#brynjolf x reader imagine

[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.

[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,”

[ragingbookdragon]

Of Threats And First Meetings PT. 3

Brynjolf x F!Dragonborn

Word Count: 2,260 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Blood and Wounds

Author’s Note: Holy shit it’s been like...I don’t even know how long since I updated this *insert shrugging emoji* Enjoy! -Thorne

Brynjolf felt like he should’ve known that Gulum-Ei was the one brokering the deals that were tearing the Guild to pieces. The damned argonian couldn’t resist a payout, even if it was the Guild he was backstabbing—it said a lot about honor amongst thieves, and while Brynjolf couldn’t claim to be the most honorable, at least he had some. All things considered, he couldn’t fault Gulum-Ei for doing it, whoever it was that wanted the Guild taken out was no doubt dishing out some serious coin to make it happen.

           That being said, their newest member was again tasked with the mission. Brynjolf wasn’t going to voice his opinion out loud, but he knew that she was running herself into the ground. He was sure that she’d not taken a moment of reprieve to simply breathe before throwing herself back into the thick of things. Quite the opposite, she’d taken a couple more jobs from both Vex and Delvin—though Brynjolf was sure she’d only taken them because the two thieves had essentially guilt tripped her. He watched her as Mercer walked off, leaving her to rub at her temples, a heavy sigh falling from her lips.

           “Wondering if you’re in over your head, lass?” he inquired, leaning back against the desk as he crossed his arms over his chest.

           She snorted and rolled her shoulders. “Only every moment of every day, Brynjolf.” Catching his eyes, she quipped, “Why is it that I’m the one who’s being given the major missions and not the other members of the Guild?”

           He mocked a look of deep thought then offered, “You’re not a senior member so you do what we tell you? Her eyes briefly widened before she burst into laughter, the sound making Brynjolf’s stomach flip.

           “Oh ho? It’s seniority then?” she leaned close, mirth in her eyes as she questioned, “So when does the newbie get to claim seniority?”

           Brynjolf grinned at her. “I’d say a couple years.”

           “What!”

           “Maybe a few if I’m being completely honest.”

           A groan passed her lips. “By that time, you lot will actually be seniors—well, not that you’re young now.”

           He almost recoiled at that. Almost. “Did yo—did you just call me old?”

           She placed a hand on his bicep, sympathetically replying, “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not exactly a stripling anymore, Brynjolf.”

           Blinking, he deadpanned, “I don’t think I’ve ever been called old by a woman before.”

           Grinning, she asked, “Tell me, do all the young women you take to bed call you sprightly?” He nodded and she giggled. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Brynjolf.”

           She leaned close until her lips brushed his ear, whispering, “When we call you older men sprightly, it’s only so you don’t feel bad about your age.”

           Brynjolf turned slightly, catching her gaze, and murmured, “That mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble one day, lass.”

           Her eyes narrowed as she mused, “So far it’s gotten me out of trouble.” She pulled away and tugged the shawl over her bare shoulders, turning to make her way back to the Flagon.

           She stopped a few feet though and glanced over her shoulder. “But if it means I’d be in trouble with you, Brynjolf, I don’t think I’d mind it.” Winking, she left him to flounder with the suggestion of her words.

***

           Her side ached with a fury, and the continual prodding of the linen against the wound didn’t help. With each brush against the open wound, it sent a bolt of fire through her nerves, as if she were being stuck with a hot poker. Still though, she focused on returning to the city, knowing that if she could just get home, she’d be able to clean and stitch it up.

           Softly moaning, she slipped inside the gate, turning down the narrow alley that led into Honeyside’s garden. Briefly, she brought her free hand up and felt along the wall to lead her. As she neared the garden, movement flashed in her vision and she stopped in her tracks, squinting in the darkness to discern what it was. Someone was bent over one of the barrels in the corner and she growled.

           “This is private property. Piss off.”

           They stood upright, turning round to face her and when the moonlight illuminated their features beneath the hood, she muttered, “Brynjolf?”

           He raised a hand, pushing the hood up slightly, stepping towards her. “Lass? What are you doing here? I thought you were heading to Solitude?”

           She shook her head, then winced when a flash of nausea came over her. “No, had to do something’s around here before I did.” A sudden flash of pain simmered in her side and a groan passed her lips, the throbbing threatening to send her to her knees.

           “Lass?” he questioned, voice twinged with worry. “Are you alright?” Waving him off, she pulled from the wall, trying to get to the door of Honeyside.

           “‘m fine,” she grunted, though her vision began to blur with darkness. “Just gotta…get some rest.”

           She’d barely made it two feet when her knees finally gave out, sending her towards the dirt. Just before she hit the ground, strong arms wrapped around her waist, keeping her from kissing the floor, pulling her up.

           “Lass!” he yelled, then he cursed, concerned that the guards would come running. “What happened?” he demanded, curling an arm under her legs to pick her up. The jostling made her groan, and she fought the urge to recoil from him when the buckle of his chest armor nudged her side.

           “Ngh—steam centurion in Avanchnzel.” She hissed when he started walking, switching her grip to curl her arm around his shoulders, hoping it would steady her. “Caught the backside of the battle—ngh—axe when I was dodging it.”

           Brynjolf turned and nudged the door to Honeyside open, bringing her inside.

           “When I’m not dying, I’m going to kick your ass for break—sonovabitch!” she gasped when he dropped her on the bed, hurrying towards the kitchen to gather supplies.

           He returned and started pulling the laces of her tavern corset undone. Despite the pain, she giggled, “Most men buy me dinner first.” A grin set on his lips as he pulled the last string loose, yanking the cedar-colored corset from around her.

           “I’ll treat you to dessert after,” he mused, then looked up at her. “Skirt or straps?”

           Her brows furrowed. “Beg pardon?”

           “Either I’m lifting your skirt up or I’m pulling your straps down. Make up your mind which decency you’d like to keep,” he countered, and she huffed, reaching up to slip the ringed straps from her shoulders.

           “Should’ve known a scoundrel like you was a skirt lifter. Despicable.”

           Brynjolf barked a laugh, helping her to roll the gold fabric down. “Please, I haven’t lifted skirts since I was a boy.”

           “Mhm.”

           “Honest, lass. I’ve grown out of immature acts like that,”’ he explained as the poorly wrapped wound came into sight. It’d soaked crimson in the time she’d travelled back, and he frowned as he untied the knot, gently peeling it back. She started to let out a whimper but grit her teeth and inhaled sharply.

           “Sorry lass,” Brynjolf murmured, wiping at the blood. He glanced up, watching as she propped herself up on her elbows, hands clenching into fists.

           “Just hurry up and seal it,” she griped, and he passed her a strip of leather. Seeming to understand, she brought it up to her mouth and bit into it, then met his eyes and nodded.

           Sighing heavily, he rose from the side of the bed and returned with the hot knife that had been sitting right next to the fire—she could feel the heat when he brought it close to her, kneeling back on the bed.

           He met her eyes and she inhaled deeply, giving him a nod of her head. Brynjolf rested his other hand on the side of her ribs a few inches above the wound, effectively bracing himself as well as keeping her still.

           Lowering the metal to her, he said, “Try and stay still. I don’t wanna burn you where you’re not wounded.” She barely made a noise of confirmation when the burning metal came into contact with her skin.

           Her eyes went wide, and she immediately threw her head back into the bed as a muffled scream escaped her, hands white knuckling the covers of her blanket. A deep pit fell in his stomach at the tears that began to run down her cheeks, but he kept the knife to her for another couple seconds before pulling it back, watching as her chest heaved with each breath. Glancing back at the wound, he knew she needed another go, probably two if he was honest.

           “I need to do it again,” Brynjolf murmured and she groaned like a dying animal. “I know lass, but you’re still bleeding.” She sucked in a quick breath through her nose and grunted, muscles tensing underneath his grip as she readied herself once more.

           He flipped the knife in his grip and placed it to her side again, and the screech that left her this time, made him wince, but he held it there. After a couple seconds, he pulled the knife away and examined the wound, and when he saw that it wasn’t bleeding anymore, he tossed the knife aside, letting it clatter to the floor.

           “Lass? You alright?” his eyes scanned her for any problems, and she turned her head to the side, spitting out the leather strip. Letting out a huff, she brought up a hand, intent to prod the wound, but he caught it. “Don’t touch it yet.” He met her eyes. “Do you have any distilled alcohol?”

           Groaning heavily, she nodded. “Downstairs in my…alchemy room.” She swallowed thickly. “There’s a few…health and disease potions too.” Meeting his eyes, she added, “Bring one of each…please.”

           Brynjolf nodded and headed down the stairs, coming up a few moments later with two tiny red vials and one large clear bottle. He set them on her nightstand before gently curling his arms underneath her back to shift her over slightly. When there was enough space, he sat beside her and grabbed the glass bottle, uncorked it, and poured some on a spare linen cloth. Brynjolf dabbed the wound, quietly apologizing when she hissed in pain.

           When he was finished, he took the fresh wrap and helped her sit up so he could wrap it around her waist. Tying it with a knot, he handed her the two vials, gazing as she downed them both before looking at him with an expression of relief. Suddenly feeling weak, she leaned forward, careful to avoid her wound, and pressed her forehead into Brynjolf’s shoulder. He brought up a hand, softly caressing the bare expanse of her back.

           “Thank you, Brynjolf,” she whispered, shivers running up her spin at his touch. “I would’ve been in a perilous state if you hadn’t been around.”

           Chuckling, he replied, “I would say anytime, but I don’t wanna have to do this again for a long time, so try to stay safe.”

           A snort escaped her, and she turned her head up, resting her cheek on his shoulder, gazing into his eyes. “Why try when this is the treatment?”

           His green eyes narrowed as he retorted, “While I’m flattered that you want me as a bedside-nurse, I really don’t wanna do this again.” He brough his other hand up, gently touching her cheek. “I already worry about you. No need to up it.”

           “You worry? Does that make me special?” she cooed tiredly, pulling away from him to lay back on the bed.

           Brynjolf huffed a laugh and stood, opening the closet beside her bed. “You enjoy teasing me, lass.”

           “Is it working?” she asked, watching as he pulled out a simple blue tunic. Shuffling around on the bed, she managed to wiggle the tavern skirt to her calves and when he spun around, Brynjolf’s eyes swept over her body.

           “Shame on you for ogling an indecent woman, Brynjolf. What would Lady Mara think?” she tutted, and he grinned at her.

           “I’m not sure about Lady Mara, but I certainly know what Lady Dibella would do,” he countered, and she giggled.

           “Now who’s teasing?” He handed her the tunic, and she shrugged it on, pulling it down her chest and over her thighs. Brynjolf helped her under the covers, watching as her eyelids began to slip shut. Just to be sure, at least that’s what he told himself, he laid his palm over her forehead, checking for warmth.

           Her eyes opened slightly, and he said, “Make sure you change the wrap when you wake up in the morning. Don’t wanna get an infection on the way to Solitude.”

           She nodded, letting out a yawn and sunk into her pillow. “Yeah, yeah, I will.”

           “Lass,” he warned, and she huffed, a smile spreading on her lips.

           “I will, promise.”

           Brynjolf gave her a look and pulled his hand away. “I’ll take my leave of you.” As he neared the doors to her patio, she called for him.

           “Brynjolf?” he paused and glanced over his shoulder, heart fluttering in his chest as she whispered, “Thank you…for saving me like this.”

           He gave her a smile. “Of course, lass. I’ll be here whenever you need me to be.” He pulled the door open, smile growing larger when he heard her sleepily murmur,

           “Hope it stays that way.”

[reddeaddamnation]

Imagine: Brynjolf being scared to tell you he loves you

The guild was exceptionally quiet today. Mostly everyone was on missions. The rest had left the Ragged Flagon earlier because they knew what was about to happen. A few days ago, Delvin had ratted Brynjolf out to you that he secretly had feelings for you. One evening, Brynjolf got quite drunk, began crying and confessed in front of five other people that he loved the guild leader but knew he never had a chance.

You stumbled purely on accident on a discussion about it the next day between Delvin and Vex and under the pressure, Delvin told you everything. You were absolutely stunned by the information. Sure, you two would always flirt and tease each other, but you never would have guessed his feelings were serious! You sent a letter to inform him to come back as soon as possible, but due to the fact that he was in Windhelm, doing a job, he wouldn't be back any time soon. Little did you know, he left everything behind and galloped back to Riften as soon as he got the letter.

You were talking with Delvin and Tonillia, when suddenly the doors to the tavern swing open, revealing Brynjolf. Tonillia cleared her throat awkwardly "So... We should go. Come on, Mallory. I have a job for you." They hurriedly stood up, not even shooting you a glance and walked away towards the exit. In the meantime, Brynjolf had come closer to you, now watching you with a worried expression. "What's wrong, lass? Did I do something?" He asked. You shook your head no. "I...heard something I found interesting." You answered.

"Oh?" He loosened up a bit, but was still anxious "Someone has a job for us?" Again, you shook your head "I found out that during one of your... pass times with the guild, you confessed your feelings for a certain person." You were looking at him straight in the eyes, your expression daring him to say otherwise. He was shocked to say the least, staying quiet and wondering what to say. "My sources tell me the person in question is me." You continued talking, while he listened quietly like you were scolding a child. "So my question is why you didn't tell me, Bryn? You weren't scared to tell the entire guild but were scared of my response?"

Finally, he spoke. "I know, lass. But I thought you should deserve better." He looked down at the ground "When you see a rose, the first thing you'd think is how beautiful it is and just want to pluck it...keep it for yourself. But then you realize... why should it belong to me? Something this beautiful shouldn't wither away, destroyed by someone like me. Don't you see me, lass? I'm a crook, a thief and I only care about the coin I get. I'd rather watch you from afar and admire you quietly instead of have you unhappy with me."

You listened to the sudden poetic outburst you didn't expect from him with a small smile stretched across your lips. You stood up and wrapped your arms around him affectionately, leaving him ever so shocked. "Bryn... you idiot. You absolute clueless idiot. I love you and it's for me to decide if I'll be happy with you. Don't let me hear anything on the topic ever again." He smiled and hugged you back, keeping you close "Alright then. I promise to be the best for you. Be mine?"

[fandom-imagines]

Jealous!Brynjolf

Fandom: Skyrim

Pairing: Jealous!Brynjolf x Thief!Reader

Words: >1k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, jealousy/possessiveness?

I found this in my files and felt like sharing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The red-haired man smirked, reading her perfectly.

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

“I don’t know what you mean,”

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

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

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

*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[tales-unique]

LITTLE BIRD

A/N: Tagging @artsyfangirl cus this was inspired by you, as promised! ;3

Cold dawn light casts Riften in a lingering blue hue, its inhabitants milling about the central marketplace dressed in thick clothes to ward off the icy grasp of winter. By Nocturnal’s grace, the Thieves Guild have been given another prosperous season, with their luck being bountiful under the leadership of their Guild Master, and Her Champion, the Dragonborn. It had been somewhat of a shock to say the least when Brynjolf learned of their illustrious leaders many titles, but alas he had seen a spark of greatness in them from the very moment they had first sauntered into Riften. The same, he would come to conclude, could be said of you.

Thick, fur-lined boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow catch his attention from where he leans against the weathered wood of the Bee & Barb, green eyes shining emerald when caught in the stark, white sunlight. You’re swathed in a rich, expensive fabric coloured a deep evergreen and lined with fur that glitters with gold accompaniments. A silver pendant hangs about your neck while a matching set of rings adorning your fingers on each hand, both adorned with signature flawless sapphires. All signs of a wealthy and important individual. Yet, your stride does not match the status that you represent. You walk with caution tainting what could be a confident gait with a little practice, a little showmanship, and the way your eyes survey your surroundings with an almost child-like curiosity betrays your naivety to Riften’s infamous reputation. When he catches your wondrous stare he’s momentarily disarmed by the warmth with which you look at him, a slight bow of your head and a bright smile a kind greeting before you turn to face a member of your entourage. The woman at your side, however, is nothing like you. She’s harsh and fierce, commanding respect with an almost hostile air despite being bathed in all the finery and jewels a Noble can afford. Her silvered hair is pulled high into a tight tail upon her head and her icy blue eyes cut deep when she casts a bitter glare towards the Nightingale. It dissuades him not and Brynjolf watches her scoff before commanding you with an almost militant tone to follow her. A scowl curls his lip when you nod obediently, dare he say with fear, following like an ever faithful dog at her heels before disappearing up the stone steps and into the hall of Mistveil Keep. Brynjolf goes about his day with relative ease, being afforded the unique momentary privilege of peace as well as reverence given what he had helped achieve for the Guild, having almost forgotten all about you until he spots the familiar glint of silver and sapphire on your person. It’s easy to pick you out amongst the rest of the market goers ( since you stand out in both beauty and attire ) and easier still to draw in close and linger amidst the crowd to gauge the situation at hand. Madesi has you browsing his jewellery, showcasing the finest creations of his own making in an attempt to seduce you into making a purchase. You don’t even notice that the master thief is at your side until he’s already there, admiring the selection before you with a click of his tongue. “Aye, the ruby does look good, but this moonstone really brings out the colour of your eyes.” You glance sidelong at him, momentarily startled by his sudden appearance. He sets you alarmingly at ease with a dazzling smirk as your fingers tentatively shift away from the ruby circlet in Madesi's cool, scaled hands. The moonstone in question glistens in the light as you take a moment to admire it, turning it this way and that so it sparkles brighter, a soft smile coming to your supple lips. You’re so taken with what you’re doing that you don’t even realise the hand sliding into your pocket to pilfer your coin purse. “The moonstone is beautiful,” you acknowledge dreamily, glancing up at him through your long lashes. Brynjolf matches your gaze, taking the circlet from your hands and placing it carefully upon your head. You watch him with parted lips as he adjusts it so it sits perfectly amongst your hair, smoothing a stray strand that fell behind your ear. “Yes, beautiful indeed,” he comments, far too casually for what you infer from the gesture, turning to Madesi. The Argonian narrows his eyes at Brynjolf in a heated glare but doesn’t speak aloud the venom that sits like lead on his tongue, instead quickly turning his gaze to you. It takes much will on his part to purge his disdain for the Thieves Guild member from his countenance, offering you a more welcoming persona. “The moonstone then, Land-Strider?” He asks, obliging you when you eagerly nod. He takes your gold (once you find your secret stash, that is — how strange, you could have sworn you’d brough your

coin purse with you ) with a pleasant farewell, wishing you well during your stay in Riften. Though it pains him not to, he refrains from warning you about your present company. “So, where’s your handler?” Brynjolf teases as you walk along the canal ways together, away from prying eyes. “Ah—” You sigh, your breath misting in the cold chill of the days air, “—Lady Njadte is conducting business, and feels as though my advice is, shall we say, counter-intuitive to her plans.” Brynjolf watches your shoulders sag slightly despite the cold that lingers as you near the water's edge, a frown marring your features. In all honesty you look too young to be filling the role of an advisor, but he knows better to assume that circumstances are often kind to people. “Business, with the Jarl?” He probes, feigning innocence. The more information he can garner the more positive the outcome will result in, after all. “Maven, actually,” you answer, dainty fingers fidgeting with your rings. You stare at your reflection in the dark water, noting how flushed your cheeks are. Ruffling your collar, you turn back to face Brynjolf and offer him a small smile. Ah, it makes sense that the Black-Briar family would be involved in some capacity. The shrewd matriarch had her fingers in all the major business within the city and, of course, that included the Guild at times. He doesn’t blame you for being unsettled by her, not when you seem like a genuinely kind soul. He almost feels guilty for having stolen from you. “Well, at least it gives you time to take a tour of the city, what do you say?” Brynjolf drawls, flashing you a brilliant smile. You foolishly agree, drawn in like a moth to a flame. It's oddly pleasant, the hold of Riften, despite the acrid scent of fish and the less than desirable characters at times. The charismatic man at your side has a wicked way of making the mundane magical and the ordinary so much more interesting. He shows you the quaint line of businesses on Plankside and takes you for a stroll along the strip of residences on Dryside, making an offhand comment that their security could really do with an upgrade. You don't ask what he means, instead pointing towards an inconspicuous door set into the Riften Canals stonework. "The Ratway? Are you sure you're up for that?" Brynjolf questions, raising a challenging eyebrow despite having already been guiding you towards the entrance to the den of thieves. "Yes, I'm sure," you huff, having been curious to see if they really were as dangerous as the whispers seemed to suggest. Once below in the dank, confined space of the Ratways tunnels, you realise with alarming clarity just how dangerous being cornered and attacked here would be. Visibly you shrink as you walk ahead of him, and Brynjolf can't help the slight roll of his eyes when you come to a stop before a path enshrouded in darkness. "Don't tell me you're scared of a little shadow now,” he snarks, coming to your side. You don’t answer, instead you hold up your hand with your palm facing upwards. You flex your fingers and within your grasp forms a small, tinkling ball of soft, yet bright, light. You can’t help the smug little smirk that comes to your lips when you notice the thief’s incredulous expression. “You're a mage?” He questions, eyes glued to you as you send the little ball of light further into the tunnel to illuminate the way. “I'm a mage, yes,” you parrot proudly, clarifying his suspicions. With a new found confidence you stride ahead, the warm glow of your spell lighting your way. Brynjolf follows after you, pleasantly surprised by this interesting turn of events. While mages weren’t that uncommon in Skyrim, he’d had yet to see a spell caster up close that wasn’t trying to singe his hide for one sin or another. He smirks when you catch his eye in the dimly lit tunnel, coming to a stop. “What is it?” You ask warily, your eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Nothing amiss,” he laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender, “just curious what else you're capable of, that's all.” With practiced ease he steps close to you, chuckling

at how you blink up at him with pretty, wide eyes. Oh, you're so precious — he's going to take his time playing with you. Drinking in the details of your face that such a close proximity allows him, Brynjolf finds that he rather enjoys looking at you ( and being around you, too ) especially in such sensual, low lighting. In the silence of the tunnel, bathed in warm light, you also concur that he's rather easy on the eyes. Amid his suaveness there's a rugged, almost dangerous, edge that entices you closer despite your better judgement. Your gaze lingers on his face, most notably his lips, and you yelp when he draws in closer with a sly hand about your waist. “Something caught your eye, little bird?” Brynjolf drawls, his free hand cupping your cheek gently, thumb tracing the curve of your reddening cheek. You’re about to react with a flustered retort when suddenly the entire space is plunged into inky blackness. The shriek that comes out of you is undignified to say the least and before you can stop yourself you’ve pushed yourself further into Brynjolf’s grasp, a pleasant and secure warmth washing over you when he instinctively moves his arms to hold you. While it wouldn’t surprise him, the Nightingale wasn’t expecting an attack and, he suddenly thinks with prudent disdain, he had allowed himself to become distracted from the possibility. Nocturnal would likely revel in his misstep, given Her often fickle nature, though he has little time to wallow in his embarrassment. “My spell,” you finally whisper in realisation of what actually happened after your panic subsides, the words sheepish as they hang between you both in the dark. It reminds him of days long since passed, when his own youth was filled with such foolishness as this. You can practically feel his eyes roll at your apparent moment of scatterbrained stupidity, just barely managing to make him out in the gloom as your eyes adjust. It's then you realize how you're still fixed in his arms, his hands shifting to sit respectfully on your waist. "I—I can summon candlelight again," you swallow nervously, heart quickening again. Though this time it's not completely from fear. You're not entirely sure you want to cast the spell, not when a nervous excitement sits like a stone in your stomach over the situation at hand. You and a handsome stranger, whose name you had learnt only an hour or so before, are alone together in the dark. Of course, you know it's incredibly risky and irresponsible, but you're tired of being stifled by rules and regulations. When Brynjolf doesn't reply you frown, about to lift your hand to summon the little ball of light once more, only for the action to be cut short when you feel calloused fingertips tilt your chin up and warm lips meet your own. What’s one more folly, for old times sake? For a brief moment you’re paralysed, wide eyes staring at what you know is his face. In the gloom you can barely make out any features, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when you can feel him, taste him. Once you’ve recovered from the initial shock you press further into the kiss, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders. The aged leather under your fingertips is cool, clashing with the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach and spreading throughout your body. Brynjolf is similarly impassioned, you assume so at least from the way your back meets the rough brickwork of the tunnel wall, a sly hand running down the curve of your side to hitch your leg up. His smirk feels downright sinful against your skin as the act pulls a breathless gasp from you, his lips pressing feather-light kisses along your jaw. “We should stop,” you whimper, fingers instinctively tightening their grasp despite your suggestion. “Are you sure about that?” He asks, pausing along his trail. Goosebumps prickle along your skin from the way his lips ghost faintly against your jaw with each word. Your mouth works open and closed as you struggle to confirm, mind racing, electrified by his touch and more. Luckily you aren’t left floundering for long, and you inhale deeply when he pulls away

from you in one swift motion. Immediately you yearn for the weight of his body against yours, the scent of water and leather and something wholly him encasing you, as you straighten yourself up. The rest of the tour of the Ratway is uneventful, save for the occasional Skeever that you disturb along the way, and when you’re brought to the Ragged Flagon you can’t help feeling slightly out of your depth all of a sudden. The other inhabitants stare at you as you enter with Brynjolf, eyeing you warily despite pleasant enough introductions. Sipping the mead that Brynjolf had brought you to settle your budding nerves, you find yourself glancing around at the admittedly run down place from a rickety table in the corner. “It’s not at its best right now, but just you wait,” the master thief pipes up, as if he has a way of hearing your thoughts, motioning with his own bottle, “soon business will be booming, mark my words.” You flash him a warm, honest smile, enamoured by his confidence; maybe you’ll be around to see it all in its truest form. “Brynjolf, I should go.” Your voice is gentle when you address him, and he can’t help but soften under your tender stare when he meets your gaze. “I suppose you're right,” he sighs, slowly rising from his seat. You briefly glance at the small collection of mead bottles, pleasantly surprised he’s able to walk, much less stand, after so many, but then again the same could be said for you as sway lightly on your feet. You giggle when he offers you his arm, clinging to him in a typical, drunken fashion. When you reach the surface you squint at the sunlight, quickly shielding your eyes with your hand. The warmth of the sun's rays do little to combat the sudden chill of the winter's morning, no matter how high in the sky it rises, and instinctively you seek out further comfort from the form at your side. Not that Brynjolf is complaining, of course. He’s become rather accustomed to having you on his arm, even after such a short time, that he takes his time walking back to the marketplace with you. “Well then, time to fly away little bird,” he chuckles when you reach the now bustling center of town, though it’s dry and lacklustre. He doesn’t want you to be on your way, but he doesn’t feel like going up against the stone faced Lady you serve so diligently. You hum lightly in agreement, reluctantly freeing him from your grasp. The sudden cold hits you as you stand before him and you barely suppress a shiver, ruffling your collar with a huff. As much as you want to return to the Keep so that you can stave off the cold you can’t help but feel pulled to him. “Maybe I can see you again soon?” You ask, hopeful eyes scanning his face, “we’ll be in Riften for a few days more, I think.” You hope so, at the very least. A slow smirk spreads on Brynjolf’s lips at your candour, finding it oddly refreshing. “I don’t see why not,” he replies, hands on his hips. “I look forward to it!” You beam, giddy despite yourself. “So do I, and here,” he can’t help the knowing grin upon his lips when he hands you your coin purse, “you should be more careful around Riften, you can never be too sure.” “You stole from me?” You ask, brows pinching in confusion. Brynjolf shrugs lightly. “And I gave it back,” he answers with a flourish, passing by you easily without a care in the world, casually bidding farewell to you over his shoulder. “I’ll see you around, little bird.”

[lake-ilinalta]

One Of Them

A/N-Disclaimer: I'm very, very drunk and making this up as I go because I lost a bet to write smut... Brynjolf works, I think?

Brynjolf x Dark Brotherhood Reader

____________________________________

Riften was a strange, busy, rude town. If you weren't a Blackbriar, you meant nothing. If you didn't have money, you meant nothing. Those were only three of the list of reasons you avoided it in your travels if not for work. Your uncle lived there-worked there- more like. Delvin Malory. He was respected among his people but rarely showed his face around the streets. He lacked the discretion and diplomacy it took to be an assassin, just a common thief in the guild that found itself sinking. They gripped coins for life, of course. Raising taxes on shop owners, digging their sewer claws into the Jarl's household. It was disgusting to you. You were forced to be clever, act with your intelligence and not your greed, to stay in the shadows and accept the trust of nobody. It was a lonely life, but one that was necessary.

You pushed open the door with your armored shoulder, walking along the pool of what you'd hoped to be drained water from the lake. Sneaking your way past, you avoided a brutish man, a cruel snarl on his lips and you imagined he wasn't very bright either. Your uncle was sat at the bar beside a redguard woman, a blonde nord blocking your path. She was beautiful, but her dagger was drawn instantly and you folded your hands behind your back, calmly toying with the belt of your throwing knives.

"Who are you?" She demanded.

Your unamused look as you pressed forward against the blade sent a fury to her belly and she spun your body, holding the knife tighter to your throat. The thing about thieves, is they've more bravado than talent. You were trained to fight, trained to survive any circumstances, traded to hide and manipulate if you're caught. But a thief was ruled by greed, anticipation and instant gratification with the sound of two coins rubbing together.

"That's a mistake, sweetheart." A neutral tone left your lips as a small line of blood trickled down your neck. But you had no reaction, putting a look of unease into every pair of eyes in you in the Ragged Flagon.

"Not from where I'm standing." She growled in your ear.

Delvin turned on his stool, lazily, drunk and not bothering to lower his tonkard or raising to his feet. "From where I'm standing, Vex, you've got a knife to my niece's throat."

"Niece?!" She dropped her blade back to her side but never relaxed. "The assassin? Your brother lives in Solthseim, Delvin."

"Yet I don't. People travel." You rubbed your throat with a dry tone.

The cut had clotted and wouldn't scar but you rolled your eyes regardless, taking a sudden swing. Your fist collided with her nose and a cracking sound resonated over the gushing water around the guild. Nobody dared move but Vex who held her face in pain, gasping as blood filled her cupped palms. Your knuckles were split and you shook out the pain while walking to Delvin's side. He pressed his fingers into his eyes, knowing your actions reflected on him.

"How have you been, uncle?" Your tone was unflinchingly calm, neutral despite what just happened.

"Fine, Y/N." He muttered tiredly, tossing Vex a rag to stop the bleeding. "How's work?"

"Astrid will cut out my tongue if I give that away."

"What are you doing here, Y/N?" The all too familiar voice came from behind you and you were reluctant to turn.

Brynjolf emerged from the darkness in his black leather armor, framing the expanse of his shoulders.

"I believe our girl is here for you. She's a Malory, we don't visit family on a whim."

Delvin smirked, shaking his head. Your eyes widened, neither of you had been aware he knew of your meeting. It had been during your last hit in Solitude. He never spoke of his business there, nor did you. It was better left as a secret, a rift between your two worlds where there was a difference between the meaning of 'morals.' Thieves viewed assassins as murderers... Both had little respect for the other.

Delvin leant in to kiss your cheek and throw his arm around your shoulders. The both of you turned to the redhead and something possessive and intimate flashed before his face making your uncle uneasy.

Brynjolf shifted from one foot to the other. "A word, Y/N?"

You stood still, not obeying any command unless it came from Astrid, herself. Delvin grinned down at your stubbornness. You really were related, not quite in looks but the attitude gave it away. But after a moment of Brynjolf's demanding, dominant eyes, you pulled away from the warmth and unusual safety of your uncles embrace.

Turning to him, "We'll speak of that amulet later, uncle. I won't be long."

Following Brynjolf through the false door, he pulled you into a hidden room before the cistern and slammed the door. You crossed your arms against your chest and waited for his pacing to seize. He threw his arms out in exasperation and you knew this was it.

"You're Malory's contact in the Brotherhood?" It was a shout but the thick walls would keep the noise from carrying.

"Should it matter?"

He approached within inches, grasping your throat firmly but you didn't lack air. "Yes, lass. It matters. We don't encourage family. We don't encourage murder."

Your eyes narrowed. "What is it that you think the brotherhood does? We don't kill just anyone, Bryn. They deserve it."

"Always?"

"It's not my business to ask."

The silence carried on, lingering till it filled every corner of the small room, sank it's way into your lungs and confidence. But after the tension grew, he backed you against the table, lifting behind your knees so you sat and he found a comfortable spot between your legs.

"We promised this wouldn't happen again, Bryn." You whispered against his lips. Your words meant little, for you already toyed at one of his buckles.

"We promised we wouldn't see each other again, either. Now here you are beneath my fingers, in my power. Mine alone." His voice had deepened against your neck before he bit you, sucking a line down your throat and stopping where your red and black leather armor covered you.

"You're possessive over me? Thieves." You grinned into a seering kiss that let your lips swollen and bruised. Your teeth tugged and his calloused hand found your throat again, more tender now with the bite marks. "Well here I am."

"You're quick to hand yourself over into my power, lass. You could get hurt."

"Stop talking." You nipped the she'll of his ear, encouraging a low groan from him and you could feel his growing erection press against you through two layers of leather.

You laughed at his eagerness until the buckles of your armor, he had been working at, fell free and he rid you of one piece after another. The chill bit at your skin but you didn't cover yourself, only watched the look on his face change.

"Just admit you don't like what I am, thief." You were bare and unprotected, but you leaned forward on the table challenging him.

Brynjolf was quick to make a fist in your hair and you hissed when he yanked your head back, gazing down into your eyes.

"Assassin." He snapped, releasing you in favor of unclasping his belts. Only a moment passed before he found his home between your legs again, stretching them open wider. "Kiss me."

You leaned back with a smirk but he pulled you quickly to the very edge of the table and lifted your thighs, testing your flexibility. Your lips parted, surprised. The way he treated you, the look in his eyes, his demands... Your tried to press the friction in your core away, only to tighten your thighs around his hips. The full length of him pressed against your inner thigh. He grinned at the knowledge your body needed him, how desperate it was to be filled. That right now in this room it belonged to him. And he knew from experience that you didn't care if he left marks. Everyone would know.

"You think you deserve this?" He growled, hand cupping your core, teasing you by rubbing a finger up your folds. He stopped at your clit, circling his thumb till you arched your back and his hand cruelly fell away. "You broke Vex's nose."

"She deserved it." You panted, only half paying attention while attempting to buck your pelvis forward. A large hand was placed on your thigh to hold you still and you whimpered in need, a way only he could make you.

His response was a hum against your collarbone, his hot breath making you shiver. Brynjolf dragged his tongue down the valley of your breasts and took a nipple between his lips. His tongue ran over the nub as your fingers found their way into his red hair. He sucked and pulled with his lips making a gasp break through your lips and you fell further back against the table. Yelping when his teeth grazed the sensitive skin and your body was in fire. The wood table pressed against your back when two fingers slid inside of your heat, curling perfectly to make your back arch.

"Brynjolf." You cried and grasped the edge if the table as his hand pumped inside you. "I need you Brynjolf."

With a force that would leave bruises on your thighs he pulled you nearly off the table and teased you with the swollen head if his erection against your folds. Up and down he spread how wet you were for him already. Your chest heaved, lips parting in a silent moan when he pushed into you and you felt the burn of his length bottoming out. You leg lifted over his shoulder and his lips grazed the inside of your thigh before roughly pulling your body to meet his, fucking into you mercilessly in a way you thought the table nay break. His other hand was quickly clasped over your mouth to mute the screams of ecstasy. That moment lasted forever. The closer you came to your release, the slower he'd become. When your fingers dropped to your clit, he gripped your wrist and slammed it to the table by your head.

"No." His voice was hoarse, after all this time he strained for control.

"Please." You muttered through earth shaking moans.

He grinned cockily down at that. You'd never begged before. "Say it again."

"Please."

The redhead nodded, picking up the already brutal pace, definitely bruising you but the pain felt too good with his thrusts. Your heat began, contracting around him as the coil in your belly threatened to snap. Finally as you came undone with a scream, pulling his hair gently you could feel his thrusts grow uneasy and he spilled his seed into you. His face dropped into your neck. As he withdrew after a moment, you felt the warmth run down your thigh but you focused on your breathing and the muscles of his body.

"Move to Riften." His voice was rough.

"What? Why?"

"If you're here, I can fuck you like this everyday."

A/N: Waking to this was an experience.

[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. 

[smuttywriter]

Nasty business with Brynjolf

“Always a pleasure speaking with you, boss”, Delvin says, taking a big gulp of his mead.

I express a subtle smile and walk over to the bar.

Vekel is just cleaning some of the dishes, when he spots me.

“Tamika Wine as always?”, he asks, already filling me a cup.

I resign from even answering him. Instead, I quickly down my first round of wine, ready for the second.

“Another,” I demand.

“Another”, he repeats.

After downing the second cup as well, I start to slowly feel my body burning with the heat the alcohol preserves me with. I nod to Vekel and see him rolling with his eyes as he fills me another cup.

“One of those days, eh?”, he comments, but then goes about his business.

I cover my face in my palms and restrain from talking to him. As I raise my head again, I feel a presence beside me.

“Are you alright, lass?”

I smile.

Since he is a master thief, I've already got accustomed to him sneaking up on me. Nevertheless, it never fails to bring a smile to my face when I catch myself not noticing him while he does it.

“Yes. I'm as fine as a woman in my position can be.”

He moves his body to face mine. “And what can a man in my position do to make you feel even better?”

His deep voice echoes in my mind.

“I'm not sure if there is anything you can do.”, I say with a grin rising on my face.

After raising his eyebrows and sighing ever so gently, he looks down to his lap and then into my eyes. “I'd not agree with you on that one, lass.”

I smile at him, but quickly after tilt my head. Surely the look on my face declares: “Oh, is that so? ”.

He then stands up and positions himself directly behind me.

After feeling his touch, I stretch my neck and search his eyes above me.

They glow icy blue, like a wash of the waves. Uncontrollably and forcefully clutching onto the shore.

He kisses my forehead gently, making sure I feel every second of his lips touching that part of my body, while his hands wander from my waist to my pelvis. As soon as his hands trace the silhouette of my body, he squeezes the soft skin around my legs.

“Careful there, Bryn, one might think you may care about me”, I tease him.

His faint breath strikes my ear as he says: “How about we get out of here and I'll show you just how much I do care about making you feel good.”

I swallow hard. “Alright then.”

My body yearns for his touch as he veers away from me. As if he knew a desire for feeling his warmth erupted in me, he searches my hand and tangles his fingers around mine. Then he leads me to the Ratway Vaults.

*

As the door closes behind us, Bryn pushes me against the wall and starts kissing my neck. My hands trace his back, while I concentrate on everything his touch makes me feel.

He then abruptly stops and looks up to my eyes.

I push one of his loose hair strains behind his left ear.

“Why stop?”, I ask, ready for more.

His mouth forms into a smirk. “Nasty business, enjoying oneself in the Ratway, innit?

Still holding his gaze, I start chewing on my lower lip.

“Makes it even more enjoyable”, I claim and then lean in for a kiss. When our lips part, his eyes wander from my mouth to my neck and then to my...

“You're a quick one to take off your clothes, lass.”, he says, obviously pleased by the sight.

Then he slowly lifts his eyes to meet mine, his face bearing an unsteady expression, as if he saw something that sparked a hunger in him.

Aroused by his behaviour, I press my body against his and seal my arms around him.

Starting out very passionately, our kissing becomes more and more violent.

He picks me up and carries me to the tiny space hidden between the walls of the hall, just beside the entrance to the Ragged Flagon.

Then he lays me down gently and positions himself to unveil the rest of my upper body.

Suddenly he stops.

“What's wrong?”, I ask.

He tilts his head, as if he heard something and quickly steadies himself. After giving me another passionate kiss, he sighs. “Hate to part from you, my love, but I wouldn't want any other man seeing you like this.”

I smile and cover myself quickly. “Go on, but next time it'll be my legs tangled around your back that are gonna keep you from leaving.”, I counter.

“Can't wait for that to happen”, he grins and then quickly slides out of our hidden space.

“Bryn?”, I hear Vipir saying.

“Aye, what do you need?”

“You talking to the rats?", Viper says nonchalantly.

Slowly, I press myself against the stone to make sure Vipir can't catch any sight of me.

While I may seem quite still, it's very hard to try not to burst into laughter.

If Vipir appeared merely seconds after he actually did, he would've caught Bryn and me amidst ...

“Nah, lad, I'm just catching a break. Come on, let's have a drink.”, Bryn says, as I hear their footsteps slowly disappear.

[ragingbookdragon]

Of Threats & First Meetings PT.2

A Brynjolf x F!Dragonborn Story

Warnings: None Word Count: 1,228

Author’s Note: Wow, so it’s been like eight months since I made PT. 1, so I figured I’d do part two now. Enjoy!

“Well lass, welcome to the family. I'm expecting you to make us a lot of coin, so don't disappoint me."

She snorted at his slight congratulations and looked over at him. “Then prepare to be disappointed because that’s all I am.” Ignoring his cocked eyebrow, she asked, “So, tell me about this job I’m supposed to be doing.”

Brynjolf nodded at her, explaining, “Goldenglow Estate is a bee farm over a ways on the lake. They raise the wretched little things for honey. It's owned by some smart-mouth high elf named Aringoth. We need you to teach him a lesson by burning down three of the estate's hives and clearing out the safe in the main house.”

Curiously, she looked at him. “You mean the place that’s near Merryfair farm?” The auburn-haired Nord nodded at her question and she grunted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Well…horse shit. I wish I’d’ve known what you guys wanted from there when I was inside a few days ago.”

He blinked in shock. “Wait, you’ve already been inside Goldenglow?”

Her face warmed and she sunk her neck into her shoulders, murmuring, “I saw the beehives as I was walking along the road. Bees make good alchemic potions when mixed the right ingredients.” She waved a hand, brushing off her excuse. “Anyway, is that all we need from there? The safe contents and three hives burned?” He nodded and she turned, marching off towards the ladder.

He shook his head, calling out to her, “Wait lass! You didn’t even get your armor from Tonilia!”

She raised a hand at him and continued to the ladder, quipping, “Don’t need it. I’ll be back in about two hours.”

           “What about Vex!”

           She spun and added, rather cockily, “Bryn, if I’ve already been inside, why would I go and talk to someone who couldn’t?” Brynjolf’s jaw went slack and she winked before climbing the ladder.

***

 Word of their newest member’s success had spread through the guild like fire on a hillside, or like fire on beehives, but Brynjolf had yet to see her return. He waited patiently, eyes scanning over the documents for the next few shipments they were going to receive, when a bag plopped down on the table in front of him with a wet thunk. He looked up from the pages, eyes going wide with momentary shock that quickly gave way to amusement. The Nord placed the pages down, opening up the damp satchel. “Decide to take a bath while you were there, eh lass?”

He drew his gaze to her, watching as her face pinched with irritation, and she griped, “I didn’t have time to cast an invisibility spell once the hives were on fire. Mercs were swarming the area.”

           “So, you took a dive into the lake to get away. You know there’s a bridge that leads to the island, right?”

She grunted, dropping into the seat across from him, eyes directed up to the ceiling as she lolled her head back. “Thank you, Captain Obvious. I was aware of the bridge. Again, mercenaries were crawling out of the woodworks. I didn’t have a lot of options.” Sighing, she looked at him. “Regardless, something bigger is going on than what we’re seeing.” She nodded at the letter he pulled out. “He sold Goldenglow.”

Brynjolf’s green eyes went wide and he glanced down at the letter, reading quickly, muttering, “Aringoth sold Goldenglow? What's that idiot thinking? He has no idea the extent of Maven's fury when she's been cut out of a deal, but I'm certain he'll find out. If only the parchment had the buyer's name instead of this odd symbol. Any idea what that might be?”

She shook her head, propping her feet up on the table, eyeing the other thieves walking around. “Dunno. I just lifted the key and went to the basement.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You didn’t even talk to him?”

She hummed, scratching at the oak table. “Nah. I’m pretty sure that even if I did, he wouldn’t give me much. I just got the information and came back.” Eyeing him, she murmured, “I’m sure your sources would have a better chance at getting info than I would.”

He grunted, placing the latter back on the table. “Blast. Well, I'll check my sources and speak to Mercer. But for now, you're off to speak to Maven Black-Briar. She asked for you by name."

Her face pinched again, and she grumbled, “I have to talk to that old hag? For what?”

Brynjolf chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest as he countered, “That's between you and Maven and I prefer to keep it that way. Don't worry about it. Maven's business dealings usually involve quite a bit of gold for her people."

Scoffing, she reached down and wrung the leftover water from her tavern skirt. “I’m not worried about Maven. She doesn’t even make my top one hundred list of things that worry me.”

He regarded her with a curious, but cautious look as he murmured, “You don’t seem to be afraid of much lass. Even with someone like Maven, who wields the Dark Brotherhood.” She arched an eyebrow, reaching into the bag. One after the other, she tossed letters his way, watching as he opened them and read them silently.

When he was finished, he looked back at her and she declared, “Whoever this Astrid is has sent at least six assassins after me.” She dropped her feet to the floor, leaning over to whisper, “If Maven ever wants me dead, she’d have to do it herself because so far, the Dark Brotherhood is nothing but a group of the worst assassins I’ve ever seen.” Rising, she gathered her things, slinging the satchel over her body. “You’re right about one thing Brynjolf. I’m not afraid of much. In fact, there’s nothing I’m afraid of.” Casting one last glance at him, she advised, “Everything in Tamriel should be more afraid of me.” She sauntered off to the other table, placing down a small bee statue in front of Delvin, beginning to broker a payment for it.

He gazed at her for a moment, watching the way she crossed her arms under her breasts in an effort to distract the thief, then looked back at the notes she’d tossed him. He’d never met Astrid like Delvin had, but he knew her and her sanctuary’s reputation. If his newest guildmate was tough enough to take out six assassins and get into a manor swarming with mercenaries undetected, he needed to do some digging. No one was this good, and as much as he believed in luck, this catch was too lucky for his taste. She moved with a silent grace that stunned him. So many times, she appeared beside him before he could even realize she was there. And he only realized it because she let him. Her stealth was only rivaled by her cockiness in her—no, not cockiness—she wasn’t cocky for the sake of being so. She had the skill to back up her word. He observed her as she grinned at Delvin, pocketing the gold he’d paid her for the statue. Feeling eyes on her, she glanced over, meeting Brynjolf’s. A bolt of understanding flashed between them and she drew her fingers across Delvin’s shoulders as she made her way to the cistern.

[ragingbookdragon]

Of Threats and First Meetings

A Brynjolf X F!Dragonborn One-Shot!

Warning: Explicit Language, Mentions of Violence Author’s Note: Congratulations everyone, my hyperfixation has gone from Castlevania back to Skyrim! So guess what type of fics you’ll be getting from now until the next fixation??? YOU GUESSED CORRECTLY!

Her legs ached with each step she took, but she pushed through it, descending the steps into The Ragged Flagon. She took note of the intimidating Nord standing at the walkway, but her rope had become too frayed to even pay any mind to his threat as she crossed over the wooden path. She stopped short of the tables and scanned the dingy bar until she came across the man she’d been looking for. Walking over, she placed her hands on the edge of the table and asked, “You Brynjolf?” The scarlet haired Nord didn’t look up from his cards as he lazily retorted,

           “I might be. And that might depends on what is it you’re after.” She pulled the chair out and plopped down, listening to the scabbard of her dragon sword scrape against the back.

           “I’m looking for an old man named Esbern. He’s in danger and I need to find him before it finds him first.” Finally, he looked up, regarding her with curious green eyes.

           “I’ve heard the rumors of the Dragonborn…bound in the scales of dragons…wielding blades made from their bones...” He paused, gazing at the iron mask she wore. “Wearing a mask taken from the Dragon Priest of Valthume.” She narrowed her eyes behind her mask, but kept her voice level as she said,

           “Glad to know my reputation precedes me.” She scratched a finger in the table, adding, “I didn’t even have time to get back to Riverwood.” Looking at him, she muttered, “The Thalmor are hot on my heels, and if I don’t find Esbern before they do, I’m in trouble. Can you help me?” He chuckled, laying the cards on the table as he reclined in his chair, quipping,

           “Expecting free information, eh? Help me deal with business first, then we'll see how I can help you. Besides, you look like your pockets are a little light on coin, am I right?" She ignored the stab of irritation that soared through her chest and she leaned forward, retorting,

           “Let me find him first. Dragons are bad for business.” Brynjolf hummed.

           “Passing on a golden opportunity is worse." She could feel her eye twitch as the annoyance began melting into something darker, and much worse.

           “I understand you’re probably in need of help, but this is more important.” The Nord shrugged, eyes going back to his cards as he finalized,

           “And I'm busy. You help me out, and I'll help you out. That's just how it is." After almost two months of constant running and fighting across the land, being told what to do over and over, no one listening to what she wanted, and counting the two full days of sprinting from Solitude to Riften, something inside her snapped, and she brought her arm up fast as a thunderbolt, slamming the dragon bone dagger into the table. The sound silenced everyone in the bar and Brynjolf barely had time to look up at her before he was jerked forward by his collar, coming face to face with the iron masked Dragonborn. Fury colored her voice as she hissed,

           “Listen and listen well you thieving bastard. I have been busting my ass ever since finding out I was the Dragonborn. I have poured my sweat, I have poured my blood, and I have poured my tears into making this work. And still it’s not enough. I’m still being jerked around my assholes who don’t think I’m not good enough to be the Dragonborn. Do you know what I do to assholes who think they have the balls to talk shit like that to my face?” He didn’t say anything, and she spat, “I burn the alive with my Thu’um.” She paused, tightening her fingers, and he swallowed thickly. “You know that dragon that was at Helgen? The giant black one? The one who’s raising all the other dragons back from the grave?” He nodded and she snapped, “That was The World Eater.” His green eyes widened. “Alduin has returned and I’m the only one who can stop him. If the Thalmor kill Esbern, then I can’t stop him, and we’re all fucked. So how ‘bout you do me a favor and tell me where he is before I make you.” For a moment, he didn’t say anything, then he murmured,

           “Your guy's hiding out in the Ratway Warrens and paying us good coin for nobody to know about it. Well, until now that is. Tell you what. Go ahead and deal with your business for now. When you're done, find me and we'll deal with mine." Brynjolf pointed to the door leading past the bar, adding, “Thalmor agents went in a few minutes ago.” She let him go, yanking the dagger from the table to shove it back into her belt. He breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short lived as she reached behind her and pulled the dragon bone longsword from her back. Pointing it at him, she threatened,

           “If he’s dead, then you’d better start running. Because there isn’t a place between here and Oblivion that can give you safe harbor from me.” She spun on her heel, shoving past the older, bald-headed man, and headed for the door. As she disappeared inside it, the older man sat down beside Brynjolf, wondering,

           “I do believe that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you cave like that Bryn.” The auburn headed man hummed, narrowing his eyes as a deafening shout and pained screams echoed behind the closed door.

           “I’ve never been threatened by someone who can breathe fire before Delvin.” He looked over at the older man, a smirk crossing his lips. “But something tells me that she’d going to be back real soon.” Delvin scoffed, a grin playing his lips too as he countered,

           “That woman is going to eat you alive.”

[fandom-imagines]

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

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

“So, you’re my soulmate,”

“Seems that way,”

[tales-unique]

LITTLE BIRD — Brynjolf

Skyrim is thrust into the harsh grip of winter during Evening Star and Nocturnal's blessings are plentiful for the Thieves Guild during the season of the Thief. Brynjolf basks in their new found prosperity, taking a chance to enjoy himself, and spots the perfect opportunity when he finds himself embroiled in a chance encounter with you, a mysterious Mage consort during his bid to enjoy the splendors of hard paid work.

LITTLE BIRD ( ONE SHOT )

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