#brynjolf x reader

[argisthebulwark]

Sleepover Time!

summary: modern au - texting him before your first night together <3 gn reader, no gendered pronouns or y/n used. feat: Miraak, Brynjolf, Farkas, Vilkas a/n: yes we're trying out smau (social media au) because it's all i've been consuming for the past month and it's rotting my brain <3 masterlist

[lilmoonbunny]

Betrayal; Brynjolf

When Karliah appears back at the Thieves Guild after Mercer has informed them of Y/N's death, Brynjolf is quick to see red.

Spoilers for the Thieves Guild questline.

Brynjolf was a thief, there was no doubt about it. Thievery was in his blood, and always had been. Unattached, flirtatious, and talented at what he did, that was how most people would describe him, yet there was always someone who saw him differently.

Y/N, the latest addition to the thieves guild, was recruited by Brynjolf a few months ago now and the pair became fast friends. Having been the one to recruit and train her, Brynjolf knew a lot about the woman, including her distrust of those around her.

It took Y/N a while to open up to Brynjolf, for reasons unbeknownst to him. Naturally, he assumed there was something in her past, a lover, perhaps? Brynjolf didn’t like the way that thought made him feel, so he did what he did best and ignored it. He didn’t have feelings for her, he couldn’t…

So why did he feel so depressed when Mercer told him how Karliah had killed the woman in cold blood? Why did he lock himself away for days on end? Surely it was just a friend thing, right? He totally didn’t regret not telling her how he felt. Why would he?

“You better have a good reason for coming here, Karliah.” Brynjolf spat, being held back from attacking by Rune. “I should kill you where you stand.”

“It was not I who betrayed the guild,” she spoke softly, sensing Brynjolf’s anger.

“That is not what I am talking about,” he raged, freeing himself from Rune’s grasp and flying towards Karliah, only to be grabbed once again.

“She is telling the truth, Bryn,”

That voice…? It can’t be, surely.

“Y/N!?” Brynjolf immediately sprung backwards, holding the speaker at arm’s length. “You’re alive? Mercer said-“

“Mercer tried to kill me, Brynjolf. You’ve been lied to this whole time. Karliah saved my life.” She spoke quietly as she stared into Brynjolf’s erratic eyes.

He couldn’t believe that she was here in front of him. Mercer said that she had been killed, yet here she stood with Karliah, claiming that Mercer – the man who he trusted more than anything – had betrayed them.

There was no doubt that Y/N had been injured, the way she stood was enough proof of that, but by Mercer? That was not possible… So why did he trust her more than Mercer?

A sudden tug on his hand pulled Brynjolf from his thoughts. “Listen to her, Bryn. For me.”

He could never deny her anything.

And so he listened to Karliah. Every single word she spoke angered him and made him resent Mercer. His hand was still in Y/N’s, and he never wanted to let go, squeezing it gently to calm himself, as well as to remind himself that she was alive.

“I’ll kill him,” Brynjolf snarled. He wasn’t entirely sure what angered him more. That he had betrayed the entire guild, or that he had tried to kill Y/N whose hand was still in his own, earning more than a few confused looks from the other guild members, yet a knowing one from Karliah.

A soft squeeze on his hand pulled him from his anger, however, and his gaze fell on the woman beside him as she gave him a comforting smile. He nodded at her, taking a deep breath to completely calm himself.

She is alive and here. Everything is fine, Brynjolf.

Most people had left the Flagon by now - their anger at Mercer’s betrayal fuelling their plans for revenge – leaving only Brynjolf, Y/N, and Karliah, the latter being quick to excuse herself.

“Thank you for trusting me, Brynjolf,” Y/N whispered, as though she was ashamed of what she was saying. “I didn’t know if you would.” Her words had the red-heads eyes widening as he quickly spun to face her with a force that almost sent him flying.

“I’ll always trust you. I’m just… I’m glad you are alive.” He admitted, one hand resting on the table in front of them whilst the other nursed his drink.

Y/N smiled to herself, a blush running up her cheeks as she took his hand in hers again.

“I’m glad to be back here with you.”

Now it was his turn to blush as he cleared his throat, unsure at what to say.

As he glanced over at Y/N, he noticed that she was already staring at him, and for the first time for as long as she had known him, Brynjolf was rendered speechless.

“I think I should be getting some rest,” Y/N said before he could think of something to say. She lifted herself from the seat she occupied, releasing Brynjolf’s hand in the process. “You should too.”

Brynjolf stared at her for a moment as she turned to leave.

“Y/N,” he called out, abruptly standing up.

Y/N turned to face him, confusion on her features. “What is it, Bryn?”

He hesitated.

“Please never leave me again,”

[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

[coffee-at-daybreak]

power | brynjolf x reader

a/n: ty all SO much for 50 followers ahh !!! here's a celebratory bf brynjolf fic. technically sfw but it's suggestive if you squint bc bryn's a tease lmao

“Everything alright, love?”

His voice, tender and gentle, pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up from the dagger you were sharpening, though your lack of concentration keeps you from doing a good job.

Brynjolf crosses the training room to approach you. He looks at you with a mixture of curiosity and concern, studying your features intently. Even when he’s assessing you for your emotions, his gaze sends flames along your skin.

You nod. “Yes, just fine.” You turn back to your dagger, swallowing any other words that might give you away.

He makes a small humming noise. Then he’s sitting next to you, the locked chest you’d been using as a seat creaking with the added weight. His shoulder taps your own.

“Are you sure?” He asks. “You seemed very unfocused during that meeting.”

Your stomach takes a dip. You’d been praying to Nocturnal that nobody had noticed - especially him.

It wasn’t often that a meeting was called for all the Guild members to attend, so you knew it had to be something big. And something big it was, because whatever map Brynjolf had rolled out onto the desk looked too complex to be a simple grab-and-go mission.

Turns out the owner of a grand estate somewhere outside Solitude will be gone on a business trip, the optimal chance to swoop in and take all the riches that can be found within. Surely, he’ll have some guards there, but that’s nothing for seasoned thieves like yourselves. So there was a lot of planning to be done - who goes in, who grabs what, which paths and entrances to take. You really did intend to pay attention.

But then Brynjolf had started drawing circles and lines on the map, and you found yourself watching his hands. You’d never noticed how well-formed they are,how muscular and veiny, how they are adorned with tiny scars and notches. And how nimble in their movements…

And then he had leaned over to gesture to one area of the map, and you’d caught a whiff of his scent. He smelled like leather and warm spices, something comforting and masculine, a refreshing waft of air compared to that of the cistern.

And then at one point, still locked in discussion, he had quickly tied up half of his hair and gathered it into a messy knot, getting it out of the way so he could see better as he hunched back over the map.

Unfocused is a major understatement for your state of mind during that meeting. You’d been entranced by him, reminded of your boundless infatuation.

But you hope you still have a chance to play it off. “Did I?” You ask, trying not to let one drop of nervousness show up in your voice.

Brynjolf watches you fidget with the dagger in your hand. “Mhm. I wager you weren’t even listening.”

Your head shoots up to look at him. “I was listening!”

Half his mouth lifts in a smile. You see a little sparkle in his eye, and immediately, you regret saying anything. “Really, now? What’s your role in the plan, then?”

You open your mouth, then close it. You look away again, heat flushing the ends of your ears.

Brynjolf chuckles softly. “That’s what I thought.”

You go back to messing with the dagger, but you don’t get very far before he’s reaching over and taking it from you. His hand brushes over your own, and you feel a prickle shoot up your spine.

“When you’ve been in the field as long as I have, you become very observant.” He sets the dagger aside and his hand goes back to yours, but this time, the grazing of his fingers on your palm is slow, and feathery - deliberate.

Your heart starts to race against your ribcage.

“And it seems like you were very observant of me,” he says, his voice dropping a little.

The warmth on your ears rushes down your neck, and you know if you try to play dumb again, it’ll only get worse.

So you give a lazy shrug instead. “Maybe…”

Brynjolf laughs again, a soft rush of his breath falling against your cheek. “You could have picked a better time.”

“I know - sorry,” you mumble.

“Don’t be, love. In fact, I like it.”

His fingers dance farther up your hand, to the sensitive skin of your wrist. His thumb prods at the pulse point, and even though it’s a light touch, you feel a jolt leap up your arm.

“You do?” You question, getting a nod in return. “And here I thought you would chastise me for not paying attention.”

“If I were still your superior, I would,” he says flatly.

You scoff and start to gather a reply, but then his hand strays higher up your arm, and your words die with a hitched breath. Your thoughts stumble over one another as your attention shifts to the path of his touch.

You can feel the warmth of his palm through your leathers as he reaches your shoulder. His fingers stretch out to briefly weave some of your hair between them. One of his fingertips grazes your jaw, and your heartbeat flickers.

“But we are equals now. We run this guild together.” Brynjolf’s voice goes soft, matching the gentle movements of his hand as he tucks the strand of hair behind your ear. “Frankly, you can do whatever you want - even if it’s drooling over me at a meeting.”

You roll your eyes at that comment. For a second, you forget the nervous state his touch is putting you in. “I was not drooling. Don’t exaggerate it.”

He snickers. “Had it gone on a little longer, I’m sure you would have started.”

Your blood simmers at his teasing. But once more, your attempt at a retort vanishes when he leans closer. With your hair out of the way, you can feel the subtle warmth of his breath on the side of your face. His hand is back near your shoulder, the pads of his fingers resting against your skin.

The pounding in your chest increases, making it difficult to draw in a slow, unsteady breath. But there is also an excited flutter in your abdomen, and the nerves are overpowered by the desire to play along, to feed more into his intoxicating attention.

You turn your head to look at him. The immediate eye contact is so intense that it’s nearly overwhelming. But you tilt your head, holding that sensual gaze of his. “You like the power, you mean.”

Brynjolf cracks a smirk. “Aye, that might be true.”

Suddenly you feel his fingers slithering down your back, making you flinch with a jolt. He laughs. “Alright, very true. I like having the power to do that.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you mutter, flushing deeper as his fingers stray lower.

“Too late.”

He moves to the small of your back. His fingertips trace your spine, diving into every little ridge as they work their way back up. You shiver, back rippling with movement, but he keeps going.

“I could get drunk off of this,” he says, sounding a little winded. His hand pauses between your shoulder blades, his thumb making a sweeping motion there.

You cast him a glance. “Careful. You know what happened to the last Guild leader to abuse his power.”

He grins again. “Right, right. But if you ask me, I’m using mine wisely.”

His hand travels up until his palm is flat against the nape of your neck. His touch feels warm on the exposed skin there. His fingers stretch up, easing themselves into the hairs at the base of your skull.

Another tremor runs through your body, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. It’s almost embarrassing how weak you are for him.

“Doesn’t seem very fair,” you murmur. You look at him again, trying to narrow your eyes in defiance, but you’re caught off guard by the heat in his own gaze. His own composure is slipping, the amusement in his eyes slowly being washed out by something more serious.

“Is it not?” Brynjolf’s voice drops lower, and so does his head. His mouth is dangerously close to your neck, the sensation of his breath there causing your lungs to lock. “Do you even know of the power you have over me, love?”

That surprises you. You start to voice a doubtful “really”, but it turns into a silent gasp when you feel his lips brushing ever so lightly over your throat.

“How often I look at you when you don’t notice? The effect you have over me when you say my name, or when you give me one of those gorgeous smiles from across the cistern?” He carries the breathy words further down your neck, his stubble grazing the sensitive skin above your collarbone. He’s so close that you wouldn’t be surprised if he could feel your crazed heart pumping. “How often I think about you at every moment, how utterly obsessed I am with you…”

You shudder. It’s a struggle to find your voice, but you manage to whisper, “I .. didn’t know.”

Brynjolf moves back up slowly, his mouth never quite lifting off your skin, until right before he reaches your own lips. He inches back just enough to reply, “Now you do.”

Then he’s finally pulling you in for a kiss. You’ve never melted into one so fast. His lips caress yours with a fierce hunger, one you easily match. It is pure instinct that takes over your body, that drives you to cling to one of the buckles on his armor and bring yourself even closer. You thrive off the warmth provided by him in every way - his hands squeezing your waist, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip, his ragged breaths tumbling onto your face.

It puts you into a euphoric haze, one you only break out of when you impulsively slide a hand up his neck and into his dark russet locks and he groans into the kiss. The sound alone shocks you to your core, but feeling it from his chest, pressing against your own - that is forever etched onto your memory.

You break apart, a brief second passing where you both merely catch your breath, sharing the same air and tingling aftereffects. A warm, amusing realization appears in the clouds of your mind.

“I get it now.” You tilt your head and leave a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I could get drunk off of this.”

Brynjolf’s laugh is breathless, his lungs still recovering from the kiss. But his hands snaking up your waist and back have a newfound strength.

“Like I said, love. Equals.” And he captures your lips again.

[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.

[smuttywriter]

..under the stars

“Listen, if Vekel assures me that Fevyn Telleno has important information, then I believe him. I know you don't think much of him, but he's good at what he does.”

“Bryn, don't get me wrong, I know he's part of the guild and our keenest talker, but sometimes I'd like to personally punch him in the throat for that”, I state, staring at the stars. 

“Aye, he'd deserve that”, he sighs and moves his arm under his head. “Do you still remember what he said when I first told them about you, lass? You were standing right behind me.”

“I remember him saying that you, Delvin and Vex were part of a dying breed”, I say. 

Finally, he climbs on top of me, his guilds armour barely rubs on mine as he balances his weight on his arms. 

“Dying breed, eh? Well, what do you call this then!”, he says, nodding towards me. 

I smile, only seconds before feeling his lips on mine. 

“Even old Delvin was fond of you the second he first saw you”, he adds.

“I still can't believe you didn't tell me Delvin had a brother.”

“You two are getting along a little too well, aren't you?”, he teases.

“What can I say, you know I've got a weakness for blacksmiths. Especially for such talented ones”, I admit. 

“I may not be able to perform miracles with steel, lass, but I certainly could manage to make an emerald like you pop.”

“Oh, you do?”, I ask, arching upward to meet his lips. 

He slightly pulls back, knowing I'd be yearning for his touch. A subtle smile is rising on his face, as I try to grab him a second time. Then, immediately after leading me on, he leans in and kisses me. Once I start feeling the weight of his body pressing against mine, a shiver is sent through my entire being.

Suddenly Rune stirs heavily in his sleep. 

Bryn abruptly rolls over. When he catches me smiling, he himself has to restrain from laughter. Then, he draws closer, and pulls me in a tight but loving embrace.

I feel his body behind me and immediately catch myself wishing that Bryn and I were here alone. But we both know giving in to our appetite is an irresponsible thing to do right now, as it wouldn't be the most pleasant sight for Rune to wake up to. 

Knowing Bryn, I'm certain Rune would have been pulled from his slumber.

[peachfridges]

masterlist

to see my other fics, check out @peachcloudss to see kpop idols x reader :)

check out my ao3 @/cherrychilde to see multi-part fics!

dc

bruce wayne

nothing here yet…

dick grayson

nothing here yet…

jason todd

nothing here yet…

fortnite

jonesy

nothing here yet…

midas

nothing here yet…

montague

we’ll be okay - fluff, very slight angst, brief mention of canon-typical violence

modern warfare

alejandro vargas

dating headcanons

coming soon…

john ‘soap’ mactavish

dating headcanons

five times they almost got caught (and one time they did) - fluff, suggestive content but nothing graphic

john price

late that night - fluff, can be read platonically

kyle ‘gaz’ garrick

nothing here yet..

simon ‘ghost’ riley

dating headcanons

upcoming: hushed words

resident evil

chris redfield

nothing here yet..

leon s. kennedy

dating - fluff + a small bit of smut

re2 drabble - fluff + a tiny bit of smut

skyrim

brynjolf

nothing here yet..

farkas

nothing here yet..

miraak

nothing here yet..

ondolemar

nothing here yet..

[skyrim-forever]

TESFest Day 3: Teeth

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

Prompt: Teeth

Tagging: @tes-summer-fest

Words: 498

Warnings: T, suggestive but not much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[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.”

[strugglingwriterwattpad]

a new face in riften set brynjolf on a path of more than just coin. a path of truth betrayal and love? but was he willing to try with the new lass in town?

[argisthebulwark]

Can you imagine growing up in Riften though, scraping together your life in the midst of the Civil War. Deciding that joining the Thieves Guild is a better option than Honorhall. Reporting before the sneering Guild Master and accepting your assignment, practicing deep into the night to keep up with your peers. Showing up in the training room after dinner to find the young man who is so clearly Mercer's favorite. He shoots you a sly smile, tying the mess of red hair away from his face before continuing to pulverize the training dummy. Falling into a comfortable routine together: correcting his grip on the shortsword or his nimble fingers aid yours in picking any lock. Brynjolf who becomes your friend, an anchor in your world after you've lost everything else. "Call me Bryn," he insists when it's just the two of you, sending your young heart into a flurry. Growing into fully fledged thieves together, taking on jobs that require two pairs of hands to remain in each others presence. Becoming known as an inseparable pair to the rest of the Guild. Giggling over your inside jokes and scooting your cots closer together while the rest of the Cistern slumbers. Late nights spent dreaming of a future, neither of you brave enough to admit your feelings for the other go far beyond companionship. Imagine hearing your lifelong friend Brynjolf fighting against Mercer's choice to take you alone in his search for Karliah even when he knows it is futile. Fumbling over his words he insists that you two work together or not at all. "We don't work alone." He claims as your Guild Master packs a bag, choking on feelings he cannot articulate. "Please, Mercer. Don't take them from me." It is his face you see while drifting in and out of consciousness. Poison grips your body yet you can think of nothing but Brynjolf and all the opportunities you'd missed to tell him the truth of your feelings; the childish fluttering in your stomach when he boosted you through a window or the dinners spent alone laughing at stories you both knew by heart. Despite Karliah's hurried bandaging all you can see is his lopsided grin dancing in your thoughts or the way his green eyes shone with pride after each job. You've lost family and friends before but there's something stubborn in you that refuses to die without him. Your old friend who collapses when Mercer returns alone, unaware of you clawing your way back to him. Feverish and desperate you fight toward the only home you've ever known, wishing for the days when life was much simpler. Imagine Brynjolf, the one who's held your heart for far longer than you can admit staring across the Flagon. You stumble closer, grasping the familiar face and sinking into his touch. Your words run together - you'd almost died and he consumed all your thoughts, blurting out the admission that's burned at your throat for decades. Brynjolf who kisses you like he's starving, hungry and selfish. It's better than the countless dreams you've had about your old friend, the one who's been there all along. Hands you know all too well are careful when he tugs messy hair away from your face and he promises that he loves you too, that he's always loved you.

[whtepony]

brynjolf who dreams abt buying you two a nice house in riften (or whiterun or solitude, provided you have children ((he wants them 2 be safe)) and starts saving before he even proposes <\\3

[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

[coffee-at-daybreak]

no more games | brynjolf x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because we're alone."

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

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

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

You gulp. "Feel what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins. That stupid, charming grin. 

You narrow your eyes. "Really?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Someone clears their throat behind you both. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[smuttywriter]

Nasty business with Brynjolf - Part II

While I made a detour to the official entrance of the Ragged Flagon – so Vipir wouldn't be suspicious as to what I was doing in the Ratway Vaults – I finally got myself to stop smiling. 

Every time Bryn comes near me, I feel a sudden urge to stop worrying about every single one of my questionable choices. It almost feels like his presence lifts the dark shadows surrounding me, because I know he does not judge me. He did and never will judge anything I do. 

If anybody understands what it means to try and survive in the Rift, it's Brynjolf. Together we not only make ends meet, we find solace in each other. 

As soon as I enter, I make my way straight to Delvin. After all, I still have some questions regarding that fishing job in Whiterun. I can't believe he makes me steal from Idolaf Battle-Born. Everyone knows Idolaf is my favourite Battle-Born. 

In fact, Idolaf and I are friends, which makes finishing the job even harder. But I learned quite early that personal emotions better not get in my way. 

So I will do it. 

It's how that troubles me. 

As I pass Dirge, he steadies himself and looks me directly in the eyes, his expression indifferent. 

“Even if you're one of us, you better not cause trouble”, he scoffs.

As I'm about to comment on his bitterness, I catch sight of Bryn sitting next to Tonilia. Seeing me makes him smirk, and he doesn't take his eyes off of me while he takes a big gulp of his mead. 

I begin to think of everything else he could gobble that way and start getting lost in my thoughts. 

Suddenly I realise Dirge still standing in front of me. “Stay out of trouble, or there's gonna be trouble”, he says as he crosses his arms and walks away.

I shake my head. 

Does Dirge really believe I give a fuck about what he thinks of me? 

What did catch my attention, however, is that Bryn is seated next to Tonilia. 

The way she smiles and touches his arm as soon as he says something remotely funny reminds of the fact they both once had an affair – long before I joined the guild. 

I glance at him, slowly rolling my eyes. For a second I'm sure I caught him off guard, but he quickly peeks at Tonilia and then shrugs his shoulders, while he smiles. 

He knows I'm not a jealous woman, but sometimes I believe that's what he'd like me to be. So I'll let him have it this time. 

Certain that Bryn would take the bait, I refrain from flashing him a second glance and walk straight to the cistern. I don't even bother talking to Delvin, the questions I need answered surely could wait a few more moments. 

Abruptly, I sense him following me.

As I reach the hidden corridor between the Ragged Flagon and the cistern, I turn to face him. 

He doesn't say a word. Instead, he examines my face, before his gaze slowly trails down to my body, eventually returning to meet my eyes. 

As his eyes trace the silhouette of my body again, I lean my shoulders back and enjoy watching him. 

He steps closer to me and I take a step back, trying to figure out what his next move might be. As I feel the wooden door behind me pressing against my back, I raise my right eyebrow at him.  “Again?”, I tease.

His fingers touch the door merely millimetres next to my shoulders, while he leans forward. 

“Didn't we have unfinished business together?”, he whispers in my left ear.

I feel his cheek brush mine before he takes a step back. 

“We do”, I agree breathlessly. “But rats are a rather hideous audience don't you think?”

“I arranged a room in the Bee and Barb”, he says. 

Then he finally wraps his arms around my waist. 

“Sounds dreamy”, I stutter, as I feel his lips delightfully igniting my neck. 

Even though I know I shouldn't lose myself in his embrace right now, I rest my hands on his shoulders.

“I – I should concentrate on the job I need to get done”, I mumble, although I desperately don't want this moment to end. 

“A'right, lass”, he whispers, his hands not yet leaving my waist. “But you take good care of yourself over there. Those Battle-Borns aren't messed with easily.”

His concern brings a soft smile on my face. “It will turn out just fine, don't worry about it.”

“You're probably right”, he utters with a low smile. “Oh and about that unfinished business - I'll await you at midnight”, he adds.