#brynjolf smut | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gloomwitchwrites · 5 months

Text

Lavender: Part One

Brynjolf x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): second chances, past relationship, angst, kidnapping, denial of feelings, referenced harassment (non-graphic), suggestive themes

Word Count: 6.2k

Working as a lady's maid to Jarl Laila Law-Giver is supposed to provide you peace and a steady income, but your old life is quickly catching up to you. An old flame comes knocking, bringing you flowers and reminding you of the affection you've missed. Do you keep running? Or do you finally face the future you've always wanted but fear you'll lose again?

Part Two

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

The dawn has not yet risen. It is near, but there is still time yet before the sun’s warm glow breaks the horizon. Sunrises in Skyrim are your favorite. It is one of the reasons why you greet the day so early.

From your apron, you withdraw two tiny bundles wrapped in simple beige cloth. It is not much, but it is good to give something to the gods whenever you visit a shrine. Even a simple prayer is a gift, but today you have more than just your voice.

Before you is a Shrine of Talos, located against Riften’s eastern wall. The shrine is slightly secluded and situated in a curved corner near Mistveil Keep and Black-Briar Manor. To your left is a small graveyard that backs up to the Hall of the Dead and the Temple of Mara. Other than an occasional guardsman that walks past, there is no one else around.

It is quiet. Peaceful. Just as it always is at this hour.

Behind the shrine is a statue of Talos himself. He towers over you, helmeted head slightly bent as if he too is in prayer. Trees with golden leaves create a half-circle around the back and sides of the shrine. At your feet, near the stone base, are little flowers springing forth from the ground.

Warmer weather is coming, and they are reaching out to seek it.

Unwrapping one bundle, you gently retrieve three gold coins. From there, you deposit the gold coins into the small silver bowl before the shrine. They clink softly in the subdued dark. The candles surrounding the shrine burn low, their stunted, melted bodies showing their use.

From the other bundle, you carefully remove a small handful of flowers, placing those in the bowl next to the gold coins. Your offerings do not amount to much, but it is all you can spare.

While working at Mistveil Keep for Jarl Laila Law-Giver has given you job security, the pay isn’t nearly as good as you originally believed it to be. Most of what you earn is used to feed, clothe, and house yourself. While Mistveil Keep provides all this, a portion of your earnings is still taken as a small fee to cover those costs. When you first accepted the job, the fee didn’t bother you because that practice is standard across all Jarl residences.

But once you received your first earnings, you realized quickly how little ended up in your hands. You always save just a few gold coins for yourself. The rest is sent away to your ailing mother and cranky aunt who are far from Riften.

Although you have little, you always make the effort to leave offerings at Talos’ shrine. The practice is not for you, but for your father and brothers. They are no longer here, but they all perished as any Nord should, with weapon in hand. That is why you come to the shrine to pray.

You pray that they are happily feasting in Sovngarde. You pray that they at least have each other.

Standing before the shrine, you bring your clasped hands against your chest, head bent just like Talos. Your lips move silently.

When the final word is whispered, you breathe deep, and drop your hands at your sides. Glancing up, you stare at Talos’ face, admiring the craftsmanship of the sculptor’s work. It is then that you notice a change in the air.

A disturbance.

A subtle shift.

It is not the direction of the wind. It is an old sense. Ancient. Prey noticing predator.

You’re being watched.

“You’re not as sneaky as you think you are,” you say, glancing over your shoulder toward the small graveyard.

Brynjolf leans against one of the gravestones.

Even with his hood up and cowl in place, you know the shape of him. You know his body language, and the casualness that comes with it. He’s so relaxed in his leather armor. You remember when he first put that armor on. He wasn’t nearly as muscular then but that was many years ago, and now it fits him like a snug glove. Amongst the public eye, Brynjolf forgoes the armor for more luxurious fare, pretending to be something he isn’t.

But he never hides who he truly is with you.

Never.

Slowly, Brynjolf pushes off from the gravestone, strolling over with a swagger that brings a bit of heat to your cheeks.

“That’s because you know my habits, lass,” he replies, a tease in his tone that always flips your stomach.

You turn toward him fully, pushing your wanton anxiousness down until your heart is Skyforged Steel. But Brynjolf keeps walking, clearly intending to leave no space between the two of you. You do not budge from your spot, and he comes to a stop just inches away. Like this, he towers over you, invading your space.

“Why have you interrupted my morning prayer?” you ask, using every ounce of willpower not to touch him.

Brynjolf chuckles softly and the sound of it is a hammer against tempered metal. This man is going to break you down. “Is that what you were doing?”

You playfully shove at him, the instinct to touch him too much for your weak control. Brynjolf snags your wrist right out of the air. Using his grip on your arm, Brynjolf tugs you against him, pinning your wrist to him. Your free hand reflexively rises, pressing against one of the leather straps across his chest.

All you can see are his eyes. They shine like emeralds even in the dark.

“You come here almost every morning,” he murmurs.

“I do,” you snap, regaining some composure. “And you also bother me almost every morning.”

“Is that right, lass?” Brynjolf’s thumb rubs over your pulse point. The pressure sends a little shiver through your body. “Do I bother you?” He adds a bit more pressure and you inhale sharply. Brynjolf leans down like he’s about to kiss you, but he doesn’t lower the cowl. “I think you’re lying.”

You are lying. Brynjolf doesn’t bother you. Never has. The two of you are forever linked by an invisible teether.

You avoid the accusation. “Why are you here?”

Just above the lip of the cowl, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkling. He’s finding this exchange incredibly amusing.

“To give you these.” He releases your hand and takes a step back. With your wrist free, you immediately tuck your hands to your sides, his touch still lingering on your skin.

Reaching behind him, Brynjolf tugs on something and then brings it out in front of him. There are stalks of lavender and bundles of different colored flowers that grow in the mountains grasped in his fist. The bouquet is slightly squished and several of the flowers are missing petals.

“You only ever give me flowers when you want something,” you blurt, immediately regretting not thanking him instead.

Brynjolf doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t seem to mind at all that you haven’t shown gratitude.

“You know what I want,” he says softly. He transfers the flowers to one hand, and then reaches up, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. It is a gentle gesture, one that pushes you toward sweet memories that seems so distant now.

You shake your head. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

He knows why. The two of you have been playing this game for years.

“My family,” you insist. That is always the excuse, and it’s a poor one, because there is so much more beneath the surface.

Brynjolf sighs but it’s not with annoyance. The two of you do this dance every time. It plays out in the same routine.

“I have contacts in Solitude,” says Brynjolf. “I can have them check on your mother.”

“My mother is fine,” you insist.

Brynjolf shifts slightly on his feet. “Do you even know if she’s alive? When did you last visit?”

You hold your head high. “I receive letters.”

“From your mother? Or your aunt?”

All your stubbornness evaporates. Your mouth turns down in a frown and your face falls. Brynjolf steps into your space again, his voice becoming a caress. “Let me help, lass.”

“I’m fine,” you reply. “Been doing well on my own.”

These last few years have entirely been on your shoulders. You’ve carried the family burden, and a Voice that you’ve kept silent since the deaths of your father and brothers.

“Have you?” Brynjolf’s voice is still gentle. He is not a soft man, but with you, he’s different. Always has been.

“Yes,” you answer, still not looking at him.

“How’s the palace? The Jarl?”

“The Jarl is fine.” You glance up at him and Brynjolf arches an eyebrow. “A good employer,” you insist.

“How much are you earning?”

“Enough.”

Brynjolf grunts, his upper body retreating slightly. He doesn’t believe you, and you don’t blame him. It really isn’t enough, but you’re not going to admit that to him. Brynjolf used to be part of your life, and no matter how much he tries to fit himself back in, you know you’ll only drag him down if you do.

He holds out the flowers to you. “Take them.”

“Give them to Talos.” You nod in the direction of the shrine.

Brynjolf laughs. “They’re for you, lass.” He bends forward a bit, whispering. “And what would the Heir to the Seat of Sundered Kings do with flowers?”

“I offered him flowers.” You indicate the small bowl next to the shrine.

“So you did, lass.” Brynjolf removes a few of the lavender stalks and tosses them into the bowl. “Talos can have those, but the rest are for you.”

Brynjolf holds the bouquet out in front of him. Reaching for them, Brynjolf’s fingers brush against your own. The contact is liquid fire, flooding through your limbs.

“Thank you. They are lovely.”

Yes, they are slightly smashed and wilted, but it is the thought that counts. Brynjolf went out of his way to pick them and bring them to you even if his motivations for doing so are completely selfish ones.

You just—you can’t let him back in, even though you long for it.

Brynjolf’s fingertips lightly graze the underside of your chin. “Turn around, lass. I need to disappear.”

You giggle, giving him your back, clutching the flowers to your chest. You lean in and inhale, eyelids closing slightly in pleasure.

The wind kicks up, and the grass rustles. You exhale and glance over your shoulder.

Brynjolf is gone.

Jarls are some of the messiest people you’ve ever met.

Perhaps it’s because they have a fleet of people constantly waiting on them. They have no reason to care about what they do because an attendant will swoop in and fix it all. Someone else will always clean up the mess.

Right now, you’re staring at chaos.

There are empty bottles of wine and Black-Briar Reserve scattered everywhere. Amongst the bottles are plates, goblets, and platters. The Jarl’s private balcony is trashed, and you’ve been left to clean it all up on your own.

It’s…fine. The quiet will be nice, and the spring air is cool compared to the heat within Mistveil Keep. You’ve been helping in the kitchens all day, and this is the first time you haven’t felt like you’ve been stuffed inside an oven.

Sighing loudly, you start piling up plates and platters. Anything that still held food is long gone, likely sent back to the kitchen to be quietly distributed amongst staff to reduce waste. Sig, one of the kitchen maids, is always taking scraps to the beggars.

Once the plates and platters are removed, you begin to clear the empty bottles and goblets, washing your hands before returning to sweep. With broom in hand, you survey the private patio.

You turn. Glance up. Stifle a scream.

Between the balcony railing and wood awning crouches a man. One hand grasps the edge of the wood awning while the other holds a bouquet of flowers.

“Brynjolf,” you hiss, quickly resting the broom against the table with the intent to approach him. “What are you doing?”

Brynjolf’s hood is up but his cowl is down, showing off the rest of his handsome face.

“Bringing you a gift,” he says simply, as if that is a perfectly logical thing to do at this exact moment.

The worst part about his sudden appearance is his smile. You adore that smile. It is a teasingly soft thing with just the slightest hint of mischievousness.

“Right now?”

He shrugs, slipping to the floor, unfurling to his full height. “Couldn’t wait.”

“By the Nine, Brynjolf,” you exclaim, raising one arm in exasperation. “Sometimes you are just an insufferable—”

Your next words are snatched from your lungs. It only takes Brynjolf two large strides to intrude into your space. You have nowhere to go, and he is right there, both hands grasping your waist.

“No comment about me wanting something, lass?” he asks with a gentle croon.

That sweet sound melts your bones. “The answer is still no,” but even you don’t believe what you say.

Brynjolf murmurs your name, his head dipping.

“We can’t. We live different lives.” At this point you’re simply making excuses.

“You were almost mine once,” he says, voice a whisper.

“We were children.”

“We were young,” he corrects, lightly squeezing your waist. “But we knew what we wanted.”

You did. He did. And then you didn’t. Everything changed and the only thing you had left in the world was your mother who couldn’t even help herself. And there was no one to help you. Not even Brynjolf.

When you don’t answer, Brynjolf rests his forehead against your own. “What can you give me?”

He asks so sweetly, and the old memories are hard to ignore. They bubble up to the surface only to sink into bone and blood, flooding you with the peacefulness you once knew with him.

You’re going to regret these next words.

“You can have a kiss.”

Brynjolf’s hold on your waist tightens. He draws you in, bodies pressed close. One hand slides slowly up your side, stopping at your throat. Brynjolf’s hand is large enough to cradle the bottom half of your cheek.

Everything in you stutters for a moment, and then Brynjolf is right there, hovering as if unsure of this offering. Maybe it is the emotion on your face or his own need moving him to action, because the distance closes and you suddenly realize just how much you missed this.

Brynjolf’s kiss is all tenderness. He doesn’t smash his mouth against yours or use too much tongue. You are lost in this, opening for him, and he takes it.

His hands fall away only to slide to the backs of your thighs. He lifts, and your arms immediately drape around the back of his neck. He brings you to rest on top of the table.

You promised him one kiss, but giving him more won’t hurt. You can give those to him.

Brynjolf’s hands slide to the tops of your thighs and then downward. With an ardent quickness, Brynjolf pushes your skirts and apron up, exposing your bare thighs to the cool air. You don’t even blink because it’s him.

His kisses deepen. Lengthen. His hands are on your bare thighs, caressing. They move up, and then one hand dips between.

His touch upon your sensitive skin makes you gasp, breaking the kiss.

“Oh, lass,” he groans. “You do miss me.”

He presses in and you moan, his mouth coming down to stifle the sound. With one hand on your upper thigh, Brynjolf drags you to the very edge of the table, slotting himself between your legs.

There is a loud clatter followed by a laugh. You both freeze, slowly easing apart but Brynjolf keeps his hand between your thighs.

You wait a beat before you speak. “You need to go.”

Slowly, achingly so, Brynjolf withdraws from your body. Almost absently, he brings that glossy finger up to his mouth. His gaze remains on the door to the Jarl’s chambers as he sucks it clean.

Only then does he turn to face you.

His face is grim like he doesn’t want to leave you out here alone.

“Go,” you insist, squeezing his upper arm. “Before you’re caught.”

That gorgeous grin of his returns in full force. He steals one more kiss before retreating to the railing. He pulls up the cowl, covering his mouth, and swings one leg over the side. He glances back once before sliding off and disappearing into the dark.

Brynjolf does not come to see you the next day or the next.

You’re not sure if somethings happened, but extended absences are not uncommon for him. You know who he is and what he does, but even you aren’t sure of the specifics. That part of his life is closed off. Only those who walk with him in the Thieves Guild completely understand. There are always the rumors you hear from others, but it doesn’t change your perception of him.

But that is not what worries you. Never has. Brynjolf can take care of himself.

It is the Jarl’s son, Harrald, that concerns you. That cretin of a man has a lingering eye, staring for far too long. The man is wholly arrogant, but he’s smart. Harrald never says anything to you in front of his mother or anyone that might report him for his poor behavior.

Instead, he watches, keeping a close eye on your every step.

His stare is like the slime scraped off the sides of ships. Nasty business, and you don’t want any part in it.

But just as Harrald has a wandering eye, he has wandering hands.

It is why you’re pacing, why you are out in the middle of the night on a walk to clear your head. You stick to the outer wall on the eastern side near Talos’ shrine, walking in one direction and then the other. Pacing and thinking and worrying.

How do you approach this issue? And who can you tell? Who would believe you?

“Need some company?”

You yelp, and whirl around, only for Brynjolf to melt from the shadows.

He chuckles softly. “Didn’t mean to scare ya, lass.” He starts walking in your direction. “But—” Brynjolf freezes. Pauses.

His gaze roams over you before his legs find the will to move again. “What’s wrong?”

Do you look that bad?

You start to reach up toward your hair, but Brynjolf is grasping your hands, bringing them to chest-level, inspecting them. “You’re shaking.”

Is that what this feeling is?

“I’m fine,” you say, but it sounds of drowning.

“You’re not.” Brynjolf’s tone is firm. You’re upset and he wants to fix it.

“It’s nothing,” you whisper.

“Did someone hurt you?” You shake your head. “Say something?”

“No, Bryn.” The little pet name rolls off your tongue uninvited.

Either he doesn’t notice or he doesn’t say anything because Brynjolf continues.

“But you are not fine.” He cups your cheek. “Your face is puffy. And your eyes are red.” He gently squeezes the hand he’s holding. “Your hands are cold. Talk to me.”

You sniffle, only realizing then how stuffy you sound. “I’m probably imagining things. Making a big deal out of nothing.”

“I don’t believe that.” Brynjolf’s words are a comfort. They slide over and around you. If anyone in Riften will believe you, it’s him.

“It’s the Jarl’s son. He—” You pause when you notice the deep frown on Brynjolf’s face.

“Go on,” he prompts.

“He—he touched me. At dinner. Maybe?”

“Touched you?”

You start to draw back, regretting saying anything at all. “It was probably an accident.”

“Which son?” he growls. The anger in his voice surprises you.

“Harrald.”

Brynjolf’s frown deepens. “No. It wasn’t an accident. Not with him.”

“Bryn. What should I do?” This job is the only thing keeping you afloat. You need this.

The muscles in his jaw tenses. “Steer clear of him if you can. Make sure you’re never alone with him.” He places his hands on your shoulders. “Is there someone there you can trust? Someone who will listen?”

“I think so.”

Anuriel would listen. She might be the Jarl’s steward, but she has a good heart and looks after everyone.

Brynjolf’s hands cradle the sides of your face. “If he touches you again, say something. Understood?”

You nod.

“Good girl.” He kisses the top of your head. “I’ll walk you back.”

“In that?” you laugh, indicating his Thieves Guild armor with a nod of your head.

“From the shadows, lass,” he teases.

“Finally. Didn’t think I’d ever have a moment alone with you.”

The familiar, arrogantly slimy voice sticks to the insides of your ears. You are in the market. You are not alone. And yet Harrald is right there, standing far too close, grinning widely.

You swallow, the salvia in your throat momentarily sticking. “How can I help you?”

Harrald’s grin widens, and he leans in. You immediately lean back. He makes no indication that your retreat bothers him.

“You’ve been making eyes at me.”

I haven’t you rodent.

“I’m sorry. You’re mistaken.”

He laughs. “I’m not.”

You quickly glance around but no one is paying the two of you any mind. “Apologies, sir. But I—”

Harrald shrugs and then waves his hand dismissively. “Hard to get is fine. I’m up for a chase.”

“That’s not—”

“I’ll play.”

“My lord, that is not—”

His voice lowers and some of his smile recedes. “Pretty thing like you needs a bit of taming.”

A shadow falls over Harrald’s face. You sense a presence to your left just behind your shoulder. The fading smile on Harrald’s face evaporates. In its place is a deep frown.

“You’re interrupting,” spits Harrald, head turning in the direction of the intruder.

“She said she isn’t interested.”

Brynjolf. Thank the Nine.

Harrald stands stall, puffing out his chest. It does little for him. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes,” says Brynjolf flatly. He steps around you, inserting himself between Harrald’s red face and your body.

“I could have you locked up for this!”

“We both have connections,” replies Brynjolf casually. He leans and lowers his voice. “Mine just go a bit deeper.”

Harrald’s reddened face loses all color. He begins to blubber, mouth opening and closing like a fish on a hook. Brynjolf takes a deliberate step forward, completely cutting off Harrald’s connection to you.

The paleness is replaced by redness again.

“You—” begins Harrald, his lip curling. He glances around, and this time there is an audience.

Harrald inhales sharply and turns on his heel, storming back toward Mistveil Keep, shoving a guardsman out of the way as he ascends the steps. Brynjolf doesn’t address you until Harrald has disappeared.

But Brynjolf does not speak. He simply inclines his head in your direction before moving back to his stall. The chatter of the market resumes, and you go about your business.

Harrald leaves you alone the rest of the day, but you remain on edge. The tension sticks around until bed, keeping you awake and alert as if Harrald will appear at any moment.

Sleep eventually comes but you hardly notice when you drift off. But your body knows routine, and you awaken at the time you usually do for morning prayer.

The ground is covered in a low mist and the grass is dew-laced. Head hurting from lack of sleep, you stumble through your routine. And when the air stirs, your alertness sharpens, the thread of excitement rushing through your limbs.

You turn, expecting to find Brynjolf.

You do not find him.

Instead, you find two men. Both are tall. One is thin and lanky with greasy yellow hair. The other is burly and balding with his face all scarred.

The burly man grins, showing missing teeth.

You don’t even see or feel the blow.

It’s just their faces. And then darkness.

“What are we supposed to do with her?”

“He said rough her up a bit. Just avoid the face. He likes that.”

You stare at the grimy stone wall. With the lack of light, you can’t tell if the stone is scorched or simply weathered. Distantly you hear dripping, and faint rattling as if something moves behind the stone. If something does, you don’t want to know.

When you breathe in, a dampness clings to the air, sticking to the insides of your lungs. It’s not exactly foul-smelling wherever you are, but it certainly isn’t pleasant. You are underground, that much you know, and there is only one place in Riften that is entirely beneath the earth.

“She awake?” comes a nasally voice. It’s the one that mentioned he wants you “roughed up.”

“I don’t know.” This is the first voice. It is low and droll.

You’re in the Ratway. You’re certain of it. But where, exactly? The place is large. It is easy to lose yourself in the maze of tunnels.

“Well find out.”

You stay perfectly still as one of the men approaches.

“She ain’t moving.”

Beside you, part of the wall crumbles outward. Slowly, you reach out, fingers finding a solid chunk. Within you, there is a Voice, but you haven’t used it in years, and the power you once wielded is a distant memory.

That is tucked away. You’re not even sure if you remember how to use it or if you might do more harm than good.

“Give her a kick.”

Grip tightening on the broken stone, you turn over and hurl it. The chunky rock nearly collides with the burly, balding man. They both start, faces awash with surprise before anger crosses their faces.

The greasy, yellow haired man’s mouth forms a snarl. He approaches quickly, fists raised. “You—”

But the blow never comes.

His head is there and then it’s not.

It is at your feet. The eyes looking upward, and the mouth shaped into an exaggerated “o.”

The one with his head still on stands there, glancing down at his friend’s unattached head. There is a beat of silence. A pause as his gaze turns to you.

Before either of you can speak or move, a thin blade bursts through the man’s neck.

His eyes go wide, hands reaching up in disbelief. His mouth opens, gasping for air he cannot inhale. The blade slides out. Disappears.

The bloody gurgling increases in volume as he falls face-first into the ground. It tapers off as you push yourself against the gently curving wall. You glance up from the black pool quickly forming beneath him.

In the shadows, something moves in the dark.

You reach for another stone, ready to throw the thing. The moving shadow emerges, and you promptly drop it.

“Brynjolf,” you breathe.

“Lass.” He reaches for you, and you throw yourself into his arms.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, hands roaming as he inspects you.

You take stalk of yourself. Nothing hurts expect a faint throb at the side of your head. “I think I’m all right.”

Brynjolf wraps his arms around you, and you melt into him, clinging so tight the buckles across his chest dig against your skin.

“Take me away from here, Bryn.”

“You can’t expect me to stay here.”

When you told Brynjolf to take you away, you meant above ground, not to Thieves Guild headquarters.

A Guild member strolls by and Brynjolf grabs your arm, pulling you further into the dark. “Mercer isn’t all that inclined in letting you go.”

The two of you stand nearly toe-to-toe in one of the alcoves surrounding the cistern. It’s not well-lit, and your voices are hushed, but this is a conversation between the two of you. No one else needs to take part.

“Why?” you hiss, already knowing.

“He thinks you’ll compromise us,” replies Brynjolf calmly, but you hear the subtle tension. Even he doesn’t entirely believe what he’s saying.

“Everyone already knows the Thieves Guild operates out of the Ratway,” you insist. “They already know you’re down here. How will I change anything?”

Brynjolf glances over your shoulder and you follow his gaze. Mercer Frey stands in the middle of the cistern with two others. One is a woman with white hair and a permanent scowl. The other is a man who keeps glancing at the scowling woman with a soft smirk.

Brynjolf sighs, his head dipping slightly. “Yes, lass. But where? They don’t know and they don’t dare come looking. Not with Maven in their way.”

You scoff. “And you trust her?”

“As long as money is involved.”

You shake your head and look away to a spot over his shoulder. Discovery of where the Thieves Guild is located isn’t the point. Mercer intends to trap you here. Either you stay down here with all of them, or potentially put your life at risk.

Brynjolf lowers his voice. “Mercer won’t harm you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Because it’s true. Brynjolf would intercede if it came to that. The issue is with not being allowed to go.

“I’m not a prisoner,” you finish, returning your gaze to Brynjolf’s face.

“You aren’t.”

“But I can’t go.”

Brynjolf laughs softly and it’s a lovely sound. “You want to run from me that badly?” he teases.

“Be serious,” you hiss.

“I am,” his tone shifting. Brynjolf moves closer, shielding you from the cistern. “You keep running and it has gotten you nowhere.”

“Don’t,” you begin but Brynjolf isn’t having it.

He leans in, placing both hands against the stone wall behind you. You’re trapped. Pinned. Wherever you look, wherever you turn, it will only be him.

“You’re running from yourself. From your family. From me.”

“Brynjolf,” you warn, but he ignores it.

“You say you don’t want me but we both know that’s a lie.”

You huff and attempt to dip under his arm. He moves with you, keeping you in place. Shooting him a warning look does nothing.

“Listen to me, lass,” he murmurs. “You don’t shy away from my touch. You always give me soft smiles. Kind words. Kisses.” It is then that his gaze drops to your mouth. There is clear appreciation in that look, and it instantly stirs a heat in your core.

“We almost married once.” His tone softens, and then Brynjolf’s gaze returns to your eyes. “It did not happen. But I still consider you my only option.”

You fall into memory, of the times before, of when Brynjolf meant everything to you, and your family was whole. A time when you wielded a Voice so powerful it scared you, but you knew it meant you were destined for greater things.

How quickly things change.

How quickly they fall apart.

“Don’t say that,” you murmur, shaking your head.

“Why? Can I not speak freely with you?”

“Of course you can, Bryn.”

“Then that is how I feel.”

You cross your arms over your chest, retreating slightly. Years have passed and the two of you have not faced this. Is it fate that led you to Riften? You knew Brynjolf was here, but that is because of his involvement with the Thieves Guild. Maybe you should attempt to rekindle what the two of you shared—what you still share.

There is still love there. It does not fester or wither.

It is loud and bold beneath the skin. It simmers. Lingers. Waiting for the two of you to finally find each other again. Every time you see Brynjolf, it warms you all over. You feel safe, and you silently hate it when he leaves.

“If you truly do not want me, say so,” he murmurs. “Plainly and firmly. Tell me there is no chance for the two of us to be together.”

Your gaze settles at his throat. It is the only place you can look. If you look into his eyes, if you see those emerald pools, you will drown in him.

“Bryn.”

“Look me in the eyes when you reject me.”

This makes you start, gaze snapping to attention, finding those green gems you’d know anywhere. And you are lost. Completely. You stare at him, the tension increasing until it’s a knife through the heart.

You drop your gaze. Shake your head. “That isn’t fair.”

It’s not a rejection and Brynjolf’s sigh of relief is palpable. It would be unfair to say you don’t love or want him. Because you do. You’re just—

Scared.

Brynjolf leans against the wall with one arm, dropping the other. Using that leverage, he creates an intimate space, faces close enough to come together but not meeting.

“Everything you need will be provided for if that is what you worry about. I promise you,” says Brynjolf. Casually, the backs of his knuckles brush against your upper arm. “Money will be sent to your mother. I’ve already been looking after her care.”

You blink, startled. “What do you mean?”

Brynjolf shrugs. “You think your measly earnings for the Jarl are enough?”

Your mouth opens and then closes, your mind trying to process this information. “How long has this been going on?”

Brynjolf remains quiet.

“Tell me,” you insist, lightly beating your fist against his chest.

“I’ve been sending money for many seasons.”

“Since when?”

“You know,” he says simply.

The whole reason you broke it off with Brynjolf all those years ago was because of your mother’s health and the death of your father and brothers. All that income disappeared, and you were the only person available to keep you and your mother afloat. Maybe if you had married Brynjolf, money wouldn’t have been an issue, but you didn’t want to drag him down with you. The threat of the streets was constant, and all your hopes for the future suddenly vanished.

And he’s been sending money all this time?

“You didn’t have to. Brynjolf—you shouldn’t—”

Brynjolf starts shaking his head. He pushes off from the wall, face stern. He glances back at the cistern and then returns his gaze to you. “Come with me.”

Brynjolf grabs your upper arm and pulls you away from the wall. A small part of you tells you to stick your heels in and resist because it’s all you know. But you allow him to guide you away into what must be some sort of training room.

“You didn’t need to send anything. I have it handled.”

Brynjolf has his back to you, hands on his hips. He sighs audibly and speaks. “I wanted to. Want to.”

“Bryn.”

He turns, one hand up to ask for silence. “We were to be married.” He drops it, that hand forming a fist at his side. “That didn’t just disappear for me.”

You can’t fault him for caring. It was you that severed the connection, who walked away from a good man that loved you beyond care for himself. Even now, he looks after what’s left of your family.

“Do you remember how happy we were?” he asks.

“All the time,” you reply, voice cracking slightly.

Brynjolf moves toward you, and without thought, you extend your hand to him. He takes it, pulling you into his arms, inhaling deeply of your scent.

“I’d choose you every time,” he says, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “I’d bring you a priestess of Mara. Bind ourselves to each other. Give you anything you ask for.”

Brynjolf pulls back enough to change his position. With one hand, he cups your cheek, and draws you in. “You’ll never have to work.” He hesitates, then closes the distance. The kiss he offers is sweet. Gentle. “Never worry.” Another kiss, this one tinged with a spark of fire. “I would provide.” This next kiss is deep, all need and passion. You open for him and Brynjolf groans into your mouth.

When the two of you break apart for air, his thumb begins caressing your cheek. “You know I speak truly.”

“What would I do here?”

“Whatever you want,” shrugs Brynjolf. “Could even teach you our ways.”

“I’m not becoming a member.”

Brynjolf’s smile is infectious. You can’t help but match it. “If you marry me, you do by default.” He lowers his voice. “And you know where we live.”

“Is this your way of forcing my hand?”

Brynjolf laughs. “If I was going to force you, lass, I’d have done it already.”

It’s true. Brynjolf has had years to make you his without your input. But he has always given you space. Given you time. And you do love him. You do long for the times the two of you shared together before you pulled away.

Perhaps it is time to accept, to know that his support is there and so deeply wanted on your part.

“You’ll fetch a priestess of Mara?” you ask softly.

“Right now,” he answers immediately. “If that is what you wish.”

You see the hope in his eyes, feel the anticipation in his muscles. All these years, and still you are so enamored with him, and he with you.

“You did ruin my job with the Jarl.”

“Me?” he laughs, pulling you tighter into his arms. The two of you stay like this, just embracing.

After a long moment, he finally speaks. “Is this a yes, lass?”

You take a deep breath and snuggle closer into him. “It’s a yes.”

taglist:

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

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

89 notes · View notes

lake-ilinalta · 6 years

Text

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.

#bets are great #friends are great #autocorrect is great #shots are not great #pwp #skyrim smut #skyrim x reader #skyrim fanfiction #brynjolf #brynjolf smut #brynjolf x reader #assassin reader

238 notes · View notes

accio-peach · 2 years

Text

“what did I fucking say about putting yourself in close call situations, lass?” Brynjolf growled as he pressed you against a tree after fleeing a bandit camp he specifically told you not to raid.

“what’s life without a bit of risk?” You struggled to hide your grin.

Gripping your waist, he pulled you flush against his chest, pressing his lips firmly into yours. Mumbling against your lips, “the risk isn’t worth it when your life is on the line, you greedy brat.”

#brynjolf #brynjolf x reader #skyrim #thieves guild #peach's babbles #brynjolf smut #brynjolf fanfic #skyrim au #elder scrolls

456 notes · View notes

argisthebulwark · 1 year

Text

accidentally skipped ahead and wrote the juicy bits for my longfic (the smut and the ending) and now i simply do not want to write all the in between stuff. like yeah it's a story and it lives in my head but the fun stuff's all done. it's just sitting there in that google doc.

#what am i supposed to do. connect two separate chapters?#finish writing my own story?#wrong. i'll just write smut about brynjolf and hope the rest works out

13 notes · View notes

smutty-skyrim · 4 years

Text

Keeping Quiet || Brynjolf X Reader

WARNING: NSFW

Pairing: Brynjolf x Fem!Reader

Contains: Public Sex, Mild Dirty Talk

Your heart slams against your ribs as you tear through the empty Riften streets. The cobblestone road before you is lit by the full moons looming overhead. A sack of gold jingles at your hip with each step.

Your lungs burn and your legs ache. Pinpricks of sweat dot your forehead, chilling your skin in the cool night air.

You glance over your shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of your partner, Brynjolf. With any luck he hasn't been snagged by the authorities yet. Of course, the smooth talker could surely work his way out without a hitch. Still, too much risk for your taste. Even if that is a thief's way.

You spot the man close behind, copper hair covered by his dark hood. No guards are in sight.

A smile tugs at your lips. You might actually get away with this.

You bound over a rusted metal gate. It rattles behind you as Brynjolf makes the hurtle. Just a little further and you'll be at the back entrance to the Thieves Guild and away from prying eyes.

The dewdrop covered grass of the cemetery muffles the sound of your boots. You rush past the worn, crooked headstones and into the small mausoleum. You only notice Brynjolf's arrival behind you by the shadow looming across the floor.

You press the weathered button on the sarcophagus. With the harsh sound of stone against stone, the floor opens and gives way to a familiar staircase.

A firm hand on your lower back guides you down the steps.

"Gotta love those close calls, eh, lass?" Brynjolf's hushed voice wears a chuckle. Through the shadow of his hood you see a twinkle in his emerald eyes.

"You're saying that like I had some part in this." You reply with a whisper.

"Oh? Where else do you suggest we put that blame?"

"On the guy who slapped my ass while I was trying to pick a lock." You stifle a laugh.

"Ah, but you're the one who made that precious little sound."

"You mean the yelp that got us busted?" You smirk and pull the weathered chain hanging from the wall. With a groan the ceiling above you begins to slide shut.

"That would be the one." He gives a devilish smile - the last thing you see before the entrance is closed and the alcove is submerged in darkness. "We both know you're not the best at keeping quiet."

Your face flushes. You blindly reach out in the black to smack his arm. The back of your hand slaps off leather. "I'm quiet!"

"Aye, which is why we almost always get busted when we try to have fun in-"

"The training room is just echoey!" You reply, obstinate. "That's on the room. I'm perfectly inconspicuous."

Brynjolf leans in close. His nose brushes your temple and his breath is hot on your ear. "You sound mighty confident in yourself, lass. Care to put that to the test?"

Your breath catches in your throat. "What are you suggesting?"

"A challenge of sorts." He purrs as his hand catches yours. He places a kiss by your ear and another beneath it. "What do you say?"

"What are the stakes?"

"Simple: if you lose, we get caught." His other hand finds your face. A thumb brushes your lips. Using his fingertips as a guide, his mouth finds its way to yours. His lips gently press against yours, lingering for only a moment.

"And if I win?" You ask through uneven breaths.

"Isn't this a victory enough?" He catches your lower lip between his. His hand slips from your cheek to your waist where he pulls you flush against his body. He guides you backwards, step by step, until your back is pressed to the cold stone wall. His chest is warm against you, igniting the heat in your stomach.

He trails his lips back to your ear where he nibbles on the lobe. You choke back a giggle as feather light kisses tickle their way down your neck.

You reach your free hand out. Your fingertips find his thigh and slowly trace upwards, dipping in toward his groin as they travel.

He deftly snatches your wrist and pins both of your hands to the wall above your head. Your arms are stretched, and you find yourself feeling vulnerable in his grasp.

"Not so fast there, love. I'm the one who issued the challenge. Which means I'm the one calling the shots." He says.

You whine under your breath. You arch your back and press against him. His length is pressed hard against your stomach through his leather pants.

He shifts his hands, taking both of yours in one of his and holding them tight against the wall. His free hand begins to wander. Fingers comb through your hair and trail gently down your neck. They run along your collarbone before slipping to your breasts.

He takes one in his hand through your cuirass. He sighs, squeezing and palming at an exploratory pace. He finds the movements that earn delighted gasps and keeps with them. Your face is flushed as he rubs your pert nipple through the leather. The sensation - though muted - sets a fire alight between your legs. The buffer of the fabric only makes you long for more.

His hand travels down along your stomach. He traces the waistband of your pants, chuckling as you squirm beneath his touch. Inquisitive fingers slip beneath and head to your clit.

He rubs small, gentle circles. The motions are slow and methodical. He listens for when your breath catches, judging his pace carefully.

He places a kiss on your lips. You part them, allowing his tongue to graze yours. You move with each other, each gesture building the heat.

You buck against his hand.

He picks up speed, pressing firmer against your sensitive clit.

A moan bubbles out, stifled by the kiss.

He pulls back. "Careful, lass. Don't want to get caught in any compromising positions."

You pout - something lost to the dark surrounding you.

He applies more pressure to your clit. The movements grow faster. His fingers become slick with your fluids. You writhe against his hand, desperate for more friction.

The tension between your hips builds. With hitching breath you spread your legs further.

Closer you climb. Pleasured sighs escape your lips.

"You make the sweetest sounds." Brynjolf whispers as he leans against you, hard cock pressed to your hip. "I wonder if they'll hear you cum for me."

You shake your head and stifle a giggle. They won't hear a thing. If someone comes up the exit they'll be met with dark and silence. You'll be composed as ever. You'll keep your ecstasy fluttering between your ribs, hidden from the others. Brynjolf won't get the better of you.

He pauses, pulling his fingers back and letting the still air around your swollen clit taunt you.

"Please," you whimper, "please, I'm so close."

"Ah, but I'm just getting started." He replies, honeyed voice low.

He releases your wrists and grabs hold of your pants. He yanks them down and they drop to your ankles.

"Bryn, what if someone-"

You're cut off by his lips crashing against yours. You hear his hands fumbling with the fastenings of his pants.

He grabs your legs and hoists them around his hips. His head rests at your entrance.

He breaks the kiss and returns the attention to your ear, kissing behind it and nibbling the cartilage. You each for him tangling one hand in his hair and bracing the other on his broad chest.

Slowly he pushes into you. It's done with ease. You're wet from the foreplay and your skin prickles with anticipation. His fingertips dig into your thighs.

He thrusts at an agonizing pace, taking his time and never quite reaching the hilt. He keeps his hips away from yours, keeping the noise to a minimum. Instead of the slapping of skin you hear the wet sounds of your cunt, and his deep, uneven breaths.

With each roll of hips hips, pleasure seeps through you. Your clit aches, desperate for more stimulation. It's jostled slightly as he thrusts, but it's not enough. His skin is so close, yet so far as he fucks you.

He steadily gains speed.

You try and listen past the slick sounds and to the noise of the cistern rising up from the hole in the floor nearby. You can't hear much, just faint murmuring. You hope nobody is coming, but you can't be sure. That fact alone sends a rush of warmth through your body.

"What would they think if they caught us?" Brynjolf's voice is hushed and ragged. "With how fast word travels in the guild...." His grip tightens. "The looks we'd get in the Flagon..."

He thrusts and his cock brushes a sensitive spot. It makes your toes curl. His name threatens to spill from your lips. You bite your cheeks to silence it.

His hips snap against yours. You squeak out a whine. Your face burns.

He repeats the motion. You push back against him. The small alcove is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Your ear is caught by an indistinct voice nearby. You only catch a couple of words: "... out for a bit..."

Niruin.

Your heart stops.

Brynjolf doesn't.

The thought of getting caught with him between your legs sends a spasm through your pussy. He groans. His pace verges on erratic.

Niruin can be heard from below, closer: "Try making a request before I'm heading out the door next time, would you, Rune?"

You're running out of time. He'll be at the ladder any moment, and you'll be rushing to hide your shame. You'll be fumbling to pull your pants up and brush your hair into place, but nothing will hide your frazzled face in the moonlight.

Brynjolf's hips crash into yours.

The noise. The risk. The sensation.

You bury your face in his chest as the knot releases. Waves of pleasure wash over you. You cum around his length, fluids seeping down his shaft. His motions never slow as your legs squeeze tight around him.

"Bryn-"

A hand clamps over your mouth. His name devolves into a moan - a sound that sends him over the edge. He groans, thrusting deeper, shameless in the sound your hips name. He fills you, sticky semen pumping into you.

He lingers with his hips pressed flush to yours. There are hot puffs of air against your neck as he pants.

"Well done, lass." He says. He removes his hand from your mouth and lowers your feet to the floor. You regain your balance on wobbly legs. You are suddenly acutely aware of how your limbs are trembling.

He pulls up your pants. You feel his cum leak into your panties as he fastens the button.

You only notice Niruin's approach when the wood planks covering the hole in the floor are removed. A dim light floods the area.

The elf pokes his head up and greets you.

"Oh! (Y/N). Brynjolf. See you two made it back alright." His eyes linger on your face, then shift to your partner's.

"Careful out there tonight. Seems we might have riled up the guards a bit." Brynjolf replies with forced nonchalance.

Niruin gives a chuckle - one far too knowing for your taste - and pulls the chain on the wall. "Riled up, is it?"

You narrow your eyes, staring daggers at Brynjolf. The man replies with a smirk and a halfhearted shrug.

"I'm sure I'll be just fine." Niruin says, heading up the stairs as the pathway opens before him. "You two, have fun..."

#brynjolf #skyrim x reader #skyrim smut #x reader smut #x reader oneshot #oneshot #tesv #the elder scrolls

511 notes · View notes

drunkdaisychains · 3 years

Text

Sneak Thief

Summery: Nox Donnahue is a young imperial woman who spends her time enjoying larceny and romance with dangerous men instead of becoming an imperial soldier like her brother. After a difficult conversation with her lover and the man who saved her life, Thyrnn, she decides she needs time to herself. Let’s see what Whiterun has to offer.

Warnings: swearing, smut, violence, trauma

parings: Thrynn/oc, Farkas/oc,

A/N: I’m trying out this new story but the plot isn’t concrete and basically is just a way to maladaptive daydream so i can avoid my real life. I’ve always seen Thrynn mentioned and characterized as a bit of a dick so I wanted to see where the old “Is a dick to everyone else but me” trope brought me.let me know what you think. Also I’m almost done Aera the Fair and her story has 8 published chapters now. probably only 3 more until the story is done

Chapter 1: No Interuptions

“Stop thief!” The estate owner yelled after the leather clad imperial woman as she raced from the cellar doors she just emerged from clutching a rather valuable jewelled necklace. The wisps of dark hair that couldn’t be contained in her long braid weren’t being blown from her eyes due to her leather hood that shadowed her face and she cursed under her breath as they tickled her forehead and threatened to invade her sight. Her legs burned as she pushed them to carry her farther and faster than she had run in a while. She rounded a rock formation and almost smacked into the solid man who stood there. She could hear the rumble of a chuckle come from his chest as she pulled him down into a crouch in case that owner was still hot on her tail.

“Delvin is right, we are cursed!” She panted.

“Get back here!” The owner yelled in the distance.

“Come on,” His familiar voice was raspy as usual with a slight accent she couldn’t place on the nord. He pulled her up by her arm and the two sprinted deeper into the foliage until they found his horse. He swung on and held a hand out for her to climb on just behind his saddle. “Hold on,” he ordered and she snaked her arms around his waist. The horse kicked up into a gallop as they raced towards Shor’s Stone. She thanked the gods that he had finished up his job in time to pick her up. She could have been cut to ribbons by now if he hadn’t shown.

He finally slowed his horse down to a walk after he was sure they were far enough. She rested her forehead on his bare bicep and breathed a sigh of relief.

“What happened back there, Nox?” he asked.

“We do this for the rush right?” she breathed out her cynical joke.

“Nothing beats how you can keep that rush going,” he chuckled and placed a hand on hers. She knew he wanted to move it lower and with the adrenaline still pumping through her veins she reached up and kissed his neck. That’s all he needed, they had just come to a small clearing in the trees. He swung his leg over the horse’s neck and slid off the saddle after stopping the horse. He reached up and wrapped his hands around her waist as she was about to slide off and helped her down. Instead of letting go when she was safe on the ground he pulled her in close catching her full lips in a hungry kiss. This wasn’t unusual for them, there had been a few times when one of them would rush into the secret entrance running from a job as the other was about to leave, they would indulge in the thrill from it. She had a weakness for the nord’s large arms and his fearless attitude.

“Thrynn,” She moaned as his lips trailed down her neck, sending chills up her spine. Her fingers found the waist hem of his pants and his hands cupped her bum. Just as they were getting heated, a howl echoed through the trees.

“Wolves,” She whispered and he cursed through his teeth, clearly frustrated at the interruption.

“Keeps the rush going,” she reminded him as she backed out of his arms and readied her bow with an arrow and aimed it at one of the advancing wolves behind him. She let it fly and it pierced between the eyes killing the wolf instantly. Thrynn turned unsheathing his sword as the second wolf emerged from the bushes. He skillfully swung at the beast and she let another arrow soar into the ribcage. Finally with a powerful swing his sword sunk deep into the wolf’s neck causing it to go limp and fall off his blade. His chest heaved as he caught his breath and met her eyes. She pulled off her quiver and tossed it to the ground by the wolf. He dropped his sword and with two long strides he was pulling her face to his to resume what they had started with a bit more thrill than before.

He backed her up to a tree, pinning her against it with his body weight. They wasted no time with undressing this time lest they be interrupted again instead opting for exposing the necessities. They were far from any civilization or roads, still a ways away from Shor’s Stone.

His fingers were skilled as they tugged at her armour and then her under clothes. His fingers were calloused and rough from all his time training and fighting, but the way he used them were gentle and with care. He knew exactly how to make her come undone and be completely his. She pulled away from his lips as his fingers slipped into her, causing a gasp to escape her rosy lips. He stared down at her with a mischievous look, in moments she was trembling in his arms whimpering. Her head spun with pleasure and before she could get her bearings, he spun her around and used his foot to spread her legs apart. She cried out as he slid in to her causing him to place a hand over her mouth.

“Quiet darlin’, we don’t need your howl’s attracting more wolves,” he quipped and slammed into her again with a grunt. Her palms burned against the bark of the tree as she arched her back and pressed against his thrusts. He pulled her hood down to expose her long chocolate hair, taking her braid in his fist adding more pain to her pleasure. She moaned into his hand as the pleasure built in her about to make her body spasm again. In moments he pulled out just in time not to fill her and make her journey back uncomfortable. He braced himself against the tree trunk as he caught his breath and she fixed her armour. When she turned to face him, he pulled her into a sweaty but satisfied kiss. He too fixed himself up as it was her turn to lean against the tree, she examined her torn up hands. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

“We can wrap up your hands,” he said, examining the blood beading on them. “Come on,” he guided her to the saddlebags on the horse. She studied him as he rummaged for some clean dressings and readied his bladder of water that hung around the horn. She held her hands out as he carefully cleaned and bandaged her hands.

His war paint was two horizontal lines below each eye, his profile was chiseled, and his mousy brown hair was always pushed back and out of his face despite being long. Nords always preferred their hair long over the short styles other races donned. She had seen this man ruthlessly kill, viciously fight, and spit obscene insults. He was far from a hero which made sense as he was an ex- Bandit turned thief. He was regarded as the enforcer of the guild and trained himself as such, intimidating targets as he looted on jobs rather than sneaking. Both techniques prevented guards from being called and made the guild earn a tough reputation. But she couldn’t help but study him with a soft look she reserved for the tender moments they had together. He could be as vicious as a hungry wolf to anyone else but softened to the likes of a guard dog around her. She felt safe around him and felt they shared something more than just close friends or helping warm each other's beds.

“Thanks,” She gave a small smile.

“For your hands or the sex?”

“Clearly I’m talking about the sex,” she giggled.

“Well that was my pleasure,” he kissed her again and put the remainder of the wrappings back once they were secure around her hands. “Come on, still a bit before we get to the inn,” he walked over to the wolf to retrieve his sword as she followed suit.

Soon they were back on the road and feeling their energy drop from all the excitement they just had. She had slumped against his back fighting to keep her eyes open when she felt him shift in his seat.

“Don’t fall asleep. I’ll already have to answer for bringing you back at all let alone injured already,”

“It’s not a job done right until you draw blood,” she murmured into his shoulder.

“I’ve already scraped you off the road once I don’t want to do it again,” he warned and she sat up a bit to please him. There was seriousness in his tone when he gave that warning that made her feel a bit guilty. She obviously hadn’t meant to get so injured on one of her first jobs, it was that damn curse! It was a couple of years ago, Nox Donnahue had already done a handful of jobs with the guild successfully, and surprisingly hadn’t met Thrynn at this point. She had just cleared out a wealthy home in Markarth and had made her escape just past Rorikstead on her horse when she was attacked by forsworn. They killed her horse, looted everything including her guild armour and beat her until they thought she was dead. She couldn’t be sure that was all they did as her clothes were so torn, they were nothing but rags. If Thrynn and Vex hadn’t been on their way back from doing business in Solitude, she surely would have died.

Vex had told her how Thrynn was the one who spotted her and stopped to check her breathing. Vex didn’t recognize her with how badly her face was swollen, and without her armour they didn’t even know she was a fellow thief. Bodies left from forsworn attacks were nothing new, merchants avoided those trips if they could because of them. Thrynn had carried her back to Rorikstead while Vex guided his horse, insisting she was still alive despite her breaths being so shallow it was hard to tell. They left her in the care of the healer and finished their trip back to the guild. Brynjolf had mentioned he was surprised they didn’t cross paths with her and all ride back together. That’s when Thrynn had suspected what happened. He asked for another job that would require a trip through Rorikstead as he wanted to check on her, make sure she wasn’t a member left stranded.

She had been up for just over a day when he returned, her face had shrunk two sizes and the bruises had mostly faded thanks to the potions and spells. She was still weak and in pain although Rorikstead seemed welcoming enough to house her until she was better. She thanked Stendarr for the mercy she was shown in that town. One of the women had given her fresh clothes and She was given a bed in the inn although she wasn’t sure how she would pay them. Thrynn sat with her, asking questions getting to know her when she asked how he knew she was in the guild. He was taken aback before she explained who she was and how she had ended up there although her memory got fuzzy after leaving Markarth. Knowing who she was, he felt he needed to protect her and make sure she made it back in one piece so he finished his job and picked her up on his way back when she was well enough to travel again. He had taken care of her expenses and for the next few months following, he shadowed her on her jobs, would line up jobs on the same travel path together or simply check up on her if he got the chance like he had during this Rift job. Although they flirted a lot and he made her feel safe, they didn’t become involved until recently. She figured they were seeing each other for about four months now but neither of them dared to bring up advancing into any relationship.

She hadn’t noticed they had arrived until the horse stopped and he moved to dismount.

“I’ll stable your horse while you get us a room?” she suggested.

“What do you want for food and drink?” he asked double checking his saddlebag.

“I’m only hungry for sleep,” She yawned as he walked towards the inn’s door. She stayed petting the horse and ensured he would be safe for the night with food and water before entering the inn herself. The sun had already set when she was met by the warm fire in the main hall. She scanned the room for Thrynn when she spotted him sitting on a chair by the bar. A woman she had never seen before was in a green tavern dress with her chest exposed, sitting on the arm of Thrynn’s seat giggling. The woman was a tall, beautiful Nord with blond hair and a charming smile.

Nox felt a pit of jealousy bubble in her as she pushed it away, she walked up to the couple feigning a bored expression. Standing to her full 5’6” height, she still figured the nord towered over her. Nox had an athletic build, she had full lips, a small nose, and large hazel eyes that stood out against her olive skin. She noticed a fleck of something on the woman’s bottom lip but it was only after a second she realized the woman had kissed off some of Thrynn’s warpaint.

“Did you get those rooms?” She asked blandly.

“The one behind me,” he said and she pushed passed him into the room. She was still raw from their session only about an hour ago and he already had a new woman in his arms. She reminded herself they had never declared themselves a couple but she was still hurt. She took one of the books from the shelf in the room and sat at the small table in the room. She began flipping through pages trying to focus for a while when Thrynn walked in and closed the door behind him. He had a plate stacked with food and a tankard of what she assumed to be ale.

“I figured you could pick off my plate if you aren’t going to get something of your own,” he said, placing it down on the table between them and sitting in the seat to her right. “Are you alright?” “Yes.” She didn’t take her eyes off the words she wasn’t reading. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“You’re jealous,” He observed.

“I quite enjoy feeling like I’m used,” She said dryly.

“She came over to me,” he began.

“She has your war paint on her lips,”

“I’m in here with you,”

“You don’t want to be,”

“Hey! I’m in this town for you. I could be back in the cistern right now,” he reminded her and she sighed knowing he was right. “So she kissed my cheek and gave me attention?”

“It… hurt,” She mumbled, finally pushing the book away from her. She studied the bandages on her hands. He let out a heavy breath and pulled her chair closer to him so she was facing him with wide eyes. He noticed she had undone her braid that his fingers must have ruined.

“Give me a kiss,” his voice was softer. She hesitated before leaning in to meet his lips. When they parted she snaked a hand to his plate and took a piece of cheese to nibble on. He had a satisfied smirk knowing he was smart to have brought extra food in. When they finished eating they retired to bed so they could get an early start in the morning. She couldn’t help but still feel hurt despite being wrapped in his arms all night.

Her body was numb from the weight of his arm across her middle when she woke up. Knowing she couldn’t fall back asleep she decided to get breakfast in the same style Thrynn had the night before, piling it all onto one plate and sitting at the table to enjoy some fruit. She gazed over at him with his arm draped over his eyes as she popped a snowberry in her mouth. She took another and aimed the pea sized barry at the snoring nord. As she let it fly from her fingers she hit her desired target watching the berry arch into his mouth, making him cough and sputter. The berry pulled him from sleep abruptly as he sat up and spit it out.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he exclaimed as she giggled.

“A single snowberry can't kill the almighty Thrynn. I got us breakfast come eat,” she had the berries and a sweet roll for herself but got him a roasted pheasant breast and some venison stew. She longed for the fruit her parents used to have shipped up from Cryodil. The strawberries and oranges, all the delicate fruits that wouldn't grow in hearty Skyrim.

Thrynn rubbed his eyes before he made his way to the table and took the remaining seat. He blinked a bit and rested his forearm on his knee as he continued to fight against sleep in his eyes by pinching the bridge of his nose. She pushed the cup of water to him, urging him to rehydrate after yesterday.

“I figure after breakfast we can leave for Riften. It’s dawn in half an hour,” that fact made him groan a bit. She always woke before him but it was rare she wouldn’t let him sleep in or wake him up so unpleasantly although they only shared beds outside of the guild. “There’s plenty of abandoned carts along the road we can haul you back in if you prefer,” she giggled into the cup she was about to sip from. He barely looked up, just tipped the bottom of her cup so it would splash down her face and in her nose making her gasp and sputter much like how she woke him up. “I deserved that…” She admitted once she caught her breath enough to speak. He just chuckled and moved his focus to the plate.

cont: https://www.wattpad.com/1055007722-sneak-thief-chapter-2-welcome-to-whiterun

#Skyrim #thrynn #The Thieves Guild #thieves guild #thief #Smut #farkas #brynjolf #vex #delvin #argis the bulwark #wattpad #riften

24 notes · View notes