Your voice echoed in the Bee and Bard like no other, taking breaths away and dazing drunks with one of the few winks you would sparingly give. Like they were precious gems, you kept your skin hidden under your clothing, and he'd be damned if he said he hadn't thought about how it would look as he ripped it off.
Brynjolf knew he was going a fair bit overboard this time, both with drinks and staring, but he couldn't help it. Beautiful women called his name just like the stolen coins he so thoughtfully plucked off a drunkard and used to buy himself more mead.
A pretty lil' lass like you in the shithole of Riften was concerning, and he felt the need to protect you, even as plastered as he was.
Gods, if Vex ever found about this, he'd be locking himself in Beggar's Row and refusing to come out. Scratch that, if anyone of his guildmates saw him he would be screwed.
So, being he was so intelligent and clever, he kept his ass parked in his chair, green eyes never wavering off of you, even when you'd stopped singing and grabbed a bite to eat.
He heard the rumors about you, of course. That you were the Dragonborn. Did he care?
No. You looked hot, seemed sweet, and he was always down for having some drunken fun.
Even then, the redhead knew all too well he could come off as a man who simply wanted a hot whore to warm his bed.
As Delvin had once told him, 'You come only to understand women when you have been with one for years, as I hear, so you and I have no fucking clue how they work other than they can pop out babies and shit like us.'
Delvin's humor is appreciated in his line of work.
Even more so with the people he works with. Makes a dying, low-paying trash heap Cistern underground feel like home.
Taking a quick swig of his mead, his eyes briefly trailed away from you, only to come back moments later.
Brynjolf hadn't expected you to also be staring, so, in pure instinct, he grinned and flicked his head up in a casual greeting.
He really did enjoy your eyes.
You went back to talking to Keerava immediately, locks fluttering about as you propped your elbows on the bar counter, and he never felt his ego plunge harder than that single moment.
He wasn't losing his touch, was he? Or did you find him creepy?
Oh, you'd be hard to get. Brynjolf sincerely enjoyed the challenge, and would be eager to see how you really acted once it was just you and him.
A movement from the corner of his eye sent him standing as you easily and smoothly moved towards the door, nimble like you were a thief yourself. He debated whether or not to tail you, then decided to just in case something happened.
So, Brynjolf exited the dim inn, his dark tunic doing little for the small night chill as he tried to figure out where you'd went.
Nothing. You literally disappeared.
A soft shuffle of movement from the right, and someone was right next to him.
"What makes you think you've got the right to follow me, eh?" you questioned, arms crossed as you glared. He whipped around in seconds, and damn near couldn't breathe.
You were better up close.
Shit, conversation- that was kind of important, rather than ogling you all damn day.
YOU ARE READING
You know why you're here. (I am trying to update daily, and the one-shots are a minimum of 1000 words) No promise of lemons, but fluff will make multiple appearances. There might be some foul chicken language- fair warning.