Skyrim One-Shots

Brynjolf x Reader ~The Job~

You bit your lip, looking to one of the many windows with racing nerves. Brynjolf placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder and a kiss to your cheek, sensing the anxiousness like he always could.

You smiled weakly. He nodded, confidence gleaming in those brilliant eyes of his.

"If I'm not back by dawn, I got caught," you repeat from your pre-set plan, to which he hummed.

"And I break you out. Stay safe," he murmured.

A soft grin. "No promises."

And so, with a sprint off of the city's wall, you grasped ahold of the windowsills that led to a study with mere fingertips. Thankfully, no snow rested on the ledge, else your fingers would be freezing more than they already were.

In the study, supposedly, there was an artifact on display the anonymous client wanted. You doubted it, but it was good pay, so you took it.

Grumbling curses under your breath, you slipped out a lockpick from your sleeve and hauled yourself onto the ledge just barely big enough to where you could sit on it. The stone was unforgiving- the cold piercing through your armor and chilling your very skin. You felt around for the lock on the window (it was nighttime and there wasn't a single light around so it took a few moments) and found it by its unpleasant chill against your fingertips.

You glanced to the window, making sure there was no light source or hint of activity before starting to fiddle around with the lock. It was a disgustingly easy pick as you got it undone in mere seconds and latched open the window, pushing it open with a near-silent creak.

You slipped into the room, stomach grazing against the bottom of the stone window frame and landing onto a rug with complete silence.

A quiet, unsure instinct jolted your very core. You frowned, pausing for a moment to attempt to hear any breathing of any sort, only to come out fruitless.

You stayed low to the ground, maneuvering around the study as cautious as a cat. It was warm, oddly enough, though you heard no hearth crackling.

A desk was positioned to the left of you, and a make-shift hallway of books was settled to the right. You swiveled on the tops of your feet, silently creeping down the rows and rows of books. A single candlelight flickered against the many articles, taking the breath from your chest.

The shadow of a person, likely a man from the broad shoulders, casted upon the bookshelves. A slow, nearly silent pattern of breathing surfaced.

An alcove to your left- that's where it came from.

There was a muffled sigh.

You swallowed thickly, drawing a blade.

"Talos, how much longer am I going to have to wait?" came the quiet, deep mutter. "It's not like I made breaking into here hard."

You stiffened, then sheathed your weapon.

Was this the client?

Is this all a setup to get you captured?

It was a man, that was for sure.

Despite your cautionary instinct, you stood to your full height, tapping quietly on the wood directly beside you with your knuckles.

Silence followed for a few brief, tense moments, and then a chuckle. "You are good at your profession, as I suspected. Come, there will be no bloodshed here."

You swallowed hard then took a few steps forward into the radiance of the small firelight, meeting eye to eye with a finely-dressed Nordic man in his late 40s. His hair was a wheat blond and eyes a grey-blue deeper than the Ghost Sea.