Skyrim One-Shots

Brynjolf x Reader(Female) ~My Friend From My Young Years~

REALLY, THIS ONE ISN'T SUPPOSED TO MAKE SENSE, SO IT'S OKAY IF YOU ARE COMPLETELY LOST DURING THIS! :)

The letter he received, in writing he could never mistake, made his chest tight and his body flinch from touch for days after. Mercer noticed it. Delvin noticed it. Vex noticed it. Tonilia noticed it. Even Dirge noticed it.

Brynjolf didn't sleep for a few nights. He barely ate. He was often staring at tankards and his hands like he was a drunk remembering he had a family to take care of and he was ashamed of what he'd become. 

And for a master thief to feel that way, there was something major weighing them down.

However, Brynjolf, like always, only let himself dwell on it for a few days before he forced himself to ignore it. He breathed it off and he made a wreck of the training room just because he could, and he needed to see it in shambles and get an uncomfortable look from half the guildmembers when he came out in only trousers, boots, and sweat. Damn right the right-hand man to the Guildmaster was as lethal as he was nice, and you'd best remember that when trashing the guild.

He knew it was a matter of time before he cracked again.

'I'm coming back. I hear the guild's not doing well.
'It's not your fault, Bryn. I know you think that. I know you do.
'I'm not going to leave again. I did my time, and I want no more of Cyrodiil.

'One week, Bramble. I'll be in the inn, by the bar. 
Find me if you want to, otherwise, I find you.'

That was only part of it. The last little section of the full-paged letter. 

The name was stuck in his head. Bramble. Brambi when he did something stupid. He could barely remember anything else. He'd wanted to forget the memories. He did forget. Now he wished he could take it back, tried his hardest to think of her face, of her eyes, of her laugh.

He remembered the way she walked and how she'd pin up her hair. She was ever the noble-woman, but ever the thief. Better than Mercer. Better than Gallus. Better than Karliah, who was better than all of them. Granted, Mercer was always a man of cheap shortcuts and significantly more dubious morals than most master criminals, but he kept the guild going, as unpleasant as he is to deal with.

He remembered how her nails were always neatly trimmed, never bitten. And, he remembered how she could talk a man to cut his wanker off, and in fact, ran a business doing it, as he could barely recall. He couldn't think of what the place looked like, but he vividly remembered laughing about it and the sign of the place. Really, she tricked rapists and generally awful people to become overly-religious priests. 

But most of all, he remembered that she was tall. Taller than him, and skinny, but not lanky. Not curvy, and not packed with muscle. She was breath-takingly beautiful, but he couldn't remember why. He couldn't remember her face or hair or eyes.

Her voice was as sweet as a silk whip. 

And as he thanked the innkeeper for a refilled drink quietly after she stalked off, despite how the Argonian hated him, he heard it in gut-churning, lung-collapsing detail.

"Brynjolf. It has been many years," her voice ran down his spine like her fingers once did. There was a moment of tense pause, and a soft laugh escaped her lips. "If you do not look at me I fear I may have gotten the wrong person."