mind when it came to how she felt about him—about them.

“And if I don’t?” she teased, despite the embarrassment still radiating through her. She noted the way Brynjolf faltered, which gave her some encouragement, but before he could respond, Delvin groaned.

“Oh will you two just get a room and get it over with?” he flung his hands up in frustration, walking away from them and towards Sapphire instead. The two shared a nervous chuckle and a lingering glance.

“So,” she started with a smile, grabbing Delvin’s leftover tankard and giving it to Brynjolf. “How ‘bout a drink, and then I can tell you some sweet words?”

He returned the smile. “I’d like that.” 

dialogue prompts | leave a 💙

[eeveevie]

Ambush hug for Fiona and Brynjolf! I love them and your writing so much!

I did something silly here; please enjoy

Brynjolf x Fiona 

517 words | Ao3

“So…do you come here often?”

Brynjolf winced, biting his tongue the moment the words left his mouth. He hadn’t expected to find Fiona in the Flaggon, biding her time while she waited for a new assignment from Mercer. She was alone, leaning against the bar as she nursed a tall tankard of ale with a small, amused expression. He hadn’t seen her in a few weeks while she was on a job in Morthal—he had missed her, their banter and flirtation—but oh, when had he lost his touch?

Luckily, Fiona only laughed. “Only when I want to smell like sewer water.”

“Well at least you’d have your looks to compensate,” Brynjolf teased, reaching over to tuck a strand of her hair behind an ear. “Have I told you how breathtakingly beautiful you are?”

“A few times, if I recall,” she grinned, causing him to softly chuckle. “Though, if you keep on telling me things like that and you might find yourself a lucky man this evening,” she replied with a wink.

Brynjolf couldn’t help but slide into his usual smirk, leaning in closer to Fiona—he hadn’t thought he would make it this far in his flirtations this evening. “Then why don’t the two of us—”

“MY FRIENDS!”

Delvin’s loud, slurred voice echoed out over the tavern, his lumbering footsteps shaking through the wooden planks of the Flaggon. He was drunk—shitfaced—and was mumble-singing some tavern tune between fits of laughter. When he noticed Brynjolf and Fiona, his expression shifted and within moments his body collided against them, arms wrapped around their shoulders as he clung them to his chest.

“Oh, Fiona,” he cooed, pressing a sloppy kiss to herbrow. When Brynjolf made a protesting sound, Delvin snickered. “Don’t worry, Bryn I have one for you too,” he slurred, making good on his offer before Brynjolf could protest.

“What’re friends for?” Delvin beamed, ruffling their hair. “But for drinkin’ with and huggin’ close?”

“Did you fall into the meadery?” Fiona joked. “You’re supposed to savor the wine, not chug it.”

“Says who?” Delvin leaned to bump his head against each of theirs. “Hmmm…I’m so happy to see ya’ two. Do you know how much I love the two of ya’?” he blinked, eyes staying closed a little longer than necessary as he swayed, the weight of him heavy against Brynjolf. “I just—love your…love.”

“It’s so fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Alright,” Vex sighed, appearing as if some wonderful tavern guardian angel to swoop Delvin up. “That’s enough out of you.”

At least Fiona was laughing. It encouraged Brynjolf to lighten up and relax, focusing on her amusement of the situation. It wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined the night to proceed, but he’d lived through worse—he’d manage. As soon Vex managed to drag Delvin away, Fiona rested her hand across his arm, tilting her head and offering a tiny grin.

“Maybe we should head topside,” she suggested. “The Bee and Barb?”

Perhaps the evening could be salvaged after all. He flipped over his arm, so her hand was hooked into his. “Lead the way.”

platonic touch prompts | leave a 💙

[eeveevie]

1-4 of the revealing asks for Fiona and Brynjolf!! Tysm!!

Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who’s the favorite?

Fiona nor Bryn have a stuffed animal, but her bed (ultimately their bed) is covered in a mass of pillows and blankets and furs. Fiona needs to sleep and be surrounded in comfort, at least in her own home, so her bed is 60% linens and fluff. Bryn likes to joke there’s hardly any room for him!

Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

Fiona, yes. Of course. Because she’s an herbalist with immense training in alchemy, she can tend for any plant. In one of her larger homesteads, she tends to a large nursery with ease. Brynjolf on the other hand is not as skilled, mostly due to his fauna allergies. Fiona isn’t fond of keeping pets, mostly because she didn’t have any growing up, but Bryn turns her around on the idea, especially when they move into a little homestead of their own with some farm land. A dog, a few barn cats and some horses. The thought of raising a child terrifies Fiona, so nope. I’ve touched on that subject before, that she’ll not be having a child, which Bryn understands. 

Ask them to describe their love interest.

Fiona would describe Bryn as insufferable but lovable, a big flirt with a heart of gold. Ambitious and loyal to his friends, who has a sense for justice regardless if he realizes it or not. 

Bryn would describe Fiona as determined, focused. Quiet, but charming in her own way. Talented with a quick eye to pick up other skills, she sees things to the bitter (or brighter) end. 

Do they look good in red?

Brynjolf, yes. Maybe a deep red, nothing too bright. Complimentary to his hair. Fiona doesn’t like to wear red as it clashes with her fair skin and washes her out. It also reminds her of Brotherhood robes. She’s fond of darker red lip stains, though.  

revealing asks

[eeveevie]

“Don’t EVER do that again” for Brynjolf x Fiona if you’re taking ficlet prompts :D

A nightmare, a break-in and an abundance of emotions. Fiona says “I love you” for the first time. 

(congratulations anon, you win the prize for “prompt that got crab to write fiona’s confession on love”. it did not start that way, but here we are !)

Brynjolf x Fiona 💗🗡

1851 words (under a cut for length) | Ao3

“I’ll be certain to give Brynjolf your regards.”

Mercer’s wicked, self-satisfied grin was all too clear, even through the haze of the poison racing through her veins. He crouched over her paralyzed body and peered down at her with that golden longsword drawn, brimming with magical energy. He wasn’t hesitating, no, he was watching her squirm—the sick bastard.  

She felt a crash of emotions—but at the forefront of her mind was the regret she’d be taking to her grave—she thought of Brynjolf one last time as the blade sliced against her throat and then—nothing.

Only darkness.

Fiona sprang out from her bedsheets with a startling gasp, her throat tight and heart racing as if it would beat right out of her chest. The scar along the right side of her neck burned and she instinctively reached up to feel at it, almost expecting to feel the sticky touch of blood, but there was nothing. The skin was still incredibly sensitive, the jagged lines far from fading away—she would wear the mark Mercer left for the rest of her days. She inhaled deeply, desperately trying to steady her breathing but couldn’t shake the nightmare away.

She glanced to the empty void next to her and frowned, reminding herself she had no reason to be upset. Since her and Karliah’s return to Riften, Brynjolf had on more than one occasion stayed the night for protection—not that Fiona really needed it, but she had welcomed his company and comfort. Their relationship was different now—yet to have a definition, but it was obvious they were now far from being the just friends from before. If they ever really were “just friends” to begin with. In that moment, her mind still hazy with the memory of Snowveil Sanctum, she found her heart aching for Brynjolf, wishing he was there to sooth the pain away. He was one of the few people that truly understood.  

The only reason he wasn’t there that evening was because he was chasing a lead with Delvin, hoping to corner one of Mercer’s contacts in Shor’s Stone for information, wanting to confirm what they had found in Riftweald Manor. Karliah was also away, busy making some kind of preparations that would eventually involve both Fiona and Brynjolf—only time would tell.

Just as Fiona resigned to settle back against the pillows, she heard a rustling at her front door, the eastern entrance. She froze in her spot, listening intently as the scratching continued—was it an animal? The doorknob wiggled as she realized someone was attempting to wiggle the lock lose. Her chest tightened with a new wave of fright, even as she convinced herself that nobody was that stupid to break into the Dragonborn’s homestead. Even Mercer.

The thought of his name made her skin crawl and had her jumping from her bed and grabbing her dagger from her nightstand, silently but swiftly stepping towards the door. Just as she made it to the frame the sounds stopped and all fell silent, but only for a moment. The next sound Fiona heard was creaking, footsteps across her roof. Panic began to coarse through her and for a split second she thought about shouting through the ceiling, not caring about the destruction it would cause. She followed the sounds with her eyes, slowly crossing the floor towards the balcony doors, avoiding the shadows the fireplace cast against the windows on the western wall.  

Whoever it was had landed on the balcony with a muffled grunt—clearly not the most experienced sneak thief—but it didn’t give her any pause. She stood next to the doorway with her back flat to the wooden paneling as the intruder finessed the lock, this time having easier luck. Her hands shook as she clutched the hilt of her dagger tight, scolding herself for not changing the locks like she said she would. She closed her eyes, saying a silent prayer to the Divines as the door slowly creaked open, a shadowy crouched form creeping in through the night.

Fiona pounced immediately, yelling out in a mix of fear and anger, their bodies colliding against the door and slamming it shut. She swung her fist out first, knuckles colliding with the jaw of the trespasser before her other arm arced down, dagger ready to strike. Two hands caught her wrists, stopping her movements completely. The larger body moved to stand, jerking her closer.  

“Augh! Fiona!” A familiar voice. “It’s me!”

“Bryn?” she whispered, blinking in an effort to see his face in the darkness.

He pulled one hand away to yank back his hood, confirming that it really was him. An overwhelming abundance of emotions flooded over her at the sight of his face and her chest contracted tightly, breath hitching in her throat. Before she even realized what was happening tears were clouding her vision, quickly pouring over to slide down her cheeks. Her hands trembled as she dropped her weapon to the floor, her other hand gripping his shoulder tightly when her knees threatened to buckle from beneath her.

“I’ve got you,” Brynjolf murmured, his arms swiftly moving to scoop her up and hold her steady against him.

At first she clutched him in a desperate hug, thankful he was there—but she was so overwhelmed, self-conscious and unsure of where her more vulnerable emotions had come from. Yes, he had seen her cry before, but that didn’t mean that she felt completely comfortable shedding them in front of him. Still, she held onto him tightly, face buried in the curve of his shoulder as she openly sobbed.

“I—I had a nightmare,” she wept. Brynjolf’s arms tugged her closer, his nose nuzzling against the top of her head. “It was Mercer, at Snowveil Sanctum. When I heard the noises at the door I thought—I thought he had—”  

His arms tensed at her words and she could tell he was already feeling remorse. Still, she smacked her palm against his chest, gripping the leather of his armor to shake him slightly. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

“Aye lass,” he hushed against her temple, hands caressing down her back and through her hair. “If I have to spend the rest of my days begging for forgiveness, I will—”

“You better,” she agreed, failing miserably at a tease. They stood there for a long while, just holding each other close until her tears subsided, body relaxing against his. It was a forgone conclusion, but she really hoped that he was there to stay for the evening. She didn’t want to assume anything, even now.  

He pressed a soft kiss to the side of her face, humming as he spoke. “What do you say lass, could you ever forgive a fool like me?”

“You are so lucky that I love you,” she sighed.

Fiona froze in his embrace, realizing that she had said the words out loud.

Brynjolf’s arms tightened around her before relaxing, his soft laugh tickling the side of her face. “What was that?”

Fiona burrowed her face against his shoulder, feeling her whole body warm in embarrassment. “Nothing,” she said meekly, but it was of no use.

He carefully peeled her off of his chest and she reluctantly glanced up to meet his gaze. She had expected to find a teasing expression but instead she found him looking at her in a state of wonder, eyes sparkling, and lips slowly stretching into a wide grin. Even in the dimly lit room, she could see his own flushed cheeks—her sudden confession had surprised him as much as it had her.

“You love me?”

Fiona released a shaky breath, nodding once. “Yes.”

Brynjolf steadily brushed back the hair from her face before framing his hands against her cheeks, fingers curling against the back of her neck to tilt her head closer to his. His initial kiss was slow, tongue gently coaxing her lips apart, it gradually deepening. One of his hands threaded through her hair, cupping the back of her head as he shifted closer, Fiona eagerly meeting him as she slid her arms around his shoulders. Gods, she never wanted him to stop kissing her, even if it meant she would die of suffocation.

He eventually did pull away, albeit slowly, almost reluctantly. Fiona found herself exhaling in a short gasp, breathless. Brynjolf was still smiling, expression delirious as if he had been drinking mead from her lips. It was irresistible—she closed the gap once more for a swift series of kisses that trailed from his mouth along his jaw and to the collar of his armored coat. Finally she pulled away, copying his grin with one of her own. Even so, she could still feel the flush of heat on her face and the rapid thump of her heart beating against her ribs.

“Please say it again,” he breathed, green eyes shimmering with an emotion she hadn’t seen before—almost like a brand-new form of excitement.

Fiona nodded, nuzzling her cheek against his hand as his thumb brushed along her jawline in an affectionate sweep. “If you’ll stay.”

“If I’ll stay she asks—of course I’m staying,” he remarked with a chuckle. “That is, only if you give me a key. Can only stop breaking in someplace if I have a key, lass.”

She laughed, turning her head once more to kiss his palm and the inside of his wrist. With another nod of her head she reluctantly pulled herself away from his embrace if only to move to her desk where she kept a strongbox of valuables. Within she found the spare key for Honeyside, a small blue ribbon tied to the end—something she had been meaning to give to him for a while now. The timing seemed perfect with her confession of the heart. When Fiona turned to face him she found him tossing his discarded coat across the nearby chair, untucking his cotton undershirt from his pants.

“Don’t lose this,” she instructed, tucking the golden metal into his palm. “You won’t be getting another.”

Brynjolf nodded, covering her hand with his. “Consider this my most prized possession. Well, next to you…” His sly smirk faltered. “Not that I see you as something to be possessed—”

“Bryn,” she cut him off, leaning in to place a gentle kiss to his lips. “Its alright to say. I’m yours.” She caught his gaze and felt her heart flutter, a warmth radiate across her body and tingle run across her spine. “I love you.”

Two times. Progress.

“One more time?” he asked tentatively.

Fiona first ensured the key was safely slipped away in his coat before she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him sweetly and softly in the perfect way she adored. He kissed her back, two passionate kisses in quick succession. With another she broke away with the softest of whispers, “I love you.”

Without realizing she had been waiting her whole life to feel this way. She was in love and had no reason to be afraid anymore.

leave a tumblr kudos 💙🦀

[eeveevie]

14! Brushing hair out of mine's face

Popular request! 

Brynjolf x Fiona 

751 words | Ao3

When Brynjolf awoke, he wasn’t surprised to find Fiona already awake, shuffling around the small cabin, gathering items into their packs, getting ready for their impending trip to the nearby Stormcloak camp. While they both would rather travel to the nearest city, Brynjolf was still far-too injured and needed healing as soon as possible—they weren’t in a position to be picky. Still, he was alive, and that morning he wasn’t particularly in any rush to get going, especially when all he wanted was for Fiona to crawl back into the small bed with him so he could enjoy some of her body heat. Perhaps he could coax a few more sympathy kisses from her as well, if only she would stop pacing.

He lolled his head to the side, watching her. She was half-dressed, hair a mess—and as he continued to follow her movements, it was clear that her shoulder and arm were still lame from whatever injury the vampire had inflicted the evening before. But Fiona was a stubborn woman, and Brynjolf was certain that not even death would stop her. When he found her drifting close to the bedside, he reached out, catching her wrist in a lose grip. She was obviously startled, as if she had completely forgotten about his presence.

“Good morning,” he mumbled, flashing what he hoped was at least some good attempt at his signature smirk. He slid his hand down so he was holding her hand instead.

Fiona sighed, reluctantly settling down on the edge of the bed, reaching out with her free hand to help him sit up and situate himself against the headboard and pillow. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Could’ve fooled me, lass,” he softly laughed, wincing when the action caused an agonizing ache to pulsate through his chest. Fiona’s expression flashed into one of worry, but he shook his head, dismissing it—she had fretted over him well enough. “I take it we are leaving soon?”

“As soon as I am ready,” she explained. Brynjolf sat quietly as Fiona pulled away for a moment, sitting there as she adjusted her clothing into place, reaching up to comb her hair into some kind of hairstyle. Brynjolf heard her small grunt through gritted teeth, saw her flinch back her hand when her shoulder wouldn’t her reach up as high as she would’ve liked.

Watching her struggle quickly reminded him of how she had failed to bandage her injury the night before, causing him to painfully chuckle once more. “Oh, you’re killing me, Fiona.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, not able to stop him from leaning up so he was sitting right behind her back. “What—Bryn—”

She went quiet the moment his fingers combed through her hair, detangling the icy blonde locks with a few passes. Brynjolf made quick work of parting her hair into sections, folding the soft tendrils into the small braids he was so familiar with.

Fiona sat quietly for a long moment, but finally, curiosity got the better of her. “Where—how did you learn to do this?”

“Oh I never kiss and tell,” he deflected, regretting his words when he noted the slight frown on her lips. He thought carefully about his next words. “My ma’,” he started again, hoping his tone would express his honesty. Fiona almost turned out of his grasp to face him, but he kept her steady. “She taught me to style her hair while pa’ was away—said it would come in handy one day when I would need to impress a lass.”

Fiona’s smile was soft. “Well, consider me impressed.”

Brynjolf made a mental note to send a special thank-you prayer to his mother the next time he remembered to pray, but otherwise remained silent. Instead he focused on the braids, tying them off with the bands she had provided and securing a few back with her iron pins. Soon enough he was finished, satisfied with how close he had managed to make it look like her daily up-do.

Fiona leaned forward to pluck a small square of tempered glass from the nightstand, tilting her head from side to side as she inspected Brynjolf’s work. He quickly tucked a few more loose strands into place before slowly sliding his hands away.

She was fast to turn around, catching his fingers at the last moment, squeezing them in an affectionate gesture. “Thank you, Bryn.”

He smiled, not a shred of arrogance in his features. “Anytime, Fiona.”

platonic touch prompts | leave a 💙

[eeveevie]

4 from the romance asks for Fiona!!!

4. Their favorite physical feature on each other?

Fiona has always been drawn towards Brynjolf’s eyes- then again eyes are the first thing she notices about somebody and she’ll notice if somebody can’t maintain eye contact. But Brynjolf could and did and she was very much captured by those deep green eyes; even if she was off-put by literally everything else about him (at first). Eventually when the inevitable romance happens, she really enjoys spending leisure time just lounging around staring off into his eyes when they are having conversations. Side note, it’s not wholly a physical feature, but of course she’s incredibly wooed by that accent. Anytime he says her name or calls her lass? HMM MMM. 

Brynjolf is fond of Fiona’s eyes as well, but damn him if he isn’t drawn to her neck and shoulders. He always tries to peek a gander at the skin there no matter what she’s wearing, and no matter the timeline in their relationship he is trying to sneak in ways to touch her there. Bonus, he gets to sweep her hair away and play with the braids in her icy blonde locks. 

romance asks