perhaps #27 (kissing the back of hand) with fiona and bryn for the platonic touch prompt ?? love love love your writing 💕
Whatever happened in Solitude when Bryn and Fiona first met is just going to be a forever #noodleincident
Brynjolf x Fiona
568 words | Ao3
Brynjolf would never tire of Solitude. Even though it was on the opposite side of Skyrim, miles away from the place he called home, it held a special place in his mind—a hold where significant memories had been forged. One memory was constant, however, when he thought of Haafingar and that was the first night that he met Fiona. Of course he didn’t know it was her that first night.
All these years later, they had found themselves back in the Blue Palace again one Frostfall eve, at another one of Elisif’s masquerade affairs. It was the perfect opportunity to work undercover, casing the city and working nobles for potential marks. If they played their cards right—and they always did—they would walk away with plenty of more gold for the Guild’s vault by the night’s end.
Much to Brynjolf’s chagrin, he had spent most of the soiree separated from Fiona, feeling uncomfortable in his finery and mask as he stood in some balcony corner. While it gave him the advantage to overlook the guests that came and went, it also gave him full view of where his Guildmaster—his lass—was currently being fawned over by the Jarl’s council.
Now, Brynjolf didn’t consider himself a jealous man…but as the years went on in his relationship with Fiona, he found himself more and more protective. Rather, he hated when he found himself in a situation where he couldn’t shout from the rooftops that she was the love of his life and the woman he indented to marry—if only he could get the damn stubborn woman to say yes.
Falk Firebeard’s laughter coupled with his intrusive thoughts made it all too much to bear, and with a sigh he left his post. He journeyed down the stairs to where she was standing with the group to the side of the designated dance floor. He took note of her questionable expression—their plan was going off script—but he had good reason, at least he hoped.
“May the beautiful lass honor me with a dance?” he asked, extending his hand as bent over in a half-bow.
While the other men gave skeptical glances, Fiona only grinned, eagerly accepting his request. The moment her fingers met his, he was quick to cup them, bringing them to his lips for a soft kiss. She struggled to hide her laughter as he guided her into the flow of the song that was already playing, one hand placed firmly on her waist.
“I thought you’d never come to whisk me away,” she sighed, stepping closer to rest her arm against his chest.
“Say the word, and I can have you off this dance floor and away from these stuffy nobles in five—two minutes.”
Fiona snickered, the blue of her eyes shimmering behind her velvet mask. “The last time we were sneaking in this palace, I poisoned you when you tried to kiss me!”
Brynjolf shrugged. “Different circumstances.”
“What if I shackle you to the bedpost again?”
“I wasn’t going to protest,” he replied. He was feeling woefully nostalgic now.
“Well then,” Fiona pulled away as the song ended, fluttering her skirts into a curtsy. She allowed him to take her hand once more, watching him carefully as he pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Meet me upstairs in five—two—minutes.”
He wouldn’t dare be late.
platonic touch prompts | leave a 💙
