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martindeservedbetter · 2 months

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warhammer

Brynjolf x F! Dragonborn! Reader

word count: 1985

triggers: none

summary: Who could've thought a pair like them could've bonded over a warhammer? Clearly not themselves.

prompt: from @writings-of-a-hufflepuff List #5 prompt 9.

"You really thought I was dead?"

"Mercer, you're back, but where's-"

"Dead. Karliah got her before I got the chance to save her. Such a shame really... she showed so much promise."

The guild all watched Brynjolf freeze, but they'd all seen it before. It wasn't new for his protege to get caught or killed, but his response was so different this time. He seemed... sadder. As this time it was personal like she was more than a protege.

"I'll be back. I'm going to go find her."

"Were you not listening boy? She's dead."

"Just let me do this, alright? I just need to know." He retorted, not keeping to his cool under pressure attitude.

"Do I need to get you a horse-?" Delvin asked, only to be cut off by the man in question.

"I'll be fine Delvin. Be back as soon as I can-" Brynjolf answered.

"You're insane Brynjolf. Can't you just take my word for it?!" Mercer yelled, calling after the man who was already leaving. The man who ignored the protests of the other members entirely.

___________________

Not finding any proof had only made it that much harder for Brynjolf to accept it. And he scoured the Sanctum, only to find dried blood in an open room.

Damn Karliah. Damn her to Oblivion.

Brynjolf had struggled to find any other way to accept it, so he just blamed Karliah instead, finding it was much easier than anything else. She had killed the last guild master, so who's to say that she wouldn't kill another member? One that was going to help fix all of the problems.

"Brynjolf, please, just stop drinking, it's not going to change anything," Vekel muttered.

"Just give me the damn drink, Vekel."

"No. I will not indulge you in this. I don't care if you're hurting, please just accept that she's gone."

"How? She was... she was special."

"The same way I got over my parents. Time and goodbyes." Sapphire suddenly began speaking and slid into the barstool next to Brynjolf.

"I'm not ready for that."

"Then no mead, no wine, no alcohol whatsoever. It won't help, it'll only make it worse."

Brynjolf groaned, and got up and walked away, hoping to at least be alone. To maybe find some peace by going through her things. To maybe just sleep. Just anything to be free of people's dagger-like eyes that pierced him with judgment.

His eyes flickered to her empty bed, the way it just looked so wrong. Brynjolf sat himself in front of her chest, looking through her things, noticing things that he recognized, specifically a certain warhammer...

"Lass, this is ballsy, even for you."

"Shh, it'll be fine."

He watched her sneak away, attempting to steal the war hammer right off the guard's back.

And all Brynjolf remembered was the way the hammer was too heavy for her hands and she carried it back over to him with the largest smile on her face.

"I told you it'd be fine."

"I guess I should believe you more often lass."

He took the hammer out of her arms, and she seemed to sigh in relief, but still high from the thrill of theft.

"Obviously. Don't be an idiot, I'm just as good of a thief as yourself."

"Of course," he mused as he mussed up her hair, and she slapped his hand away.

"Do you know how hard it is to tame this?!"

And Brynjolf just laughed as she attempted to fix her barely messed up hair, scowling as she did so.

"You're so lovely, lass."

"I would say 'you too' but you were a jerk who messed up my hair!"

"You look fine, lass."

"Says the guy who rolls out of bed and looks gorgeous."

"That's very flattering, Y/n, but not entirely true."

He watched her jaw drop, and he gave a soft chuckle.

"You do not comb through your hair! There's no way in Oblivion-"

"And that's where you'd be wrong lass."

"Oh, my gods... Brynjolf is a fancy man."

"And proud of it."

He winked, yet didn't fail to catch the glimpse of a blush dusting her cheeks.

"What happened to you lass..?"

It wasn't long before there was a clamor coming from the Flagon, and when the Cistern door flew open, every member was on alert.

Karliah...

Brynjolf decided to be civilized but was not afraid to turn from the plan if it even slightly went south.

"Karliah, what did you do to Y/n?"

___________________

"Y/n? You're alive?"

It was Vekel who seemed to notice her first, and it drew the attention of the few other members still in the Flagon.

"Y/n? But Mercer said-" Tonilia started.

"Mercer lied. He's lied to all of you for years."

The newest recruit had been confirmed dead by the current guild master, and he'd managed to convince everyone but a certain second in command.

"Brynjolf looked for you. We were also worried about the fact that you two were gone that he just, decided to seek answers for himself... He hasn't been well."

"Vekel, is he here? We have a lot to talk about, and I need the entire guild's attention."

"Of course, he should just be in the Cistern-"

But she was already gone, ready to tell everyone the truth and to address her Brynjolf situation, but that would have to take a backseat. There were far more pressing matters at hand.

As she pushed through the Cistern door, she heard arguing amongst the members and loads of insults toward Karliah.

"Mercer's a liar."

"Lass..."

Brynjolf's face softened and she watched his body seem to go slack.

'He looked for you... he hasn't been well.'

"Karliah saved my life. Mercer tried to kill me."

She lifted her shirt to show the fresh scar along her stomach.

Brynjolf's eyes traced the marred skin, and his body seemed to tense the longer he looked.

"He's been robbing you blind for years, check the vault."

Karliah added, standing right by Y/n's side. Y/n had put her shirt back down, smoothing it out as she stood increasingly closer to Karliah.

"Lass?"

Those eyes of his... those gorgeous emerald eyes bore into her, coaxing an answer from her. Silently pleading for the truth, clearly uncomfortable with the woman beside her.

"She's right, please, Bryn, believe us." Y/n copied his own eyes, begging him for the decency to believe her.

He let out a sigh before shouting," Oi, Delvin! We need to open the vault."

"Thank you..." she breathed, smiling over to Karliah.

Brynjolf looked over to her, very upset about the large scar on her torso, and although he was warry of Karliah, he knew of what happened to Gallus and it didn't help that he knew what it felt like to hear that Y/n was dead. But he threw that to the side when he saw Y/n smile at Karliah, watching her seem very relaxed around the supposed murderer of Gallus and Y/n herself.

"You called, Brynjolf?"

"Put your key in, we need to get this door open."

"Of course."

Y/n hesitantly walked toward the vault, standing right beside Brynjolf. It made him feel a wave of relief knowing she was this close again.

"It's empty! It's all gone!" Delvin yelled back to the group after doing a sweep of the vault.

"Mercer! Damn him!" Brynjolf answered, entering the vault to confirm the claim.

It was a stab at the entire guild like someone had slit the guild's throat and captured its riches as if it were blood. The experience was numbing to most guild members, realizing that not only had all of their hard work been for naught, but their guild master was also the reason for it. He had caused every problem they had ever faced, yet always found some scapegoat, never allowing himself to be seen in a negative light as he tore the guild apart from the inside.

"When I see him, I swear I'm going to-"

"Vex! You know that's not how we operate. We just need to figure this out..." Brynjolf chided the white-haired woman, who was now seething in anger but held her tongue, silently planning Mercer Frey's death in several different ways.

"Lass," Brynjolf turned to Y/n," Tell me everything that's been going on."

"I will Bryn, I promise, but first... can we be alone? Vekel said you haven't been well-"

"So long as we speak of the guild first, of course, lass."

Y/n held out a hand, which he quickly accepted, allowing her to lead him to the intended destination. Although the place was just the secret entrance for the Cistern, they sat on the hidden steps together.

She first informed him about how Karliah had been framed, that Mercer Frey had betrayed them and brought a curse upon the Guild after infuriating Nocturnal. She then led into the tales of the secret trio of Nightingales being true.

"The Nightingales? I thought that was just an old legend, but I believe you lass."

"It seems that we don't have much of a choice in anything anymore Bryn..."

He cleared his throat, garnering her undivided attention.

"What was it that you wanted to talk about lass?"

She gave a soft smile, grabbing his hand and intertwining her fingers with his.

"Vekel said you've been..." she paused, for lack of better words," not well."

"I've not been ill, lass."

"I didn't mean it that way. He said you came for me."

"...I had to make sure it wasn't true."

"You really thought I was dead?"

"No," Brynjolf felt his heart jump into his throat, and he tried to cough up an answer.

"I just... I didn't believe Mercer when he told me you were dead... I... I had to see for myself."

Brynjolf's eyes didn't meet hers, but he rubbed the back of her palm with his thumb.

"You know I missed you, missed us. You know that right?"

"I missed you more than you know... Saw you kept that old warhammer... that was a nice day..."

"That was a nice day... I found out that you were a fancy man."

"And I found out that I loved you," he spoke just below a whisper, just as if it were just a breath.

"Bryn? What was that?"

"Don't worry about it. So I'm a fancy man? I'm glad you remember lass."

"No, don't lass me. You never told me you were hurting. Was it that hard with me gone?"

She had begun to hold his hand a little bit tighter as she looked over at him, trying to get him to look back into her eyes.

"Yes lass," and for the first time since they started their little talk, the emerald-eyed man looked her in the eye.

"It was hard."

"But I'm just, me."

"And that's just it Y/n. You're just you, and down the line, I fell in love with you. I searched for you... because I didn't want to come back to a guild without you."

"I love you too. Gods above, I've been in love with that stupid accent of yours since you told me I couldn't steal that warhammer." She said with a laugh, letting herself fall to lean against his side.

He kissed her temple and gave her hand a squeeze before muttering," That's when I fell as well."

"Future romance advice for those who need it, just steal a warhammer, then you'll love each other." She teased, currently pleased with their current situation.

"Steal one more for the road? We can fix the guild later?" He offered, and he knew the answer as soon as he was pulled to his feet.

"Whoever gets one first, without being caught, gets a kiss!"

"I'm not against this bargain..."

And the pair of thieves both split, oh so full of love, and ready for everything they faced in front of them.

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coffee-at-daybreak · 1 year

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no more games | brynjolf x f!reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Because we're alone."

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

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

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

You gulp. "Feel what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins. That stupid, charming grin.

You narrow your eyes. "Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Someone clears their throat behind you both.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#skyrim #elder scrolls #elder scrolls skyrim #tes #tesv #dovahkiin #dragonborn #brynjolf #brynjolf skyrim #brynjolf x reader #x reader #reader insert #thieves guild #fanfic #its been years and this man still has a chokehold on me #as always feedback is appreciated!

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peachfridges · 9 months

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masterlist

keep an eye on this as i may add new fandoms and/or characters to it in the future!

bruce wayne

nothing here yet…

dick grayson

nothing here yet…

jason todd

nothing here yet…

fortnite

midas

nothing here yet…

montague

nothing here yet…

modern warfare

alejandro vargas

dating headcanons

coming soon…

john ‘soap’ mactavish

dating headcanons

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

john price

late that night - fluff, can be read platonically

kyle ‘gaz’ garrick

nothing here yet..

simon ‘ghost’ riley

dating headcanons

upcoming: hushed words

resident evil

chris redfield

nothing here yet..

leon s. kennedy

dating - fluff + a small bit of smut

re2 drabble - fluff + a tiny bit of smut

skyrim

brynjolf

nothing here yet..

farkas

nothing here yet..

miraak

nothing here yet..

ondolemar

nothing here yet..

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skyrim-forever · 10 months

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TESFest Day 3: Teeth

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

Prompt: Teeth

Tagging: @tes-summer-fest

Words: 498

Warnings: T, suggestive but not much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#tesblr #my writing #skyrim fanfic #skyrim fanfiction #tesfest23 #brynjolf #brynjolf x reader #x reader #x reader fanfic #skyrim x reader

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smuttywriter · 4 months

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..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.

#skyrim #brynjolf #thieves guild #brynjolf x reader #brynjolf x reader imagine #bryn #brynjolf imagine #tes v skyrim #tes #skyrim imagine #brynjolf smut #tes smut

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accio-peach · 2 years

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“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

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strugglingwriterwattpad · 1 year

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

#skyrim #the skeleton key #brynjolf x reader #brynjolf #the thieves guild #the nightingales #nocturnal #the eyes of the falmer #tamriel #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls five

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fandom-imagines · 2 years

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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,”

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yeehawbvby · 1 year

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Go, Lass (Brynjolf x F!Reader)

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

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

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

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

Check it out on ao3!

___

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

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

Shit, shit, shit, you thought to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes sir,” you lazily saluted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go, Lass. Make their ancestors weep.”

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argisthebulwark · 1 year

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Time Moves Slow - Brynjolf

sfw, gn reader (reader referred to as 'wife' once) Summary: After returning from Sovngarde the Dragonborn finds that a handful of hours for them has been years for those in Tamriel and reunites with their loved one. Others Linked: Vilkas, Farkas, Teldryn, Miraak, Cicero

Lanterns cast their welcoming glow as you slid through Riften's front gate. A breeze carried in the chill of early morning that cut through your armor. Picking up your pace you eased around a gaggle of guards stationed near the temple. You noted fresh flowers scattered around the graves, more tombstones than you remembered. You'd only been gone a couple of days, had there already been a bandit raid? Vines curled around the mausoleum, thorns catching at your cloak. You glared at the offending plant and fought to remember where they'd been before - you'd been through this entrance dozens of times and couldn't recall such an annoyance. You hadn't noticed the shadow trailing you. He stalked over the rooftops, always keeping you in his line of sight. He didn't recognize your armor and the easy way you made your way through his city unsettled him. He kept close, closer than he should but he refused to let you out of his sight. Scanning the nooks and crannies under the temple you were surprised not to spot any of the fresh recruits. There were only a few and they were learning quickly but they most not be out training tonight, the graveyard seemed suspiciously empty. Delvin was in for an earful about slacking off when you got to the Flagon. Still lost in thought you didn't notice your shadow closing in. He was stealthy, checking each footfall and cloaking his descent under the wind. You didn't hear the whisper of leather as he unsheathed his dagger, weren't aware of his presence until cool steel pressed to your throat. "Come to visit a loved one?" Brynjolf's smooth voice murmured close to your ear. Panic ratcheted up your heartrate when the blade bit into the grimy skin of your jaw. He never drew his blade unless it was dire. Something must've gone horribly wrong in your absence. "Bit late for that. Best jog on." "Bryn, what the fuck?" "You know my name, love?" The blade tilted your jaw up and you glared straight ahead. Brynjolf's gloved hand slid down your side to unlatch your sword. "Surprising. Still, you should wait 'til mornin' to come around here. Not the best side of town and all." "Brynjolf, please tell me what's going on." "We know each other?" You could hear the infuriating smile in his voice. His dagger didn't falter when your sword clattered across the ground. Saying your name only worsened the situation; his fingers tightened on the dagger, muscles visibly tensing. "Don't you dare mention my wife." His voice dripped with venom you'd never heard before. It was terrifying - Had you somehow come back to the wrong Brynjolf? "Bryn, I swear -" "If this is your idea of a joke it's not fucking funny." "Just look at me!" Strong hands whirled you around and the world seemed to pause. Brynjolf's eyes were dark, long hair casting shadows over his face. You caught sight of stubble dusting over his jaw that hadn't been there a few days prior. Lifting one hand you grazed his cheek, shocked at how different he felt. "How?" He whimpered and gods, you wished you had an answer. Frantically you brushed back his hair until the moonlight allowed you a clear look at his face. Creases had formed around his eyes and your thumb traced a visibly old scar you'd never seen. Brynjolf's hand raised to cover yours, green eyes seeking answers you didn't have. "I searched for you." He whispered and your heart broke. Fat tears rolled down your cheeks when Brynjolf met your gaze, every ounce of his heartbreak on display for you. "I looked everywhere, lass. I couldn't find you." "I'm so sorry, Bryn." You babbled through the tears because you saw it all; the dusting of grey in his long red hair, the new armor bearing old Shadowmarks. You'd been gone far longer than intended. "I thought I lost you." His words pierced like a knife to the chest. After all he'd lost he'd grieved you again. "I thought I lost you." "I'm home." You sobbed when he wrenched you to his chest. Stealth was forgotten when Brynjolf held you close, shared pain enveloping your reunion. "I'll never leave you again. I promise."

#skyrim #writing #brynjolf #brynjolf x ldb #brynjolf x dragonborn #brynjolf x reader

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gloomwitchwrites · 21 days

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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.”

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bekaroth-reads · 2 years

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Brynjolf x reader

[Okay, so quick explanation about something. In the game, Brynjolf calls the character lad or lass depending on the character model chosen. But, I tend to write in gender neutral as much as possible so it can be any character inserted, so I decided to have him say bairn. Like how someone might say kid instead of boy or girl]

You had just gotten back from doing a job for Maven Black-Briar herself. And, boy, do you feel awful about it. Sure, the owner of that rival brewery was not that best person. But, what was looking to be almost an entire life in prison seemed like too much of a payment. Not to mention, it wasn’t like his awful treatment of his workers was something that Maven of all people was concern with. Regardless, you made your way back to Riften, reported back to Maven, and made your way back to the guild center to wait for more information about what to do next. After checking in with Mercer, you headed straight for the Ragged Flagon. You were thinking about everything that was going down, and things that they might lead to when what you wanted to think about was absolutely nothing. Nothing that a bottle of mead couldn’t help with. Apparently, you looked as bad as you felt because you didn’t even have to ask for anything before Vekel was sliding a bottle your way. Though, he always was good at picking up on those sort of things. “One the house, for a job well done.” He played it off with that before teasing, “Don’t get used to it though.”

There wasn’t anything else said between the two of you as he was busy with his work. Even if he wasn’t, there wouldn’t have been a chance to as someone else cut in. “Ah, there you are, bairn!” A familiar voice rang from the other end of the bar. Brynjolf pulled out the stool next to yours and sat in it. “Heard the news. I knew I pegged you right! Probably still feeling a rush from such a flawless job, eh?” He cheered you on with small shake of your arm. All you were able to will yourself to respond with was a grunt and a shrug of your shoulders. This sort of threw him off of his jovial mood, but only for a moment. “Rough trip back?” Brynjolf teased.

“Sure.” You hummed and focused on fiddling with the bottle in your hands. This was interrupted by another hand grabbing the top part of the neck that your hand wasn’t on. “It’s my personal belief that when someone is too upset to drink, then drink is the last thing they need.” Brynjolf said in an uncharacteristically concerned voice. “Do you actually believe that?” You asked as you practically flopped your head over onto your shoulder to look over at him. “Of course I do!” He got a bit of a guilty look before adding, “For everyone else but myself, anyhow.”

Brynjolf stood from his stool and pulled you by the arm to do the something. “In any case, nothing that a good walk around the back of the rat ways can’t help.” He insisted as he started to lead you to the door. “Isn’t there a crazed cannibal living back there?” You asked deadpan. “Well, we aren’t going that far back, bairn! Just a lap around the upper level is all.” Brynjolf chuckled as he opened the door. He managed to get you about ten steps in before you dug your heals in, bringing you both to a halt. “I don’t think I can do this Bryn!” You blurted out. This confused him, so he decided to play it off with a joke. “Walk? You certainly did a passable job of that from the bar to the door. And, I’ve never known a half bottle to-“

“No. This whole guild thing. When I joined, I thought that I would be doing things like picking pockets, maybe hitting a few houses here and there. If there was someone else framed for it, then they would only be in jail for a few days- a week at most. B-but, since I’ve been here, I’ve had to threaten multiple people, destroy entire livelihoods, and hurt people not even involved! That poor guard at the brewery by Whiterun; all he wanted to do was keep people safe, and I poisoned him! The only reason I took the job was to be sure there wasn’t enough to actually kill him! It just-“

“Woah there, bairn! You’ll work yourself into being sick if you keep spouting all those words.” Brynjolf cut off your panicked tirade with a firm hand on your shoulder, put there partially to get your attention and partially because he thought your balance was starting to look unstable. “Now, you’re overthinking all this.” He tried to comfort. “But-“ you started only to be cut off once more. “‘But,’ nothing. Look, if you really want to take all of this personal, then think of the details. For instance, ol’ Sabjorn was basically holding poor Mallus captive. Now, isn’t that a good reason to have him spend sometime behind bars?” He asked. You huffed and sat on the dirty floor before asking, “What about the guard? What did he do to deserve getting food poisoning?” He laughed at what he thought was a silly question and sat down next to you. “That’s your answer. He’s a guard.”

Suddenly, Niruin stuck his head through the still opened door. “So, there are people back here. Vekel asked me to close the door. Doesn’t want to risk skeevers smelling the food.” He explained. Then he looked down at you sitting on the floor and staring at nothing. “What’s with the new one?” He asked. “Just a small case of morals. We’re working through it.” Brynjolf chuckled as he reached an arm around your shoulders and gave your upper arm a few assuring pats. “Oh, I remember when I used to have those. Don’t worry. You’ll get better in no time.” Niruin said sympathetically before leaving and closing the door behind him.

“See?” Brynjolf sounded genuinely happy. “The guild’s got your back! We’re family after all.” You heaved a sigh and slumped against the wall even more. “I dunno…” you mumble. Suddenly, you were turned around by the arm across your shoulders, and the feeling of the cold wall on your back was replaced by the warmth of his chest to yours and his arms that were both wrapping around you. “I do. Told you when we first met I know how size people up. I wouldn’t have gotten you involved if I thought you couldn’t handle it.” You weren’t able to answer, the situation having completely dazed you. Never being one to let silence set in if he wasn’t sneaking, Brynjolf gladly kept talking. “Besides, as you might have guessed, I’m starting to get a bit attached. If you really wanted to leave, I’d be there fighting you the entire way out the door.”

This wasn’t an unwelcome turn of events, but nonetheless a surprising one. Because of this, all you could think to do in return was to move your hands to hold him like he was holding you, albeit not as tightly. “Look at that! You’re still here after all! I was starting to think you’ve gone completely limp on me.” Brynjolf laughed. He sat with you like this for another minute, enjoying the rare soft moment in his life. Finally, he leaded back, arms still wrapped around you, but loosening enough so his head wasn’t over your shoulder and he could look at you again. “Divines bless you, bairn! Your face is as red as my beard!” He couldn’t help but tease. It must have been really bad if he could tell even in the dim torchlight of the rat ways. You rolled your eyes at his antics, finally able process your thoughts enough to realize that he was trying to work that rouge-like charm of his on you.

“What? You don’t believe me?” He asked, his fingers ever so gently starting to dig and wriggle at your sides, testing the boundaries of what he could get away with. “Then how about I prove it? I’m sure we could compare the colors if we got them… real…close.” Brynjolf’s lips were now just a breath away from yours, and that breath was catching in you chest.

The door opened again, and Vex who couldn’t be bothered to actually look called in, “Brynjolf!” The Nord in question grumbled a moment at the intrusion. But, he still quickly let you go, and replied. “Aye, right here. What is it?” Vex, still not wanting to put in the effort of looking around the door, but lowering the volume of her voice now that she knew he was nearby curtly said, “Mercer wants you to handle something, soon as your able.” She left, not pulling the door all the way closed behind her, assuming he was going to be right behind.

Brynjolf stood from the floor and pulled you up as well. “Well, duty call, I suppose.” He huffed and brushed off his pants a bit. Stopping himself when he started to turn toward the door, Brynjolf looked back at you, a devious glint to his eyes. “Oh, yes. I almost forgot.” The hand that was suddenly on the back of your head showed you what he almost forgot when it tangled into your hair and used the hold to push your mouth onto his. He took the kiss as deep as it could go in the few seconds he had to spare for it, his beard bristling against you sending your nerves sparking at the extra sensation. When he pulled away, he took a moment to brush a thumb across your cheek and take in your glazed over features. Turning to the door, this time actually walking out, he covered for you both by saying, “Just let me know if you have anymore questions about anything.”

Not having anything else you could do, you composed yourself for a few minutes then walked back out to the bar and sat down again. You finished the other half of your now slightly stale mead, and planned on asking for another when a fresh bottle was slid your way. You looked up to see Vekel standing by the box he kept the mead in, giving you a knowing look. “On the house.” He said as he turned to clean a few tankards. “I thought you told me not to get used to that.” You teased. “I can tell you need that one more than you needed the first one.” Was his answer from where he was working. You might not have looked as composed as you thought you did. But, then again, Vekel was always good at picking up on things.

#brynjolf x reader #skyrim brynjolf #skyrim brynjolf x reader

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