Skyrim One-Shots

Brynjolf x Reader ~Stranger in the Flagon~

Impatiently, you drummed your fingers on the table you sat at, a scowl on your features as you constantly scanned the entrances to the run-down tavern, ignoring the glares of the no doubt Thieves Guild members.

Niranye didn't tell you that you were literally walking into their home- their territory. It didn't scare you in the least, but a heads up would've been nice, and some sort of tip on how to find this redhead she'd told you to go to.

The bodyguard to this gods-forsaken place had been leering you down for the past 5 minutes you'd entered, just as uncomfortable as the pissy swipes around you.

Nearly drilling a hole into the table from your enraged and furious gaze, you hands tightened into fists. Having to force yourself seconds later to release the tight hold, you attempted to calm your raging blood, but to no avail.

With a tense inhale, you stood, black cloak nearly starting to drag on the floor before you roughly pulled it to place, striding to the bar and avoiding any eye contact with any of the some 4 people around you.

Your eyes flickered between their normal color and an unnatural and inhumane bright golden yellow, a result of your current sour mood as the bartender glared.

You drew 15 septims from a hidden pocket in your lightweight ebony armor that you'd made yourself and threw the gold on the bar. "An ale, strongest you've got."

He narrowed his eyes, but grabbed the coin anyway, depositing it in his apron and moving to grab a bottle and popping it open, placing it on the counter seconds later with the nonstop threat in his eyes.

Shithead. You'd overpaid by some 10 septims, not that it even touched the sum of wealth you had.

You swiped it from the counter, tilting your head back as you let the liquid run down your throat and slightly ease the fire in your veins. It was completely emptied mere seconds later, and you lightly set it on the counter, taking a short exhale to compose yourself before walking back to your spot.

"Damn," came a quiet mutter from a middle-aged bald man with a rasping voice and a thick accent, "that weasel ain't 'fraid to drink."

"Shut up, Delvin," was the snarl from the white-hair female sat across from him.

A near-silent chuckle ran past your lips. "Thieves Guild members all right."

"There anythin' wrong with that, outsider?" was the woman's hiss in response. You turned, yellow eyes flickering in thin amusement. She stiffened, along with the supposed Delvin across from her.

"I find you thieves are more honorable than most. Make no mistake, I am not here to pick fights and point fingers. I need a key to the Ratways," you explain quietly, a ghost of a simper on your normally rather numb features.

Delvin grinned widely. "I'll get Brynjolf."

You internally hummed, pleased with yourself. Usually, it would take hours to get a key for somewhere you needed to go.

Example: Windhelm. The Jarl and Steward were on your ass just because you were trying to solve the murders. You supposed it was a Nord thing- such intense ego and pride.

You hated it.

The man stood, and moments later, he had jogged out of sight and returned a few minutes later with a redheaded Nord trailing behind him. 

"Brynjolf, this is the guest who needed the key," the broker informed, pointing to you, before jogging back to his seat.

With how many bottles were on the table, you were moderately surprised the man could even stand, let alone run.

Brynjolf approached, and you snapped into focus when he finally stood in front of you, green eyes glinting with a hint of suspicion, but it quickly dissipated as he raised a brow.

Before he needed to ask, you began to explain.

"Brynjolf, I'm ____," you stated, and with a firm hand, you both shook hands, more casual than businesslike. "I need to find someone in the Ratways, Niranye pointed me to you for getting the key. She's one of your fences, correct?"

A smooth, flawless and lady-killing smile appeared on his pale face. "Ah, I see. I can most certainly assist."

He seemed to be hesitant to add something, and you knew exactly what it was. People in the Ratways were there for a reason.

"15,000. Get me in, tell me where Esbern is, and the sum arrives by Loredas as a latest. I assure you, I, the Dragonborn, don't skimp out on paying those who are willing to aid me in my rather... questionable acts," you affirmed, and there was a literal shriek from Delvin behind you, a loud curse of surprise.

Brynjolf stumbled on his words, trying to regain some faint sense of his bearings at the staggering number. "Right- uh," he grabbed a key from a pocket in his black leather trousers, "follow me."

You nodded, trailing behind as he walked to a hallway branching off of the rotting tavern, heading to a door and pausing as he unlocked it.

He glanced back, obviously anxious, "I see the blades on your back, but just as a notice, there's some... off-line people in here."

You blinked lazily, entertained at the person in front of you much like the fascination of a Dadric Prince to a mortal. "Understood."

"Just stick close to me, I'll lead you to him."

"Gladly," you hummed, "a man of Frost Mirriam is one I can trust."

He slightly hardened at you teasing statement, a rumble that echoed in the new environment, but tried to continue on.

''''''

Oh, he was so fucked.

Whoever ____ was, after some minutes of knowing them, he couldn't focus.

He was known as a player, but gods above, he didn't know if it was the way you talked, or the way you walked, the slight sway- it drove him over the edge.

Brynjolf, after years of experience, had never been the one out of control of himself.

Never.

And for some reason, this Dragonborn, with your huge sums and quirks of your lip, had officially made him lose it in under 30 seconds.

He didn't know if he wanted to scream, jack off, run, or try to woo you.

This, he now understood, was the definition of 'I'm so fucked.'

You.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lowkey, the reader is kinda creepy in this one, and I'm loving it.

Like, seriously. This is a tried and true Dragonborn, poking at people's buttons and almost manipulating them.

But, I have a feeling that this type of Dragonborn would accidentally fall in love just as hard as Brynjolf (is) did.

Okay, I need to stop lol.

Part 2?

Requests?

How was your day?

My birthday's Sunday, and I'm flippin' pumped.

Otherwise- you know it-

Dani out,

Adieu!