#Rory Burns | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rorylovesangst · 1 month ago

Text

A Burning Hill

construction worker/underground fighter simon riley x waitress

mood board

song of the chapter is I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski

tws: sh injury, physical discomfort, emotional distress, self-deprecation

previous chapter → chapter 3 -> next chapter

word count: 2.5k

The next time you see him, it’s not at the diner. But you really wish it was.

The bell above the pharmacy door cuts through the heavy quiet with a sharp, irritating jingle. The air is thick and stale, heavy with the scent of cardboard, antiseptic, and damp. You pull your coat tighter around your body, its nylon whispering as you move, and your sneakers squeak against the warped linoleum, leaving small wet prints behind.

The overhead lights flicker faintly, casting yellow, uneven shadows over the shambolic shelves. Rows of half-forgotten remedies line the aisles, their withered labels mucky and peeling. The heater in the corner gripes mellifluously, pushing out only the faintest suggestion of warmth.

You find the burn cream on the far aisle, tucked between dented bottles of rubbing alcohol and crushed boxes of gauze. You crouch, your cold, stiff fingers skimming over the boxes, your eyes snagging on the bold prices: $17.99. $23.95. $19.90. An acidic knot twists in your chest. It might as well cost your entire paycheck.

The bell above the door chimes again, and the sound of boots scuffing against the linoleum cuts through your thoughts. You shift slightly, keeping your focus on the shelves and their ludicrous prices.

Embittered, you snatch a box of the cheapest cream and stand up too fast, your heel catching gawkily on the edge of your coat. You stagger backward, colliding with something solid—no, someone.

“Shit—sorry,” a voice rumbles behind you, low and familiar, vibrating through you like an aftershock as their breath puffs across your shoulders, balmy and minty.

Your breath catches, and you whirl around on your heels. His face is right there. Broad shoulders framed by a battered green jacket, the same blond buzz cut, and eyes so stygian they feel like ink.

Riley. Coffee, light and sweet.

For a moment, you’re too agitated to speak. The box of burn cream slithers from your fingers, thudding softly to the floor. He bends to grab it, rising in one smooth motion, holding it out like an offering.

“You okay?” He’s watching you with a smirk, cool and coy.

“I’m fine,” you say nippily, hell for leather. You pluck the box from his hand, holding it in a hermetic embrace against your belly.

Your eyes flick from his hands, seething and raw, back to his face. “You should clean those up,” you blurt, leaking like a faucet from your mouth, as you stare at the shelf behind him, the vitamins coalescing into a colorful, prismatic haze.

He raises an eyebrow, the faintest hint of amusement wrestling at the corner of his mouth. His knuckles flex as he rubs one hand over the other, and his voice carries a dry, razz edge. “Clean ‘em up, huh? That coming from you? With that look on your face?”

You blink, startled. “What?”

He gestures loosely toward you, his dark eyes probing over your posture, your face. “Your eyebrows are all pinched up. You’re holdin’ that burn cream like your life depends on it.” His tone softens, a few opaline teeth keeking through his curling lips. “Not exactly subtle.”

Your cheeks prickled hot, and you innately loosen your grip on the box. “It’s fine.” You’re flaring, voice serrate, defensive. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he replies, tipping back slightly, though his gaze doesn’t waver. “Bet it doesn’t even hurt, right?”

“It doesn’t,” you snap again, the words brazen this time.

He chuckles, low and throaty, the sound entwining around you like vines. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re holding yourself so tight you might snap in two.”

You scowl, shifting on your feet, suddenly hyperaware of the dull throb radiating from your chest. “Shouldn’t you be worrying about your own injuries?”

“Oh, I am,” he says with a grin, holding up his hands dramatically. “Look at me. Poster child for health and safety.”

Against your better judgment, an infinitesimal laugh escapes you before you can stop it. A few more glistening teeth poke out from behind his grin, and you immediately hate yourself for finding him funny.

“Seriously, though,” he continues, his tone softening just a touch, “you should take care o’ that. Burns ain’t something you want to mess around with. Get infected easily, y’know?”

You flub for words, making them come out like a dog's breakfast. “I—I know,” you mutter.

“Good.” He nods toward the cream still clutched in your hand. “Tha’s a start. Now you jus’ need to stop looking like you’re about t’bolt.”

Your eyes dart to his, startled by his bluntness. “I’m not—”

He cuts you off with a wry smile. “Yeah, you are.”

You open your mouth to argue but close it again, the words failing you. You glance down at the burn cream, suddenly feeling the weight of his attention like a spotlight.

“I should go,” you blurt, stepping back.

“You’re good at that,” he says lightly, though there’s no malice in his tone.

“At what?” you snap, your embarrassment bubbling into a rolling boil.

“Running off,” he replies, shrugging. “Guess I’ll see you at the diner, sweetheart.”

The word sweetheart lands like a stone in your chest, sending a hot flush up your neck. Without another word, you turn and head for the exit.

It’s only when the cool air nips your face that you realize the burn is still safe and sound on the shelf where you’d slipped it in your panic. You don’t bother turning back. The burn will heal itself, without the aid of an overpriced cream.

Olive, of course, does not agree with you.

She’s protesting at you over the running water, your hands pruned and wet as you wash the dishes. “Blue, I’m so fucking serious! Why didn’t you get it?”

You shrug, handing her a plate to dry. “I dunno. Slipped my mind, I guess.”

“Slipped your mind?” she scoffs, glaring at you with her jade eyes, “You are telling me it slipped your mind to get the burn cream as if you can’t hear the gauze every time you move.” You nod, and she scoffs again. “Ill buy you some then.”

“No—no. Olive, seriously. I will get it. I swear.”

“You better,” she demands, draping the rag over your shoulder before going back out to the front. You watch her go, your hands still submerged in the soapy water. The warmth seeps into your skin, feeding the black holes that live deep inside you—parched, gnawing voids that grow where your bones should be. She tugs her umber hair into a clip as she walks, her hips swaying in that effortless, kittenish way she has. Olive always moves like she owns the space around her, like the world bows to her rhythm.

In the year and a half you’ve worked at the diner, she’s become a lifeline—motherly, but not your mother. She’s too young for that, only a few years older than you, and far too happy. It’s the kind of happiness that feels like a foreign language, one you’ll never learn to speak.

Olive had your back when no one else did. She let you crash at her place when things got bad, even found you that rundown ranch for dirt cheap—just a couple hundred a month. You try to repay her the only way you know how: covering shifts, cooking the occasional egg bake, and pretending not to need anyone.

But the truth is, Olive is the only one who’s seen through you.

And that’s why you’ll get the damn burn cream tomorrow. Probably.

You spend the rest of your shift crammed in the back, where the dishwater steam clings to your skin, making you feel as though you’re dissolving into the air. On your lunch break, you slump against the countertop, your arms folded like the weight of the day is too much to hold upright. Tony’s voice fills the space, rough but warm, as he flips something sizzling on the grill. He slides you a chicken quesadilla with a gruff, “Messed this one up,” followed by a quieter, “Looks like you could use the extra pounds.”

Olive’s voice cuts through the clatter of the kitchen. “Blue! Get out here a sec!”

You pause mid-bite, blinking toward the kitchen door. Tony gives you a pointed look, smirking as he flips a pancake. “Guess you’re wanted.” You sigh and stuff one more fat bite into your mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk.

You rub your hands on your apron and push through the swinging door, the abrupt garishness of the diner’s main room making you squint. Olive stands near the counter, her back turned to you. But she’s not alone, and you almost choke on your food.

Olive peers over her shoulder, her perfect teeth glistening behind her pink lips. “This is Simon,” Olive says, nodding toward the man beside her. “He’s a family friend. Said he came in here the other day.”

Riley’s gaze meets yours, soft and steady. His dark brown eyes flicker with recognition, and he smiles faintly.

Olive glances from you to Riley—Simon?—her eyes narrowing as her gaze bounces between the two of you. “Have you two already met?”

Simon glances at you briefly, then back at Olive. “Something like that.”

You shift on your feet, feeling heat creep up your neck. “We ran into each other at the pharmacy,” you mumble, brushing a stray hair out of your face.

“Literally,” Simon adds with a small chuckle, but there’s no edge to it, no teasing smirk. Just an easy, almost apologetic tone.

“Ah,” Olive says, her curiosity lingering, but she waves it off. “Well, now it’s official. Blue, meet Simon. Simon, meet Blue.”

He holds out his hand, and for a moment, you hesitate. Then, reluctantly, you reach out to shake it, wary of the wrap engulfing his knuckles. His grip is warm despite his callouses and scars, and you wish you could curl up in his palm and steal all his warmth, but you pull away quickly.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, his voice low and calm. “Properly, I mean.”

“Yeah. You too,” you reply, your voice far more cloying than you intended, making you cringe.

The scrunch of your gauze sparks his attention, causing him to furrow his brows. “How’s the burn?”

You blink, taken aback. “The same as this morning,” you mumble, smoothing out your apron.

“Thought so,” he says, eyebrows slightly raised. “Burns aren’t something to mess around with.”

You nod, glancing away. “I’m taking care of it.”

“Glad to hear that,” he says with a faint smile.

Your gaze drops to his hands, the cuts on his knuckles. “What about you?” you ask, surprising yourself. “Your hands… are they okay?”

Simon glances down at them like he’d forgotten they were there, then shrugs. “They’re fine. Just clumsy, I guess.”

“Looks like more than just clumsy,” you murmur, but he doesn’t respond, just rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“You two done swapping injuries?” Olive cuts in with a grin. “Blue, Tony’s yelling back there. Simon, want me to grab you a coffee or something while you wait for Price?”

Simon nods, but his eyes linger on you for a beat longer. “It was nice seeing you again,” he says softly, stepping back to let you pass.

You mumble something resembling “You too” before slipping through the door, your pulse hastening for reasons you can’t quite place.

The quiet buzz of the diner feels like a bulky, smothering blanket, pressing down on you as you wipe the counter with bovine, ruffled motions. Your skin feels sticky, the burn on your chest starting to throb painfully; it’s alive and refusing to let you forget it, growing tentacles and eyes. The sting isn’t just a sting anymore. It’s oozing, sticky, raw in places it shouldn’t be, but you can’t bring yourself to look.

Olive’s voice breaks through the silence, humbler than usual. “Simon’s a good guy, you know.”

You freeze for just a moment, not ready to hear it. You know she’s talking about him, but you can’t quite bring yourself to nod or even respond. Your hands feel too rigid, the tingle of the burn creeping over your chest, making it hard to focus. You wish you could ignore it, wish it would go away.

Olive doesn’t push, though. She doesn’t seem to need you to respond. “I’ve known him for years. He’s the quiet type—keeps to himself mostly, but when it counts, he’s there.”

You wish your heart didn’t strain at her words. She makes it sound so simple, so tranquil. But everything about Simon feels like a weight you weren’t ready to carry. You can’t get comfortable around men. Haven’t been able to for as long as you can remember. Maybe it’s the way they look at you. Maybe it’s the way you look at them. Every part of you wants to space yourself, to keep up the walls you’ve spent years building.

You clear your throat, trying to push the uncomfortable feeling aside. “I thought his name was Riley,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “That’s what it said on his jacket.”

Olive glances up, her smile soft but knowing. “Riley’s his last name.”

You’re eyes flutter, caught off guard. “Oh.”

“Yeah, Simon Riley,” she adds, a slight warmth in her tone.

You nod, your fingers moving to polish at the counter again, but your movements are slugish now, bemused. Ronny coughs and sniffles from the back, a rough sound, cutting through the silence just as Olive speaks. His cough rattles through the diner, something almost intentionally loud about it, like he knows exactly what he's interrupting, exactly when to make his presence known. You can’t help but feel a strange sense of unease wash over you at the sound.

You shift anxiously, the burn on your chest now impossible to shrug off. It’s not just a dull throb anymore, but a sticky, aching kind of pain that pulls at the skin, and you can feel it starting to seep through the fabric of your shirt. You try to hide it, but it’s getting worse—making you feel more exposed with every second that ticks by. The tightness in your chest isn’t just from the burn. It’s the weight of your own discomfort, the way you can’t bring yourself to reach out for help, even if you know it’s getting too bad to handle alone.

Olive doesn’t press on Simon anymore, her gaze softening with a quiet understanding you can’t quite place. “He doesn’t talk much, kinda like you.”

Your hand intuitively goes to your chest, trying to kneed at the burn, but the pain intensifies, and you wince, clenching your jaw against it. You want to pull away, to escape the way it feels to be so visible—so vulnerable. But it’s too late.

Olive doesn’t say anything else, and the diner seems to settle back into its rhythm. But in the back of your mind, there’s that thought, small and growing: Simon. He might be a good guy. You just might not deserve someone like that. Not when you can’t even handle your own skin, let alone anyone else’s skin pressed against your own knowing the rot will spread.

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honeyxbunny99 · 4 months ago

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Sandor Clegane~ The Bitch and The Hound pt.2

After another evening spent dining alone, watching as Anna carried the half-empty food tray away, you began to wonder if the hound was eating at all. If he was, who had he been dining with? You felt a pang of jealousy and narrowed your brows in confusion at it. Day 3 of your matrimony was coming to a close, and you felt incredibly alone. You saw the hound once in the garden, walking with a purpose as always, and offered him a small smile. He offered nothing in return-- did not even meet your eyes. In the moment you were hurt and embarrassed. Now, after all of this neglect, you were angry. This is not how a marriage was supposed to be, even an arranged one. Perhaps the marriages you were imagining were only tall tales. Perhaps every man hated his woman, and every woman hated her man-- only tolerating each other long enough to put on a show for the public and make babies.

You had nothing personal to reflect on; your parents' marriage ended in tragedy before you were old enough to comprehend the intricacies of what may have led to such an end.

~"Your mother was an angel, and this world is a hell. She had to be with her kind."

That was a generous quote you remember your father telling you when you were still young and innocent. You wondered now, however, if he truly held her memory in such high regard, or if he only wanted you to think positively of her and stop asking hard questions.

Your father kept you so sheltered that you even felt separate from your sister. She was allowed to go out unescorted. Allowed to have friends, fall down and scrape her knees, make mistakes. All because she had been born later than you. Surely she held your beauty, the same genetics coursing through her veins. It was never depended upon though. Your father did not worry about preserving her as he did you, and in truth you resented the both of them for that. You grew up inside the walls of your small cottage. The only independent travel permissible to you was through books. You took full advantage of this. Your father would bring home books that taught you manners, how to dance, how to care for your hair and skin. You promised to be a good study in all of those areas and more so long as he also provided fantasy and romance and history whenever he could.~

Everything you'd spent your entire life learning seemed to be for nothing if your marriage continued down this trajectory. The Hound cared not for fantasies, had no manners, and hated to hear you talk. You chewed on the inside of your cheek in contempt for him. Even the beauty you tried so hard to care for had no effect on him. You felt utterly useless.

"Is there anything else I can help you with tonight, milady?" Anna broke your focus, and you were thankful. Your bitter thoughts were getting you nowhere.

"Where is my husband?"

Anna looked nervously at the floor. "I do not know, milady..."

You rolled your eyes but gave her a quick smile. It wasn't her fault. "Then that will be all. Thank you, Anna."

The two of you shared an embrace and you closed your eyes at the comfort of contact. She held you back tightly and giggled. If you did not have her, perhaps you would have thrown yourself out of that window.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Sandor's voice boomed and the both of you startled and pulled away.

"Forgive me, Lord Clegane!" Anna rushed out, stammering with an explanation.

"I embraced her." You said boldly.

"Why?"

"Why do you find it appropriate to curse in front of a lady?"

"I see no ladies here." He grumbled, staring you down. Your lips curled in anger, and you mumbled to Anna to go to her room. She glanced between the two of you before casting her eyes to the floor out of fear and retreating past the hound, who growled like a dog as she passed. The door slammed shut behind him.

"Is being rude all that you know?" You scolded him.

His brows knit together in anger. "Is being daft all YOU know?!" He crossed the room to you quickly, but you stood your ground. "You don't touch the servants, you don't call them by their first names, you don't pretend she's your bloody fucking sister!"

You were surprised he was even aware of your family.

"You don't even know that girl! Do you realize how fast she'd hand you over to Joffrey if you let the right thing slip out in front of her!" His large hands swallowed your arms as he shook you slightly, trying to get some sense into you.

"You know her even less! Anna would never--"

"You didn't know the girl but 2 days! Now you want to play dollies and kiss--"

"It was a hug!" You shouted back.

"I forbid it!"

You laughed in his face. His pressure on your arms grew.

"I am your husband, you daft little cunt and what I say goes!" "You are a joke!" You spit back. "You are no more my husband than my father is noble! You certainly can parade around as if you were, but the Gods see through your falsehoods. They know we are not truly joined. And if you continue neglecting me the Red Keep shall know as well."

"You think the Gods care where and when I stick my pecker, you've got some very bored idols..." He released your arms and you tried to keep your face stoic. "If anyone is going to question our marriage it'll be your fault, and it'll be your head on a pike, not mine." He smirked. "I'm your punishment! You, you're meant to be my prize. Something to chew on for the King's old dog." He looked you up and down.

"A prize you reject but wish so dearly to protect from evil handmaidens." You squinted at him with disgust. "Don't ever speak to Anna like that again."

He laughed, brows raised. "You mean to tell me what to do? I could crush your bones and not break a sweat, love."

"Do it then." You dared.

He stared at you like you were crazy.

"The moment I cursed Joffrey I anticipated death. It would have been worth it, were it only my life on the line... I would have cursed and sworn until my tongue was cut out and then fought some more." Sandor quirked a brow at you slowly. "But it wasn't just me... It was my father, daft and rude as he is, and my sister. Instead of death he gave me you, only you... But you don't want me. Could never want me. His intention was to humiliate me but I did not feel embarrassed."

"Frightened." He grumbled.

"Frightened, yes. You're very imposing, but it wasn't to do with your looks or even how you handled me... I was, am, frightened of losing all I have known in my life. I have only ever had my sister and my father, and now I can never have them again. You won't even allow me a bond with a handmaiden. I only have you and you want nothing to do with me. Even now you hide yourself in the shadows. You do not deem to speak to me except to threaten or intimidate. I have no one to talk to, no one to touch... The curse the king gave me was isolation." You realized too late that tears had fallen from your eyes. You wiped them with your fingers and took a deep breath.

"Please leave me." You asked quietly.

"You cry about isolation and then ask me to leave?" Sandor narrowed his eyes. "If being with me is so bad then I suppose Joffrey should have been more merciful with death, eh?"

You rolled your eyes. "Being with you is not bad! You don't understand what I'm saying!"

"Then what are you saying, princess, your wish is my command!"

His sarcastic voice broke you. "I want you!" You shouted, causing his hard demeanor to shrink down. "I want to know you, to be near you. I want to please you, but I don't know how--"

"Stop talking." He said gruffly.

You sighed, closing your mouth as another tear slipped down your cheek. You didn't bother wiping this one, he'd already seen you for the vulnerable, pathetic, lonely little girl that you were. You watched him struggle with something in his mind before stalking over to you again. He pulled off his cape and offered it to you, looking into the fire to the right of you.

You took it gently, confused.

"For your tears."

Suddenly you were nervous, but raised the cloth up to wipe away the wetness on your face.

"Do you wish to go home?"

Now you were REALLY confused. "I cannot."

"Do you wish it?... If you could, if... If I could make that happen for you, sneak you away." His eyes were shifting between yours and the flames. You weighed it in your mind, but the truth didn't take long to reveal itself.

"No..." You said truly. "I wish to make a new home." You tried to hand him back his cape, fingers brushing against his.

"Keep it." He commanded. Finally, his eyes settled on you, analyzing your face. You took the opportunity to analyze his. He was handsome, even with the scars. Anna had told you some story about his brother mutilating him when they were just boys, and it hurt your heart at the time. His complexion with split in half, warm glow of the fire illuminating the left, untouched side, and moonbeams cast through your window highlighting the right.

"If playing house with that servant girl makes you feel better about it all, then do it. Just don't let anyone else see. If you fear for your head by me not being around, then I'll come to you every night that I can."

"I don't want you around out of fear--"

"Well you don't want to know me. Shouldn't... There's not much about me that wouldn't disgust you in the end anyways." He nodded, resolving to his next statement. "But I can guard you. Keep you safe."

"I-..." You sighed, wanted to tell him how you desired him like a husband. "Thank you, my lord."

"I told you in this room you don't have to call me that."

"Well, I'm not calling you dog."

"S'what I am."

"Not to me... Your real name is Sandor, correct?"

He made no move to answer.

"Did you know that it means protector?" You felt embarrassed but couldn't help words before they spilled out of your mouth. You were only trying to be civil, find some common ground to build on. "Once I had a book full of all the names you could imagine and beside them was their meaning, their origin, famous people that shared that name... I loved that book. You were born to be a protector."

"I wasn't born to be anything."

"Do you truly believe that?" "Aye. If I were named something pompous, I would not have wound up a king. I would have ended up the same burnt brute I am today, only with a name that didn't match."

You smiled sheepishly at his explanation and nodded. "Yes, perhaps the concept is a little silly... Anna's name means graceful..."

He widened his eyes and nodded once. "Horse shite." To which you giggled softly. When you looked back up at him through your lashes you could almost swear you saw his face changing color. He cleared his throat and walked away but you took quick steps to catch him before he could reach the door. You grabbed his armored bicep with both hands and said, "Wait..."

He obeyed, turning his head to watch your hands on him.

You cleared your own throat nervously. "You didn't come to me last night..." Hearing the obvious he turned to you waiting for you to continue. "I was thinking... You could stay tonight."

His lip curled up in the smallest, cocky smirk. "I can stay any night I like, it's my room."

"What I mean is," you tried to remain polite, but your tone was betraying your mild annoyance. "Would you like to stay the night with me?" He blinked at you, smirk disappearing just as quickly as it had come. "I would like you to stay the night with me..." You pushed further. You realized your hands were still wrapped around his strong arm and you carefully slid them off, feeling shy.

"You have to sleep some time, don't you?" You tried again after a moment of silence. "I swear not to bother you. I'll- I'll keep to myself, I'll move silently, I'll go straight to sleep and I can even sleep on the floor--"

Sandor rolled his eyes at you and turned around to lock the door. "Crazy bitch." He grumbled under his breath, but you heard. Despite him insulting you, you felt a smile spread across your face. He would stay with you. Stay because you asked him to. Perhaps your husband knew kindness after all.

He walked past you and began to undo the clasps of his armor. "You're not sleeping on the damn floor."

"Neither are you." You turned to him, hoping this wouldn't cause another argument. You watched him continue removing his hard outer layer and waited for a response. "I don't bite..."

"I do." Sandor retorted, back still to you. You folded your hands nervously behind your back.

"I think your bark is worse than your bite... Did you know I was bit by a dog once? A real dog? It's the only scar that I have--"

"Didn't you swear not to bother me?" He put out the fire. His harshness made heat rise to your cheeks in embarrassment.

You nodded remembering the only reason he agreed to stay here was because you promised you would move silently. You moved quietly over to the bed and pulled the covers and furs into place, trying to make it look as inviting as possible. You considered removing your dress but knew you were on thin ice, so instead you climbed into your side and slid under the covers. You watched Sandor sit down in the large chair and begin to drink the wine straight from the pitcher. You watched him close his eyes and lean back, as though he was settling in to sleep in the chair. You supposed it was better than nothing and turned away from him, trying to close your eyes and let sleep take over you.

You began counting shooting stars in the blackness of your mind. You got all the way to 105 when you heard your husband's voice chime in again, making you flinch.

"You said you got bit?" His inquiry paired with the grumpy tone confused you but still a smile began to form. You sat up slowly and twisted around to face him. All you could see was a big brooding shadow still sat in the chair.

You nodded and then paused, taking a breath and then holding it. "You can't sleep?"

"Hardly ever do. Wine's shit." He grumbled.

"Hmm..." You nodded. "So, you'd like one of my stories to put you to sleep, s'that it?" You heard him blow a laugh through his nose and mentally cheered. "Happy to oblige... A bedtime story works best when spoken softly though, are you sure you wouldn't care to listen to it from the bed?"

No movement, no sound. You sighed, holding your hands up in surrender. "I won't touch you, not unless you want me to."

He scoffed out a condescending sound before rising from the chair and cross the room slowly. "Such a dutiful little wife." It sounded like an insult.

"I could be a good one, you know. My whole life my father taught me the best he could to care for my future husband."

"I don't need a wife, never wanted one." "Never? Not even as a boy?"

"I was never a boy, only smaller than I am today." He laid down in the bed and it made your side rise up. You smiled and tried not to laugh at the image in your mind of a shrunken Sandor Clegane. He was trying to be intimidating but you thought it was adorable.

"It's true then." He said, his body turned away from you. "Your father made you play wife..." Your brows furrowed together as you stared at his back. "Cook, clean, fuck you cause you looked like your mother." His words dropped so casually but they made a lump form in your throat and your stomach felt sick.

"What?!" He didn't answer. You shoved his back hard, though barely moving him. "What did you say to me?! How dare you spread lies about me!"

Angry tears burned at your eyes and when he sat up to face you, you pulled your hand back to slap him. He caught you by your wrist. "Don't you EVER--" "I didn't start it, I just heard it! Gods woman settle down!" He said as you attempted to hit him with your other hand, body writhing to get out of his grasp. You struggled and whined, "FUCK!!" You cried out, head dropping to hide the hot tears that slipped past your lashes. Finally you stopped squirming and only cried quitely.

He still held your wrists, though his grip was softening. His eyes were wild still in reaction to you. How was it you were so small and weak and yet unafraid of him? Were you truly that daft?

"It's not true. It's not true, Sandor." His heart softened a bit at the mention of his name crossing your tongue once again. Finally, he let go of his hold on you slowly. He didn't know quite what to do for you, but he could still see droplets of tears forming on your dress. Almost nervously his hand went out to pet your hair.

"Aye, it's not true, girl. It's not true..." He tried to comfort and was relieved when you did not flinch at his touch.

Your head was still swimming in shame however. You realized now why he didn't want you as a wife. He thought you were dirty, used, broken by your father. Slowly, when you realized his hand on your head you looked up at him. "It's not true, please don't think it of me, Sandor... If my father ever touched me, if anyone ever dared to, I'd kill him."

His eyes widened at you again. "My whole life depended on me being pure for my husband, to save my family from poverty. Why would he ruin all of that just to satisfy an urge? Why would I let him?!" You were getting worked up again and he saw it, so he put his hands on either side of your face to steady your vision on him.

"It's not true, it's a bloody lie, and if I ever hear it again, I'll kill the man who speaks it."

The determination in his voice, the way his eyes were meeting yours, his warm hands gentle on your face; it all made you believe him and forgive him in an instant.

"I'm sorry..." You mumbled, feeling shy again at the closeness. He watched your (e/c) eyes scan over his face and he grew insecure again as he admired your dark, wet lashes all clumped together from tears.

"It's alright..." He dropped his hands and you mourned the loss. "I'd probably try to kill someone too if they said my father fucked me any time he wanted to." You cringed again at the allegation.

"I wasn't trying to kill you..." You defended, trying to feel normal again.

"You couldn't anyway." "Sure I could." He barked out a laugh and raised his brows.

"Not even if I was half-dead already."

You guffawed, actually offended at the truth. "You're lucky I don't desire you dead." You raised your brows and folded your arms below your chest playfully.

"Aye you just desire me in your bed..." He relaxed his back against the headboard, arms folding up behind his head almost confidently.

You blushed but couldn't argue much against the statement. Still, you were going to try, it was your nature. "You're the one so desperate to hear my stories that you'd crawl into bed with a stranger who repulses you."

"A stranger?" He opened one eye to look you up and down.

"Aye, a stranger." You mocked his accent. "You probably don't even know my name."

"(Y/n)."

This actually caught you off guard. "How did you--" "Your father said it when he was trying to sell you to the king."

You hadn't expected him to remember a detail like that, but you enjoyed hearing him say your name for the first time.

"(Y/n) Clegane now. Easy to remember even for me." He relaxed again into his arms, but you were freaking out on the inside. Your names together, spoken by him in this bed, made you tremble.

"Am I ever going to hear this story, or should I give up and go find better wine to drink myself to sleep?"

You sighed at his sass. "Lay down then and be quiet."

"M'fine right here, girl."

You smirked at him. "Afraid to let your guard down again? Scared to be hit by a little girl?" You watched his smile grow uncontrollably, yet he kept his eyes shut.

"You should be afraid to break a nail, princess."

Huffing again, you began, speaking softly in hopes of relaxing him.

"I was young, and had just had my first blood..." You hid your face in your hands in embarrassment.

"Woman, what are you--"

"It's important I swear. Now shut up." You paused a moment before continuing and when you looked back at him his eyes were shut again. "As I said... I was young and bleeding and suffering, honestly... But my father insisted we had to go into town again. Each month, like clockwork, my father would walk me through the town, sometimes we stopped at shops, made conversation, but it was all about making sure I wasn't forgotten... My whole life I was made to believe I was untouchable. Something people had to want, had to earn. He wanted me to be a pretty thing in the backs of people's minds."

"You were his trophy... I'm sure he did the same to your mother."

You looked at him, surprised he was actually listening. His eyes still shut, but now his arms were down by his sides. You shifted slightly to lay down and rest on your own arm, taking the opportunity to admire him while getting lost in your own story.

"Perhaps that's why she killed herself... I know that there were times, like the one in this story actually, where my father's ego made me want to die... But that's beside the point. I was uncomfortable that day, I felt like the men could smell it on me..." You shook your head at the memory. "It was my first time out as a woman and the men knew, they must have known because the way they leered after me made my stomach turn worse than it had already been... Finally, when my father stopped to show magic to a group of kids in the street, I snuck away. Foolish, I know. I do a lot of foolish things... But I, I snuck back into an alleyway just to get away from the stares. I thought I might avoid them forever if I just kept walking... I stopped down one empty street when I saw a dog digging through rubbish. He was black, so skinny you see all of his ribs, and even his hip bones. I remember watching the dogs desperate search for food, and being moved to tears. There was this poor, abandoned, starving thing, and I was feeling sorry for myself because I was pretty....

"I had been carrying a basket of fruit, I.. I thought surely it would be more appealing to the dog than the soiled rags. I called the dog over, I--" you shook your head a released a small breathy laugh, "I think I called it handsome... The dog approached, and smelled the hand I had out to offer... And then he smelled my skirts, and I realized he did not want my fruit." You bit your lip as the pain throbbed once again. "He tackled me, the scrawny thing. He pounced on me and barked in my face; his teeth so close to my eye I thought he would tear it out... I screamed and thrashed but he was too heavy... He bit my arm when I tried to hit him and then he went down to my legs... It's like he was possessed, he needed meat...

"He bit down and tore open my thigh. He started chewing on my flesh, I could hear it mashing between his teeth even over my screams... And then suddenly the weight was gone, and I could sit. And when I did, I saw my father... Beating the dog's head in with a stone... And as I held my leg, I wept... I got that dog killed, because of my selfishness and my stupidity." You nodded, feeling the sorrow but being strong enough now not to cry about it. "I got in trouble, obviously, for straying... My father was disappointed in the damage to my body, but after a few days, he came to me and said that he was glad it had been a hound to find me and not a man. That a man could have ruined me in ways far worse... I hated him for it. I hated him for killing the dog and I hated the fact that he knew the evil of men, and still made them lust for me. Still wanted to sacrifice me to one for the good of the family..."

"He was right to kill the dog." His voice was soft, sleepy, and you were relieved your yammering seemed to be working.

"I had no hatred toward the dog... He couldn't help it, he was starving. He did what dogs do when they smell blood. It was my fault for putting him in danger."

"Your life is worth more than a dogs."

"To my father, clearly." You joked.

"To everyone... That dog was gonna die anyway, the way I see it you put him out of his misery."

You reflected on his thoughts. "Maybe... But I've always liked hounds more than men." You smiled. His face was totally relaxed, posture at ease, and breath growing more noticeable. Just a little more... "Anyways... I healed up. My father and I worked on my leg together and he says he can hardly see it now... I still see it though, of course. Sometimes when I'm alone, I run my fingers along it. I like the way it feels. The skin there is more sensitive than the rest and it even hurts still, if I think on it. It's the worst pain I have ever felt. My father said it would serve as a reminder of how delicate I was, and to never stray from him, lest I be hurt again... But even pain can be kind when you're used to feeling nothing..."

You finished your ramblings, studying him once again. His chest heaved slowly, you could see his chest hair poking out of his tunic and you thought honestly again how handsome he was when he wasn't being an ass. You wished you could reach out and hold him gently.

"I'm sorry, that wasn't much of a bedtime story. With luck, you'll not have to run from dogs in your dreams..." You tried to make light of the situation. "Sandor?" You called softly, shifting to sit up ever so gently. After no response you smiled to yourself. He was still sitting up, and you felt that since his guard was down, he could not fight you on being gentle to him.

You slowly reached your hand out to barely graze over his hair, admiring the texture. "I should not have hit you... I want to be gentle to you." You confessed in a whisper, knowing he could not hear. "I want to tell you more stories, better ones that were written by people more worldly than me, and I want to fall asleep to your stories too..." You sighed in contentment. "You never wanted a wife, and I never wanted a husband... But," you maneuvered him and the pillows gently so that he was in a position closer to laying down. "Maybe this can work." You settled, looking at him one last time before settling down carefully next to him, ensuring there was enough space between your bodies. You closed your eyes, feeling awfully tired now too.

"What does (Y/n) mean?" His voice from behind you made your heart skip a beat and your eyes snap open. Your breathing quickened and you covered your mouth to hide it.

~No, no, no! He was asleep! He was! Surely, he couldn't hear me, couldn't know--~

You nearly cried again from embarrassment.

~Be asleep, be asleep~ You told yourself.

"In your little book of names... What does it mean?" He asked again, and you knew there was no point in pretending.

Instead you grabbed the fur blanket and threw it over your head to hide your face, as if that would make it better. At the possibility of him being awake for your confessions, your caressing of his hair, you just wanted to disappear. Still you took a deep breath and recalled aloud.

"It means divine princess... My mother picked it." You held your breath waiting for his response.

"It..." He said and you felt him turn in bed. "It suits you... I," He dragged out the letter, "like your name..."

~Is he trying to compliment me??~ After a moment you couldn't help the giggle that escaped you. No one had ever made you blush as much as Sandor Clegane. You hid your face in your hands again, even though you knew it was impossible for him to see you now. He groaned after your giggle and you felt him turn back around to face the wall. Your smile began to hurt your cheeks and you took a breath.

"I like your name, too..."

#sandor clegane #rory mccann #the hound x reader #the hound smut #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #slow burn #the hound

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marigoldbaker · 1 year ago

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HEY HI CAN WE TALK ABOUT:

adds some real fucking weight to this particular line:

#celia watches dw #river song #THAT'S RORY'S BABY.....................#multiple generations of Yes I Will Let Planets Burn For My Darling. I Don't Care Even

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livelovecaliforniadreams · 1 year ago

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Favorite Otps/Pairings: Jess Mariano & Rory Gilmore (Gilmore Girls) “Look, you know we're supposed to be together. I knew it the first time I saw you two years ago and you know it, too. I know you do.”

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not-with-you-but-of-you · 7 months ago

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Forgive me, Jess, please know that I tried To hold on to the days When you were mine

— requested by @emmafallsinlove

#requests #literati #rory gilmore #jess mariano #rory x jess #jess x rory #gilmore girls #literatiedit #rorygilmoreedit #jessmarianoedit #gilmoregirlsedit #usergif #songedit #my gifs #*#I disregarded the general context of the song so that the verses I chose could fit Jess and Rory’s story okay 😂#so I made it like Jess really did all those things #he did return with his feet on the ground and all grown up #so the problem was just once again the timing because when he came back Rory was in the middle of a mess with Logan #so he was too late in a way??#but not really… I have total faith that they were eventually able to overcome the whole timing problem figure things out and get together #because they’re clearly meant to be endgame 😌#anyways so this is supposed to be seen as part of their angsty post-AYITL period when they think they won’t be able to make it work #except that they totally can!! because that woman has *not* turned out the light!#the light has been on all along even if at times it was just burning softly

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sarabethsilver · 6 months ago

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Anybody catch this before? In Let The Games Begin, Rory lies to Lorelai about when and why she removed Dean's bracelet (aka the dreaded Quarter On A String).

Here's Rory, still very much wearing the bracelet, in the opening scene of the episode. (This is immediately prior to her amazing "hi hi hi hi" scene with Jess 🥰)

I like to think that as soon as Rory had this delightful exchange with Jess, the bracelet disintegrated off her wrist from the sheer force of her wanting him so badly. ANYWAY.

The very next scene is a Friday Night Dinner several nights later, where she is plainly NOT wearing the bracelet:

(Cutie pie is hungry and waiting for her fifth salad.)

She is also NOT wearing the bracelet during her adorably awkward near-kiss with Jess in the diner apartment. I tried to take a screenshot but my brain kept short-circuiting from all the cuteness.

Then, on the morning of her Yale visit - which is about a week later, according to dialogue - Rory says this:

(Please note Lorelai's mournful face as she realizes that Dean will no longer stalk their house on the daily.)

Very interesting, Miss Gilmore! Because according to my calculations, that bracelet has been off your wrist for at LEAST a week, probably closer to two.

It might be a coincidence, but I don't think so... those first two scenes make a pretty big point to show us her left wrist. I wonder if this is supposed to signify a change between how Rory handled her relationships? She told Lorelai every little thing about Dean, certainly including updates about that damn bracelet. But with Jess... the moment they start dating, she's keeping their relationship mostly between them and doesn't include Lorelai.

It's a healthy boundary for Rory to set between her and Lorelai, but it also involved Rory lying about a trivial event. What a perfect demonstration of the ways that her relationship with Jess was more grown up AND more dysfunctional from the start.

#i'm probably over-analyzing here #is there such a thing?😂#shoulda burned that quarter on a string #that thing is definitely cursed #rory gilmore #literati

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aletterinthenameofsanity · 1 year ago

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you know you're doing something right when you, as the author, are shaking and crying and autistic hand-flapping when re-reading over the scene you just wrote

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elevenenthusiast · 7 months ago

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I’ve been rewatching Gilmore girls and i still think their slow burn should have lasted for a little longer

#then maybe the writers wouldn’t have came up with the dumbass idea to take jess out of the show for a spinoff that didn’t even happen #i’m also just a sucker for slow burns it builds up more angst and the tension only gets stronger ugh i just love it #literati #jess mariano #rory gilmore #gilmore girls

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blackdollette · 10 months ago

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Hey, "high with Clyde" anon here (and high again, funnily enough). Smut you say? I've had a thought circulating in my mind recently. Going shopping for new clothes with Jack Thurlow and trying stuff on for him to rate while he sits all pretty on that couch they have there (y'know, that one that they have specifically for guys doing the exact same thing?) while you model for him. And for whatever reason - maybe his responses have been rather lacklustre and you want his....ahem, "enthusiasm", or maybe just cuz you're devious like that - you decide you wanna rile him up a little bit. So! At the next store, you grab like, the sluttiest outfits available unbeknownst to him, and then model them all for him, feeling all smug that he's practically drooling at you

And when he finally reaches his breaking point, the next thing you know, you got your feet behind your ears and his hand over your mouth so you don't get caught. 🤤 Idk, do with that what you might. ^^

you've done it again, anon 🙌🏽

"i get dressed to ride for you, baby." | jack thurlow

burning desire. - lana del rey

✮⋆˙ [tags] @faesucksass @lustkillers @angelsanarchy @mayathepsychic1999 @josibunn @livingdead-materialgirl@romanroyapoligist @oliviah-25@si1nful-symph0ny @auggiethecreator @vanlisbon@livingdead-reilly @imoonkiss @lankysimp @nom-nommmm1 @xxbl00d-cl0txx @k1ll3rh0rr0r @wildathevrt @mommymilkers0526 @greenxgloss @wild-rose-35 @areuirish

female!reader x jack

word count: 1.8k

contents: public sex, unprotected p in v, missionary position, creampie

“you’ve got 5 minutes to try everything on, you hear me?” jack called out as he sat on the small leather couch outside of your dressing room, brows furrowed as he crossed his arms and slumped into the seat knowing full well you were going to take your precious time trying on every single outfit. so much for a "fun" shopping trip.

inside the small room, you had an assortment of clothes in front of you, ranging from long flowy gowns to dark blue baggy jeans and designer sweaters. a top-tier selection of clothes but none of which were to jack’s taste. but you decided to test your luck anyway.

minutes later, you stepped out and stood right in front of him, wearing your first dress. “how’s this one, jack?” his eyes were downcast, looking at something on his phone. you tapped him on the shoulder, only earning half of his attention. “hm? it looks nice, dolly.” you pouted, moving your hand to his chin to make him look at you. “but you didn’t even look at it.” he moved your hand away, looking you up and down with an unamused gaze. “i said it looks fine. now are you finally done so we can get out of here?”

you rolled your eyes, walking back into the dressing room and slipping off the dress. you picked up a skintight black dress that was so long it dragged on the floor. surely this one would grab his attention, you thought to yourself as you paired it with a white, button-up sweater. you put on a pair of light-brown heels that were hidden by the fabric, stepping out once again and patting his cheek.

“what about this? is this one better?” you gave him a little spin, giving him a full 360 degrees of your body in the tight dress. he gave a little smirk in response. “yeah if you wanna look like a nun, i guess. is this the last outfit? i don’t think i can listen to the music in here any longer.” you huffed, discouraged at how nonchalant he was. “yes, im done.” you muttered, walking back into the dressing room to get back into your normal clothes.

you walked out of the dressing room empty-handed, leaving everything behind since none seemed to give you the reaction you expected from him. he took your hand, dragging you out of the store and back into the main mall. “good riddance,” he muttered under his breath. “can we go home now, angel?” your eyes scanned the assortment of stores surrounding you until they landed on one that would surely sell clothes that would blow his socks off.

you shook your head. “not yet, i just wanna go to one more store. please, just one more place?” you begged, staring up at him as he groaned. “only one more. you head on inside, i’m going to grab a coffee. i’ll meet you in the dressing room.” with that, he released your hand and let you go your own way.

you dashed into the store, immediately pleased by the outfits in the display window. you wasted no time picking up everything you saw, picturing the look on his face when he’d see the clothes on you. you walked into the dressing room, starting to change into one of the outfits as you heard his voice.

“you in here, doll?” he said as he sipped on his hot drink, waiting for a response. “i’m here, jack. just gimme a sec, okay?” he nodded, immediately realizing that you couldn’t see his answer. he sat down on the seat in front of your dressing room, sighing as he scrolled on his phone. “this damn girl…” he whispered to himself. then he was interrupted by the noise of you walking out, standing right in front of him.

you didn’t have to tap him to get his attention this time. his eyes were caught by the shiny black thigh-high leather boots you had on. then his eyes traveled up, first landing on your dangerously short pleated skirt and low-cut tube top that showed just enough cleavage to make his breath hitch (this is the outfit). you placed your hand on your hips, looking down at him as he swallowed hard, immediately putting his phone down and gripping the seat.

“now i’ve got your attention.” you remarked smugly. “you like this one, jack?” you took the words out of his mouth, his cheeks covered in a bright pink stain as his mouth gaped open. he cleared his throat, nodding nervously as a stupid little smile tugged at his lips. “y-yeah, this one’s nice, baby. give me a little spin, will ya?” your face lit up and you twirled, making the skirt lift up just a little as your heels clicked on the ground.

jack squirmed, shifting his position so he was sitting with his legs crossed, suppressing a painfully obvious boner. you grinned triumphantly, happy that you could break his cold, hard exterior. you walked back into the room, making that sad that you were going away but excited to see that next set of clothes you’d have on.

minutes passed and jack found himself impatiently tapping his foot as his mind ran wild with thoughts of you wearing such intimate clothes just for him. his hard cock was straining against the rough denim of his jeans, making him groan quietly as he placed a hand on top of his bulge to calm the throbbing sensation.

his foot began to bounce on the ground with anticipation, and soon enough he couldn’t take it anymore. he sprung up from his seat, pushing the curtain of your dressing room to the side and popping his head in. “are you done in here?” you jumped slightly, startled. but jack’s eyes became as wide as saucers as drool began to drip down his lips.

you stood in front of the mirror, wearing a small tennis skirt with a plaid pattern on it, paired with a white silky shirt that was more revealing than your bra. and your cute little feet in those white knee-high socks didn’t help the matter either (the outfit). “jack! i’m not done in here yet!”

he walked into the room, approaching you with a lust-filled haze as you backed into the wall behind you. he closed the curtain of the room, pinning you to the wall and pressing his body into yours, his boner pressing into your stomach. you gasped, the heat of blood starting to pool in your core as he grabbed your face and pulled you into a very sloppy kiss.

“goddamnit, woman… you just know exactly how to drive me crazy, don’t you?” he grabbed your ass, lifting you off the ground and making you wrap your legs around his waist, your clothed, throbbing clit now in contact with his pulsating bulge. you moaned into his mouth as he kissed you again, this time using his tongue to tease yours with his gentle flicks.

your hips began to grind on his, desperate for even the smallest amount of pleasure to still your nerves. jack groaned deeply, whipping out his cock and pumping it quickly. you glanced down, seeing that his girth had nearly doubled in size because of how swollen it had gotten. he rubbed his leaky tip on your silky panties, feeling your wetness through the thin fabric.

you let out a shaky moan, grabbing onto his muscled biceps as he set you down on the wooden bench that was meant for clothing. he pushed everything else off, leaving room for only you as he pushed your legs behind your head, the wet spot on your panties much more conspicuous in this position.

jack bit his lip as he grinned from ear to ear. “that’s my little model…” he trailed a teasing finger down your cleavage until he got all the way down to your dripping wet cunt. he replaced his finger with his cock, getting off from the feeling of your wet folds hungrily attempting to swallow him.

“guess we should get these out of the way, huh?” he slipped his cock underneath the thin string that covered your pussy, breaking it away with a light tug. your breath became shaky as the cold air hit your grooling cunt. jack spat on his thumb, rubbing messy circles onto your clit as he lined himself up with your hole.

the tip slipped in effortlessly, along with the first few inches. you moaned quietly, making jack clamp his hand over your mouth. “it would be a shame if we got caught in here, wouldn’t it?” with a low groan, he pushed in the remaining inches of his rod, making your eyes well. with his jeans down to his ankles, his hips began slapping into yours.

your eyes rolled to your back on your head as the perfect curve of his dick made him reach nothing but your cervix. you felt your drool bubbling all over his hand as deep, heavy breaths escaped from his parted lips. his large cock abused and stretched out your tiny hole, much to his pleasure.

his fingernails dug into the back of your thighs as his balls slapped your asshole with every deep thrust. your hands found his wrist and forearm, gripping the skin tightly as a white-hot knot began to tie in your stomach. jack’s orderly thrusts quickly lost their composure as your muffled moans made his core boil.

strings on precum connected him to you each time he pulled out. he flipped his hair out of his face, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed back curses that threatened to break free. “s-shit… that’s it, baby… takin’ my cock so well…”

your back arched as you ground your hips against his, desperately chasing the orgasm that was just in your reach. your gushy folds hungrily ate up his cock, making him toss his head back. “use my dick, angel…just like that.” you brought your fingers to your clit, sobbing into his hand as you felt yourself cumming all over him. he grabbed your hips, fucking you at lightning speed as his balls sagged with cum. in a matter of seconds, he was filling up your tight, swollen pussy with loads upon loads of his hot seed.

he pulled out of you, watching as his cum cascaded out of your hole like a milky waterfall. you panted breathlessly, slowly regaining your composure as jack tucked his cock back into his pants before getting you all cleaned up as well.

you put on your clothes, looking at the mess you two had just made in a public residence. but before you knew it, jack was out of the dressing room, carrying all of the clothes you tried on. you walked behind him quickly. “where are you going?” jack smiled back at you. “to the cashier. i look forward to my little model putting on a show for me every night.” he dumped the pile of clothes onto the counter, the cum-stained skirt above everything else like a cherry on top.

author's note: thank you "high" anon for the request! istg I rlly didn't mean for it to get so long

#444rockstargf #rory culkin #rory culkin smut #lana del rey #smut #jack thurlow #jack goes home #born to die paradise edition #born to die #jack thurlow smut #jack thurlow x reader #burning desire

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