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deckedcards · 25 days ago

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. . . GIVE ME WHAT I WANT, WHO AM I SUPPOSED TO PLEASE? WHO AM I?

⌗ PAIRING: yandere! shuntarō chishiya x male! reader x yandere! hikari kuina

⌗ SUMMARY: kuina was the only person that chishiya tolerated during his time in the borderlands. wherever one went, the other followed. the two never let anyone join their pact, only hanging around eachother unless they were required to separate in games. however, what happens when chishiya introduces kuina to a kind face he met during the solitary confinement game?

⌗ THIS WORK INCLUDES . . . lowercase intended, typical aib warnings, typical yandere warnings, third person pov, slight fluff, angst?, reader is traumatized, established relationship (chishiya x kuina), implied poly relationship, protective kuina, flirting, kind’ve bisexual reader, kuina and chishiya reunite, chishiya has his eyeliner back, mentions of the king of spades, reader being too nice for their own good, manipulation, chishiya kinda breaks reader a little, reader gets treated like an object more than a person, character death but it’s not major so don’t worry, mentions of suicide, chishiya and kuina slightly take advantage of reader and his kindness, chishiya being a little shit, reader is mentioned to be taller than chishiya but shorter than kuina, set during the events of season 2, fixed grammar and wording mistakes ❨ edited ❩

⌗ EXTRA NOTES: i’m honestly now sure how to feel about this, i feel like it might be all over the place. let me know what you think, feedback is appreciated💙💙 (chishiya gif, kuina gif)

⸺ THE SOUND of lights buzzing filled the silence of the prison. the air was thick as someone new walked in, everyone was spread out around the place, quiet and restless. the black metal bomb collars on their necks didn’t go unnoticed as they shined brightly.

chishiya sighed readjusting his posture. the last player had finally arrived he was waiting here for ages to the point that boredom had started to grow inside him. the tv rang as it turned on, starting to speak.

DIFFICULTY LEVEL: JACK OF HEARTS.

GAME: SOLITARY CONFINEMENT.

the game was simple. guess the shape that appeared on the back of your collar, without cheating by looking at the symbol yourself or with a reflective object. choose a cell once the five minutes of each round ended and state your symbol. seemed easy right?

not quite.

there was time limit during the symbol guessing, don’t answer correctly or take too long to answer? consider your life, game over. the tv stated that the shapes would change every round, this is when a man with navy blue overalls ontop of a yellow shirt decided to speak up, ippei oki.

“wait a sec, so that means we just have to ask each other what our symbols are!”

attention was turned to him at this, “that seems easy enough.” a man who went by (name) spoke up, his mouth shifting into a toothy smile as he went to stand behind ippei going to tell him his symbol before chishiya butted in. “i’m not so sure. they haven’t told us what the conditions to win are yet.”

BE AWARE THAT YOUR OPPONENT, THE JACK OF HEARTS, HAS ALREADY BEEN PLACED AMONG YOU.

“oh, that’s good.”

the announcer continued to talk. no type of violence between players, no weapons, and the game will stop once the jack of hearts is defeated until then, the participants would be forced to stay here unless they find a way to figure it out. chishiya spoke up again, “this means that the only way this game will ever end, is if the jack gives the wrong answer. so, basically, no one here is getting out alive, unless they lie to the jack.”

(name) furrowed his brows at him, “but.. how will we do that if we don’t know who the jack is?” he questioned. chishiya turned to him as a slight smirk tugged at his lip corners, “that’s why we’re here to find out.”

THE GAME WILL NOW COMMENCE.

ROUND ONE: 01: 00: 00

the room fell into another uncomfortable silence, everyone looked at each other until someone spoke up. asking another man about his symbol, the man obliged. completely ignoring the possibility of this man being the jack. how dumb. “so, the twenty of us need to eliminate each other until we somehow figure out who the jack of hearts is.” a man in a suit, ōki yaba, said reminding everyone of what could happen, “what makes you think that anyone is trustworthy?”

the two pulled away, looking at the other in a puzzled manner. everyone else started to break up into groups despite this, in a way to make sure “no one” was going to lie. chishiya just stared, his sharp eyes examining everyone in the room, not bothering to care at their attempts to seemingly win this, “um.. excuse me.” his head turned at the call, it was (name).

“do you—do you mind telling me my symbol, please? and..if you want i’ll tell you yours.” chishiya’s eyes racked upon the man’s body language. his posture was stiff as his hands fiddled against each other, fingers rubbing against another, you could tell his anxiety was through the roof. “are you sure? for all you know, i could be the jack.”

“the jack wouldn’t say something like that.”

chishiya raised his eyebrows at the sternness, he felt something stirring inside him as he stared at the man infront of him, “good point,” he exhaled through his nose, swallowing down a bit of saliva that was stuck in his throat, “but, if you’re trying to survive, i’d advise you examine the people here a little more carefully. keep the ones who don’t lie close, you don’t know who’d be ready to stab you in the back at any moment. i wouldn’t let my guard down, if i were you.”

“does… does that apply to you as well? because, i don’t feel like you’d be the type of person who’d do that,” (name) said with a hint of nervousness in his voice. chishiya didn’t reply, just staring at his face with dark pupils, the jet black eyeliner that decorated his eyelids enhanced them. he felt something stirr inside him again, what was he feeling?

“hey!” a girl wearing all blue with a half up half down hairstyle walked up to ippei, urumi aramaki, a giant smile was plastered on her face as other players were trailing behind her, “do you three wanna join our team? no pressure or anything.”

“uh, it’s not that i don’t want to..” ippei said as him and (name) looked at eachother then at chishiya, he had a grin on his face as he seemingly brightened at her invitation, “okay. we’ll join your group.” chishiya replied for them emphasizing the ‘o’ as he said it. she smiled even more at this, nodding her head at them as she walked away to head downstairs.

(name) whipped his head at chishiya, narrowing his eyes as he opened his mouth, “but you said—“

“disregard what i said,” chishiya cut him off tearing the hoodie from his head as he leaned off from the wall, “i think this might be fun.”

ROUND TWELVE BEGINS NOW.

one, then two, three, then five, seven, then nine, ten, then thirteen. hours have passed, half of the players were already gone and the jack of hearts still hasn’t been found.

(name) was crying, his legs planted under him as his hands clutched against his chest. he was still in his cell, not bothering to get up as he weeped. ippei was gone, he killed himself. killed himself even when he was told what the right answer was all because he couldn’t deal with everyone trying to trick each other. (name)’s heart couldn’t handle this anymore, he didn’t believe that people would actually go this far to win. chishiya was right about all this, he should’ve never let his guard down, he should’ve never trusted anyone.

he tried to be kind. always telling everyone the right answer no matter what. even telling urumi the right shape despite when she had gotten more than one person killed. (name) lived his life treating everyone with the upmost respect, he believed that everyone had a good soul deep down. even when they didn’t show it, no one was a bad person in his eyes. no one, not even the person that placed him in these games.

the door opened, letting brightness into the poorly lighten room. chishiya stood there in the middle, hands in the pockets of his jacket as he observed his shaking body. chishiya was jealous of (name). him and his golden personality. the smiles that he gave him after every round started or ended. trying not to let the deaths of the other players get to him, even trying to get chishiya to laugh when he didn’t want to.

wanting to share his snacks when they went down in the basement, comforting ippei when he was about to break down, trying to interfere when the other players tried sabotaging each other (and chishiya always having to stop him), never letting chishiya’s words break him down when he told him what he needed to hear, even when he looked half dead half the time. he wished he could be like that, happy.

“hmph,” chishiya sighed as he looked into the window of the door. ippei’s body was layed out against the wooden tiles, his blood scattered against the walls of the room as he pondered, “looks like we’ve lost our partner.” he moved his head up, seeing the rest of the remaining players looking at the duo, seemingly questioning them with their eyes as they heard the explosion in ippei’s cell. he didn’t care about that of course, he never did. as long as (name) was still alive it didn’t matter to him. his feet began to move, walking away from the dead body expecting (name) to follow behind him like he regularly did during each round.

silence. he didn’t hear anything trailing next to him, weird, since (name) was just behind him. chishiya stopped in his tracks, turning his legs to see what was keeping (name) from moving. ah. the man was staring at ippei’s corpse, he forgot the friendship the two had made during the rounds. chishiya rolled his eyes as he walked back up to him, (name)’s head refused to move away from the door, “it’s not worth your time.” chishiya said trying to return his focus back onto him, “he already chose his path. there was nothing you could do.” (name) gulped, nodding his head as he chewed on his bottom lip to prevent himself from crying, he was never the best at hiding his emotions. either way, he was glad he was able to make a friend during his time here, even if it was for a little while.

“c’mon, i’m hungry.” chishiya joked signaling his head to the direction of the basement. (name) took one last glance at ippei, his glossy eyes moving to look at the white haired man infront of him. he was so close to breaking, chishiya’s stomach stirred once again. butterflies, that’s what he was feeling. he felt butterflies moving around in his stomach at (name)’s gaze. why hadn’t he realized that before? was this love? no. this was something more, something he couldn’t point his finger at. but… what was this?

‘i don’t feel like you’d be the type of person who’d do that.’ those words echoed in chishiya’s head everytime (name) looked at him. oh, how wrong he was. how very wrong. he’s glad he hadn’t met him before, during the beach, his poor sunshine, maybe then he’d think about reconsidering those words.

the man shook his head as chishiya approached him, crouching down to meet at his eye level, “i’m tired..” (name) whined, his voice stammering at the words that left him, “i’m tired, chishiya. i don’t wanna do this anymore..” chishiya cocked his head, not bothering to hide his cat-like mannerisms. “this world has no place for people like you.”

“huh—”

“your kindness means nothing here,” he explained, “it doesn’t matter what you do, since it won’t be enough. the citizens here are like animals, i already told you, ‘examine the people here a little more carefully,’ but you didn’t listen. letting your heart steer you and not your brain, that was your first mistake. you’re never gonna be safe here if you keep up this act, you know better than this.”

(name) breathed heavily, he was right. his heart was holding him in a headlock. this place was about survival, not love, not care or empathy. all the people who’ve left him to die in previous games came flashing back to him, they were already dead. the previous players, dead. but him, he was still alive, this was how it always was supposed to be, just him. chishiya soothed back the loose hair strands that had fallen onto his face with his cold hands, watching (name) finally come to the realization he was trying to show him this whole time. a sharp smirk covered his face, “besides, you don’t wanna end up like ippei, do you?”

that. that was the breaking point. “no! no… no, never, i don’t—i don’t want that!” (name) yelled, if the remaining four players weren’t already far away from the cells, they could’ve heard what chishiya said and pin point him into the accusation of being the jack of hearts. good thing they weren’t though, luck was always on chishiya’s side right? “then why give up? you’ve already made it this far, why stop. other people would just beg to be in your position, you know.” (name)’s eyes steered away from him, ducking his head down as his body shivered.

chishiya always knew how to get into someone’s mind, it was like second nature to him. always convincing someone he was there to help, acting all buddy buddy just to leave them in a ditch somewhere. whether it be dead or alive, he didn’t care, he only worried about his own skin. his own chances of survival. but thats not how he felt towards (name), no. he wanted (name) to stick around with him. maybe even have him meet kuina, he knows she’d love him. she always liked guys like him. “now…” chishiya spoke up, the grin on his face still hadn’t faltered as he turned himself around,,

“mind telling me what my symbol is?”

kuina thighs were aching, she’d already been through three face card arenas and she still hasn’t caught sight of ann or chishiya since they were separated during the king of spades game. she was getting tired, what if this plan of hers was for nothing? what if she broke off from arisu and usagi just to end herself up in circles? kuina shook her head, no. she knew one of them was close, she knew it. it was only a matter of time before the three reunited with each other.

‘stay positive’ she reminded herself, not letting her worries try and get to her. kuina moved her legs once more before a growl left her stomach. ah right, food. she forgot about that. unhooking her backpack from her shoulders, she unzipped it scattering the bag for any type of protein bar she might’ve left in it just in case. nothing, her hand picked up an empty wrapper chucking it against the gravel beside her. kuina scowered her eyes around, looking for any type of place that could’ve possibly had something to eat.

her iris stopped as they landed on an abandoned market, she picked her bag up once again as she checked around her to make sure nothing of harm was near it. she carefully walked towards it, stepping through the broken glass door as she scanned through the place. all the shelves were messed up but the food that were left on it had yet to be expired. she chucked anything that was healthy into her bag, not wanting to waste any time on getting back to her search. kuina jittered as a loud bang was heard in the back of the store, the sound of cans toppling over intrigued her.

she started moving, not thinking twice of the danger that could possibly be waiting for her. taking slow and easy steps towards the noise, her hands were balled up into fists, sure she was heading into something that might kill her but at least she was still being cautious. a tuft of white blurred past her vision, her eyes focused on what she was seeing, an almost human-like figure was making itself clearer to her. could it be—“chishiya?” her eyes enlarged themselves as she stared at him.

chishiya stood there with cookies in his hands, his outfit was different from when she last saw him. he sported a white jacket over a pitch black shirt and sweatpants, he was still somehow clean, no dirt or anything was to be seen on his pure white sweater or hair. “hey.” was all he said, his lips pressed into his regular straight thin line. kuina hesitated at first, what if her mind was playing tricks on her because of how hungry she was? there was no way. yes, she loved chishiya but she doesn’t think her brain was this good at making things seem real.

“chishiya!” she exclaimed extending both of her arms as she lunged at him. he winced as she took him in a bone crushing hug, he forgot how strong she was. “how are you here? when did you get here?—“ kuina bombarded him with questions, ‘where did he go?,’ ‘how’d he have time to change?,’ ‘what games did he play?’ stuff like that. another sound was heard, she focused her attention on this one, chishiya didn’t seem to care. kuina pushed him behind her, she had already found the source of his noise, so what could be making this one?

a man stumbled out from behind one of the shelves, a gun was perched onto his shoulder and a plastic bag was held in one of his hands as he stared at the two, centering his eyes onto chishiya. “don’t worry,” chishiya said to him stepping away from kuina’s hold, “this is kuina, the one i told you about when we left.”

(name) relaxed his body language, bambi eyes scanning over kuina before he extended one of his hands out, “it’s nice to meet you, i’m (name).” he introduced waiting for her to comply to the handshake. kuina looked over at chishiya, raising one of her eyebrows at him before she placed her hands into his. “you too.” she smirked as she fully soaked in his appearance, “hey... you’re kinda cute, y’know.” (name) raised his eyebrows turning his gaze back to chishiya.

“we met during the jack of hearts game,” chishiya started walking over to (name)’s side as he stared at him, placing his hand on his shoulder turning back to kuina, “he’s pretty useful, he’d be a good benefit to us. i already told him he could join us.” kuina crossed her arms ontop of her chest, the muscles on her biceps defining themselves at her action as she licked her lips slightly, “is that so?”

(name) nodded his head, his face looked broken, like he wasn’t even a person and more like a robot or a doll. what had chishiya done to him? “well, it’s nice to have you on our ‘team,’ (name).” she complimented him, he bowed his head as a thank you. “use your words,” chishiya demanded him sternly, “thank you, kuina.”

kuina cooed at him, ‘how cute’ she thought. it was like this man was made specifically for the two of them. obedient, handsome but slightly sexy, nice, semi-protective, his height even reached to her shoulders but he still towered over chishiya just how she likes it, and… did she mention cute? he was kinda like how arisu was when they first met him if you thought about it, only this time chishiya didn’t have any thoughts about betraying him. oh, she was definitely going to enjoy this addition of their relationship.

the three were walking on a dirty path through the city. kuina and chishiya were farther ahead as (name) trailed behind them, struggling to catch up with the two especially with all the extra weight they had forced upon him (the food bags in his hands, kuina’s heavy backpack and the gun hanging loosely off his shoulder.)

the duo infront had no want and made no effort in stopping for him. “i have to give it to you, chishiya,” kuina says biting down on her fake cigar, “you really know how to pick them,” she turned back watching as (name) kept his head low throughout all the steps he made.

chishiya let another smirk leave his lips following her gaze, “so, what do you think?”

“i like him.”

396 notes · View notes

summervale · 5 months ago

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「Merriment」

Third-person reader insert! Y/N is the younger sister of King Robert Baratheon. Her house sigil is a stag, yes, but it seems she has a particular fondness for hounds.

Contains: Reluctant pining, kissing, mature situations Words: 2,311

UNFINISHED WORK: This was supposed to be a long, multi-part piece which is why it takes so long setting up! This was part one and is about halfway finished. Figured there's a lot of Sandor fans that might enjoy a small something cute <3

No husband and no responsibilities made for a very happy woman indeed. Small wonder she was all smiles and riddles and gayeties; she must, the commonfolk thought, be the happiest woman in all the seven kingdoms.

This was likely true.

She was forever laughing. There was a smile on her face always, it seemed, and everywhere she went she took merriment with her. Her ladyship took great pleasure in riddles and games and shows of mummers and fools, and King’s Landing had not hosted a tourney that did not have her there in the pavilions in many a year. She was a friend to all regardless of birth or station or reputation (within reason), and for this she was quite loved, but also quite resented. The resentment was paid little mind—turning a blind eye and smiling was much more fun, as it was often irksome to those who were loth to favor her.

Y/N Baratheon. Lady of Storm’s End, younger sister to Stannis and Robert, older sister to Renly. She possessed the same appetite for amity as Robert coupled with the mirth and grandeur of Renly. Of Stannis, it was said, they shared only a name. Still she insisted she adored all her brothers equally, “even the gloomy one.”

Much was afoot in King’s Landing.

King Robert had named Lord Eddard Stark new hand of the king, and Stark had arrived with a host of his own and his two daughters in tow. This was cause for celebration, and celebration was cause for a tourney, and where there was a tourney (or a celebration), Lady Y/N was to be found.

And she was found in King’s Landing quite a lot, of recent.

There was a rumor, often dubbed a vicious and untrue one, that though her house sigil may be the King's own stag, Y/N had a particular fondness for hounds.

The sun was two hours from setting when a host of black and yellow arrived at The King's Gate. In came banners that bore stags, and a spate of wagons bringing wines and cheeses and polished pears from Storm’s End. An impatient rider rode ahead of the rest, leaving behind a cry of protest as she thundered away, alone, up the streets of King’s Landing.

She arrived with a well-lathered horse and a swirl of her cloak. A party had time to gather in the yard of the Red Keep; a paltry welcoming committee with little time to prepare.

But the King was there—of course the King was there.

Had she not already been grinning, she would have grinned. “There’s my favorite brother,” said Y/N, dismounting and already forgetting her palfrey.

The look on Robert’s face was strange, though, and uncharacteristic of the Robert she knew and loved. The years had not been kind to him (as was made most evident by his growing waistline), and his face was stern, drawn into a scowl, his brow furrowed.

Is he not happy to see me? she thought even through her smiles and excitement. Gods, he looks as grim as Stannis, maybe twice as much. When she made to throw her arms about his neck, he took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length instead.

“That’s your grace to you, woman. I am the King, or have you forgotten?”

The King’s sister opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, which was done dumbly and not unlike a fish.

The ruse was short-lived.

Robert Baratheon—King Robert Baratheon—broke into a roar of laughter like that of a bear made human. Still holding his dearest sister by the shoulders, he gave her a hearty shake. “Your face!” he boomed. “You should have seen it!”

Her smile returned, then her laughter. “You’re a fool if ever there was one, Robert!” She threw her arms around his neck even as he shook her, and the big king lifted his little sister in his arms and hugged her so tightly, so fiercely, that the now-arriving party feared the king may crush their lady.

Robert didn’t crush Y/N, though. No, they were both used to it. “You’re crushing me, Robert,” she huffed at last, prompting the king to drop her back down onto the ground.

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Right then, let’s get inside. We have much and more to catch up on, and there’s a flagon of wine calling my name.”

“Every flagon of wine calls your name, your grace.”

The King was laughing again, then, and the King’s sister was smiling.

That, as far as the two Baratheons were concerned, was the way it always had been, and the way it always would be, until one buried the other.

Meeting the King’s party was a grand ordeal, though Y/N had already met most of the partygoers in attendance on at least one occasion. Of course she knew the Lannisters, her brother’s family by law, and she’d met Lord Eddard Stark once before. Lord Eddard’s daughters were new to her, however, and a few of the faces at court as well. Having been taught well, she recognized most of the family names and colors, smiling and shaking hands and doing all the formalities a lady should do.

The occupants of the Red Keep’s great hall that night came from houses big and small, known and unknown, and saw the attendance of lords and ladies, knights, hedge knights, bards, poets and singers, fools in their motley and mummers with their painted faces. There were cards being shuffled and dice being thrown. Serving girls brought plate after plate of selections from the kitchens: stuffed capons, wine-glazed lamb, honeyed figs, dark breads with thick crusts, sweet lemon cakes still-warm from the ovens. The courses seemed never-ending and the wine never stopped flowing.

“Never was there such a party before, brother,” declared Y/N. She lifted a gilded goblet with a flourish, and rich, purple wine splashed over the rim and down her hand. She was the picture of effortless joy.

And she knew it, too.

If she hadn’t known it, the guests would have reminded her; the way they flocked to her in throngs and yammered on and on whenever she should happen to lend an ear—which was often. Round and round she circled the crowd as the evening wore on and the wine continued to flow, searching the room for a familiar face—a face that would stand out even in the most crowded of rooms.

Her gaze passed the lords and ladies, passed the knights in their polished armor, until at last she found her mark.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, stood near the far wall, obscured halfway in the shadows. His face was grim, as it usually was, pulled tightly into a scowl that had long since worn its lines permanently into his features. The burn scars that marred half his face were highlighted by the flickering torchlight, giving him an even more fearsome appearance.

She knew Sandor was not like the other knights, not like the men who fawned over ladies with flowery words and grand gestures. He was rough, blunt, and often downright rude.

He was the perfect change of pace.

Oft she sought him when at last she could take the rinse-and-repeat of perfumed nobility no longer. She wove through the crowd with ease, exchanging smiles and nods as she passed, until she finally stood before Sandor.

"Sandor," she greeted him plainly. “It’s been too long.”

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For an overly long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a grunt, he inclined his head slightly. "My lady," he replied, his voice as rough as the gravel on the King’s Road.

Y/N smiled up at him, unfazed by his gruffness. "Why do you stand here all alone?" she asked, her tone teasing. "Surely even hounds deserve a bit of merriment."

Sandor huffed, a sound that could have been a laugh if it had come from anyone else. "Merriment’s for fools," he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“Forgive me, then, for it seems I’ve forgotten my motley.”

“So it seems.”

She knew he was not a man of many words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But she also knew that, for reasons she could not fully explain, she had become someone he tolerated more than most.

Perhaps it was a royal decree by Robert unbeknownst to her. And what a royal decree that would be! The thought made her laugh aloud, which only earned her a raised eyebrow in response.

He indicated the floor from which she’d just come. "Motely or not, you should jingle along with the other fools,” he said, though his tone was less stern than usual.

"And you should be out there with your fellow dogs," said she, “but here we are."

Sandor's lips twitched as if they might have remembered how to smile for half a moment. “Surprised you’re not dancing again. It went well for you last time.”

With one sentence he had broken the façade she wore so well. Her look of smug mirth disappeared from her face in an instant and was replaced instead by one of flustered surprise.

It had been a celebration much like this one and she was deep in her cups by the time the sun had set and the dancing had begun. Y/N had been at the heart of it, twirling and dancing with little care, passing hand from one lord to another, from knight to knight, breathless and flushed and shoes long forgotten.

The next thing she knew, she was stumbling, and a moment later, toppling entirely. The ground rose up to meet her with an unpleasant wack!, and the pain in her cheek was overshadowed only by a pain in her ankle. She’d gotten too carried away and twisted something, it seemed, and hadn’t even felt it until she was picking herself back up off the ground.

Or, well, trying to pick herself back up off the ground. The usual cloud of courtiers buzzed around her in an attempt to see her upright again, but the pain in her ankle swelled red hot and angry.

A shadow passed, then, and she had looked up, her vision slightly blurred from the wine, to see Sandor Clegane’s gruff face above her. There had been no mocking grin or cold stare, just a look that might have been concern on a more expressive man. “You’re alright.”

Without another word, he had scooped her up in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all.

Y/N had gasped, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. "I can walk!" she had protested, though she hadn’t made any real effort to leave his arms.

"Not on that ankle you can’t.”

And so she had let him carry her, through the bustling hall and up the winding stairs of the Red Keep, all the way to her chambers. It had been awkward, but it had also been…

More.

“You’re quite strong,” she said to him, which earned only a grunt of acknowledgement.

Something—something—fluttered inside of her when she saw him so close; the burned skin unevenly healed, the scruff that dusted his face, the muscle of his neck that disappeared beneath his armor where her prying eyes could not follow—but her imagination could.

When they reached her chambers, he had set her down gently on the edge of her bed. She had looked up at him, her heart pounding in a way that had little to do with the wine. As he made to release her, she caught the back of his neck with her hand and held him there, inches from her face.

She’d expected him to break free, to pull away, to do anything else. But he stayed.

He stayed there like that, his lips inches from hers.

He had hesitated, his expression torn between wanting to leave and the pull of something deeper that they both felt there between them. They both smelled of wine and honeyed mead, lips sweet.

She didn’t know who kissed who, but in half a heartbeat they were entangled.

Sandor’s breath came ragged against her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She bit his lip and he growled. It was fast, animal, raw want.

And a longtime coming.

When he pulled away, she pulled him back in again, and he didn’t fight her. Breathless, she’d pulled herself up by his shoulders and onto her knees, the pain in her ankle unfelt and forgotten. Her hands cupped his face and she pulled him in, in, in, until her chest was flush with his and she could feel every rise and fall of his on hers.

At last he’d taken her by the elbows and pushed her away, and it ended as suddenly as it had started.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he told her.

“But I haven’t had enough of you.”

“You’ve had your fill of that, too,” he said, turning cloak and leaving.

“I’m quite certain I haven’t had my fill of you.”

He paused mid-step and looked at her over his shoulder. “You don’t want that,” he assured her. There was something dangerous in his eyes, something sharp as steel and burning hot.

Y/N leaned back on the bed. “I know what I want,” she said, wishing she could stand and go to him, to pull him by his cloak and his armor and whatever else she could get her hands on—something lower than his beltline. “I’ve known for years and years.”

Slowly, deliberately, Sandor crossed the room again, silhouetted against the warm torchlight that poured in through the still-open door. “Trust me,” he said, towering over her, leaning in close. “You might want to get your fill of me, but you don’t want me to get my fill of you.”

Her breath left her body in a shuddering shiver.

Again he had turned, then, and didn’t stop to look back at her that time.

#game of thrones #unfinished fic #game of thrones fic #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #fluff

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rottenaero · 8 months ago

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Steve stares at the orange shorts Eddie was wearing.

It’s summer, and the kids had decided to have a Harrington house pool party, which of course meant wearing swim attire.

And Eddie had dressed for that, don’t get him wrong, but the pants were throwing him off.

One, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him wear orange before, or any warm color that wasn’t red, really. Didn’t think it’d ever touched his skin except for Steve’s yellow sweatshirt.

And two, because they were weirdly reminiscent of the color people wore in movies where they were behind bars, screaming for their one call.

And Steve didn’t have a filter, didn’t really care to have one, and since they were already sitting down all he need to do was nudge his foot against the guys side to catch his attention.

So he did.

The metalhead flicks down his sunglasses- Or, actually those may be Steve’s. Whatever, he flicks down the sunglasses with a brow raised.

“ Yeah, babe?”

Babe, because whatever they had was far more than friendship, or two older men acting like divorced parents to a group of children.

He lifts his hand, gestures to the pants. “ What’s with the prison shorts?” He asks.

Eddie blinks, glances down and smirks. “ Just broke out from there before this. Thought I told you.”

He tilts his head to the side. “ Oh really?”

“ Mhm-hm. A lot of pretty guys in there, hard to resist, but I held out. Knew I had something better.”

“ Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, and Eddie leans back into his chair shrugging. Then, because he’s a good boyfriend and knows he likes being all dramatic, and wants to see how long the bit will last, he questions him further, “ What were you in for?”

He sets the glasses over his forehead so they were out of the way, tugging on a strand of hair in-front of his face in thought. Finally, he grins.

“ Murdered people for rit-ualistic sacrifices.” The way he says ‘ritualistic’ is over exaggerated, but what about Eddie isn’t?

Steve gives him an unimpressed look. “ You’re not funny.”

“ No?”

“ No.”

Eddie shrugs, sets a leg over Steve’s lap. “ Worth a shot.”

Quick as a flash, the man’s arms clutch to his chest, and he’s rolling out of the chair making what seems to be dying noises.

Only, the chairs were set up by the edge, so without realizing it, after a roll or two he falls into the water.

There’s splashing, the desperate attempt to break through the surface before he finally grasps onto the edge and takes a big breath.

Steve can’t help the snort, and Eddie claps his hands together and points at him with an ‘ I told you so’ look. “ Ahah! So I am funny.” Steve rolls his eyes as the main hoists himself onto pavement, and crawls towards him.

“ Laugh for me, Stevie! Come on, again! Really let me revel in the fact that I proved King Steve wrong.” He’s got a wicked grin, and the jock can barely contain his own.

Finally, he’s weighed down, and he nudges the other man’s ankle with his foot. “ You’re a little funny. Mostly, you just look funny.”

Eddie whoops and cheers, shakes his imaginary pom-poms in the air. “ I’ll take it!” He leans down, smacks a kiss on his lips that’s really more teeth than lip, before lounging back down with his legs twisted between his.

Steve shakes his head, leans across the tangle of limbs to grab his sunglasses and slides them back on his nose.

#steddie #steddie drabble #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things #rottenaero #rottenaero writes

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novaursa · 1 month ago

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A Lion's Folly (sins)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Note: Be aware of time jumps and how some events may not match the canon or its timeline.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: the brave

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround

The cold bites harder now, even in the Riverlands. Autumn is creeping closer, and Jaime Lannister feels every inch of it in the damp, miserable confines of the Stark camp. He sits on the rough wooden bench of his prison tent, his armor stripped, his hands bound by iron chains that rattle with every movement. The once-golden lion is tarnished now, his pride battered by weeks of captivity.

But it isn’t the cold or the humiliation that gnaws at him the most.

It’s you.

The thought of you lingers, unbidden, no matter how hard he tries to banish it. You’ve haunted his dreams since Winterfell—the way you stood by Bran’s bedside, the sorrow etched into your face. He’d told himself that time and distance would fade those feelings, that the guilt and longing would wither away like a flame denied air. Instead, they’ve grown, consuming him from within.

And now, as he sits in the heart of his enemy’s camp, surrounded by wolves, he swears he saw you earlier. It was just a fleeting glimpse—someone passing by the edge of the campfires, wrapped in a heavy fur cloak—but his heart had leapt at the sight. His mind betrayed him, conjuring the image of your face beneath the hood. He told himself it couldn’t be you. You would be in Winterfell, or wherever the Starks had scattered in their grief. You wouldn’t be here, amidst soldiers and war.

Yet, he couldn’t shake the thought.

The tent flap rustles, and Jaime looks up to see Robb Stark stride in, Grey Wind at his side. The direwolf’s presence is a constant reminder of his vulnerability; the beast’s yellow eyes seem to pierce through him, a predator sizing up its prey.

“Kingslayer,” Robb greets coldly, his voice steady and sharp. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t offer even the pretense of civility. He stands tall, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his youth masked by the steel resolve in his eyes.

Jaime leans back against the post, smirking despite himself. “Your Grace,” he replies, his tone mocking as he inclines his head slightly. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Robb ignores the jibe, his expression unyielding. “How many men does your father have? Where will he strike next?”

Jaime lets out a short, derisive laugh. “Straight to business, I see. I’d hoped for at least a proper interrogation—some chains, perhaps a few bruises.”

Robb doesn’t rise to the bait, his gaze steady. “I don’t need chains to make you talk, Lannister. The fact that you’re here, bound and defeated, is enough proof of that.”

Jaime’s smirk falters for a moment. He shifts, the chains rattling, before leaning forward slightly. “You’re wasting your time, boy. Do you think I’d betray my father? My family? You’re a Stark; you should know better than that.”

Robb steps closer, his jaw tightening. “You call yourself a knight, yet you killed your king. You’re no man of honor. You’re a coward hiding behind a lion’s shield.”

The words hit their mark, but Jaime doesn’t let it show. Instead, he tilts his head, studying Robb. “Honor’s overrated,” he says lightly, though the edge in his voice betrays his inner turmoil. “It won’t bring your father back, will it?”

The animosity in the air thickens, Grey Wind letting out a low growl at Jaime’s words. Robb’s hand grips the hilt of his sword tighter, his eyes flashing with anger.

“Careful, Lannister,” Robb warns, his voice a low growl of its own.

Jaime meets his gaze, unflinching, though his mind is already elsewhere. He debates for a moment whether to ask, whether it will make him seem weak, but the words slip out before he can stop them.

“I saw her,” he says quietly, his tone lacking the usual mockery.

Robb’s brows furrow. “Who?”

“Your sister,” Jaime replies, his voice tightening. “Y/N.”

The name feels foreign on his tongue, too precious for someone like him to speak aloud.

Robb stiffens, his blue eyes narrowing. “You dare speak her name?”

Jaime doesn’t back down. “Is she here?”

Robb doesn’t answer immediately, his silence speaking volumes. Jaime’s chest tightens, the faint flicker of hope igniting despite himself.

“I thought I saw her,” Jaime continues, his voice softer now, the chains clinking faintly as he shifts forward. “In the camp. Tell me—was it her?”

Robb’s expression hardens. “What business do you have with my sister?”

“None,” Jaime admits, though the lie is bitter in his mouth. “I just… wondered.”

Robb steps closer, his voice dropping. “You don’t have the right to wonder, Kingslayer. My sister is none of your concern. She stays far away from men like you.”

Jaime doesn’t flinch, though the words sting more than he cares to admit. He forces a smirk onto his face, leaning back against the post once more. “Good. She’s better off that way.”

Robb watches him for a long moment, as if searching for some hidden motive. Finally, he turns, calling Grey Wind to his side.

“You’ll rot in this cage, Lannister,” Robb says over his shoulder as he strides toward the tent’s entrance. “And when the time comes, you’ll answer for everything you’ve done.”

The tent flap falls closed behind him, leaving Jaime alone with his thoughts once more. He exhales slowly, the weight of the chains pressing into his wrists.

He tells himself it doesn’t matter if it was you or not. That he’s a fool for even caring.

But deep down, he knows the truth. Even in this cage, even in the shadow of death, his thoughts remain bound to you. A silent torment, far worse than the chains that bind him.

Jaime’s wrists ache from the constant pull of chains as he’s dragged along by Robb’s men. His boots sink into the damp earth with every step, the heavy mud clinging to him as if the North itself wants to swallow him whole. After weeks of captivity he feels more like a tethered dog than a lion, yanked along as the wolves move their camp to higher ground.

His head is lowered, his hair now dulled and dirtied, but a low growl makes him glance up. His heart stutters in his chest.

It’s him.

Winter, the pale direwolf, stands motionless at the edge of the camp, his silver-white coat shimmering in the faint sunlight. His icy blue eyes bore into him, unblinking, filled with a quiet menace. Jaime halts for a moment, his breath catching. He’d only seen him briefly at Winterfell, always at your side, a specter of your presence.

If Winter is here, then so are you.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a familiar figure emerges behind the wolf. His chest tightens at the sight of you—wrapped in a dark cloak, your hair loose, untouched by the grime of war that clings to everyone else. Your face is pale but calm, a stark contrast to the storm Jaime feels rising within himself.

And then Catelyn Stark appears.

She strides forward with purpose, her eyes blazing with fury as she spots him. You follow behind her, hesitant but present, and Jaime feels the weight of your gaze even if it doesn’t meet his directly.

The men dragging him stop as Lady Stark approaches, her voice sharp as the northern wind. “Hold him,” she orders, her tone brooking no argument. The guards immediately comply, gripping Jaime by the arms and halting his progress.

Catelyn steps closer, her jaw tight with barely-contained anger. “So,” she says, her voice low but seething, “this is where the Kingslayer finds himself. Dragged through the mud like the filth he is.”

Jaime lifts his head, forcing a smirk onto his face despite the anxiety coiling in his chest. “Lady Stark,” he greets, his tone mocking but hollow. “A pleasure, as always.”

Her hand twitches as if she’s tempted to strike him, but she holds back, her fury starting to resurfice. “You dare speak to me after all you’ve done?” she snaps. “After my son lies broken because of you?”

His smirk falters, the weight of her words settling over him like a shroud. He forces himself to hold her gaze, though his voice comes quieter this time. “I’ve already answered for that to your son. What more would you have me say?”

Catelyn takes another step forward, her expression hardening. “You could start by begging for your life, though even that wouldn’t be enough.”

Jaime shifts, the chains clinking faintly. “Begging doesn’t suit me. But if it would ease your grief, strike me down now.”

For a moment, her hand moves to her dagger, her knuckles white with tension. Jaime doesn’t flinch, meeting her glare with steady defiance. The silence between them stretches, thick and suffocating, until a soft voice breaks it.

“Mother.”

Your tone is quiet but firm, and it’s enough to make Catelyn pause. She turns her head slightly to look at you, her grip on her dagger loosening. Jaime’s eyes dart to you, his chest tightening as he takes in your expression—calm but guarded, your gaze flickering briefly to his before dropping away.

“He’s not worth it,” you say softly, though there’s an edge to your voice that Jaime doesn’t miss. “Let him rot in the cage he’s made for himself.”

The words cut deeper than any blade. Jaime swallows hard, forcing his expression into something unreadable. He should be grateful for your intervention, but your dismissal stings in a way he can’t quite explain.

Catelyn hesitates, her fury tempered by your presence. Finally, she exhales sharply, stepping back. “You’re right,” she says, though her voice is still tight with anger. “He isn’t worth it.”

She turns to the guards, her tone curt. “Take him away. Make sure he’s secure.”

The men nod, yanking Jaime forward once more. As he’s dragged past you, he risks a glance in your direction. You’re watching him now, your expression unreadable, though there’s a flicker of something in your eyes—disdain, perhaps, or pity.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come. What could he possibly say? That he thinks of you more than he should? That your wolf haunts his dreams as much as you do? That he still carries the weight of Bran’s fall, that the deed has begun to feel like a noose around his neck?

Instead, he says nothing, allowing himself to be pulled back into the camp, his chains rattling against the ground.

That night, as he sits alone in his makeshift cage, Jaime’s thoughts refuse to quiet. Your voice echoes in his mind, soft but cutting: Let him rot in the cage he’s made for himself.

And maybe you’re right.

He presses his hands to his face, the cool iron of the shackles biting into his skin. For all his arrogance, for all his bravado, Jaime Lannister feels the weight of his choices pressing down on him like never before.

And through it all, he can’t stop thinking about you. About the way you looked at him—not with fear, not with anger, but with something far worse. Indifference.

For the first time, Jaime wonders if the cage he’s trapped in isn’t one of iron and chains but one of his own making—woven from lies, guilt, and the ghosts of what might have been.

The week crawls by in the cold, damp cage Jaime Lannister has come to know as his new home. Each day feels heavier than the last, the chains at his wrists a constant reminder of how far he has fallen: a prisoner of war, kept alive for reasons he can only guess.

He leans back against the wooden post, his head tilted upward as he watches the stars through a small gap in the tent’s fabric. It’s one of the few comforts he has—staring at the sky and pretending, for a moment, that he isn’t shackled like an animal.

The sound of approaching footsteps pulls him from his thoughts. They’re too quiet to belong to one of Robb’s guards. Jaime sits up straighter, his senses sharpening as the tent flap is pulled aside.

Lady Catelyn Stark steps inside, her face set in grim determination. The flickering torchlight casts shadows across her features, making her look even more formidable than usual. Behind her stands a tall, broad-shouldered woman clad in armor—her presence impossible to miss. Jaime recognizes her instantly: Brienne of Tarth.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Jaime says, his voice dry as he sits forward, his chains clinking faintly. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this late-night visit, Lady Stark?”

Catelyn doesn’t respond immediately. She steps closer, her piercing blue eyes locking onto his. Brienne remains just inside the entrance, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, watching him like a hawk.

“I’ve come to make a bargain,” Catelyn says finally, her tone low but firm.

Jaime raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “A bargain? How intriguing. And here I thought you only kept me alive so your son could parade me through the Riverlands like a prize stag.”

Catelyn’s lips tighten, but she doesn’t rise to his bait. Instead, she steps even closer, standing just out of his reach. “My daughters,” she says, her voice heavy with emotion. “Sansa and Arya. They’re in King’s Landing, held by your family.”

Jaime leans back slightly, his smirk faltering. “Ah, so this is about them. And here I thought you’d come to finally finish me off.”

“I’ll do what I must to protect my children,” Catelyn snaps, her voice cutting through the cold air. “Even if it means dealing with you.”

Jaime studies her for a moment, his gaze flicking to Brienne before returning to Catelyn. “And what exactly do you propose, my lady?”

Catelyn straightens, her expression hardening. “You will go to King’s Landing. Brienne will escort you there. In exchange, you will ensure the safe return of my daughters.”

For a moment, there is only silence. Then Jaime chuckles, the sound low and humorless. “You’re asking me to trust you? To believe that I’ll make it to King’s Landing in one piece with your she-knight as my escort?”

Brienne bristles at the insult, stepping forward, but Catelyn holds up a hand to stop her.

“I’m not asking,” Catelyn says coldly. “This is not a negotiation. I will not sit idly by while my daughters remain hostages to your family’s schemes. You’re going, Lannister—whether you like it or not.”

Jaime tilts his head, considering her words. “And what does your son, the King in the North, think of this… arrangement?”

Catelyn’s expression darkens. “Robb doesn’t know. And he won’t know.”

At that, Jaime’s smirk returns, though there’s a sharpness to it now. “Ah, so this is treason. How delightfully unexpected from the honorable Lady Stark.”

Catelyn steps closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “If you ever speak of this to anyone, I will have you hunted down and killed before you can utter a single word. Do you understand me, Lannister?”

Jaime meets her gaze, his smirk fading as the weight of her words sinks in. He can see the desperation in her eyes, the fierce determination of a mother willing to risk everything for her children. It’s a look he knows well—he’s seen it in Cersei’s eyes more times than he can count.

“Fine,” he says finally, his voice quieter now. “I’ll go. But don’t expect me to play the dutiful knight. I’m not doing this for you, Lady Stark.”

“I don’t care why you do it,” Catelyn replies sharply. She turns to Brienne, nodding. “Release him.”

Brienne steps forward, her movements deliberate as she unlocks the chains binding Jaime’s wrists. He rubs them absently, the cool air biting at the raw skin beneath.

“Be warned, Lannister,” Brienne says, her voice steady but firm. “If you so much as think of trying to escape, I will kill you.”

Jaime smirks, his gaze flicking to her. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady. I’ve heard you’re quite the swordswoman. It would be a shame to miss the opportunity to see that skill firsthand.”

Brienne doesn’t rise to his bait, stepping back as Catelyn moves toward the tent’s entrance. She glances back at Jaime, her expression unreadable.

“Pray that my daughters return safely,” she says quietly. “For your sake.”

With that, she leaves the tent, Brienne following close behind. Jaime watches them go, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The chains may be gone, but the weight of what lies ahead feels heavier than ever.

The night is dark, the moon hidden behind thick clouds as Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth slip through the edges of the Stark camp. The cold air bites at Jaime’s skin, but he keeps his discomfort to himself, his smirk firmly in place despite the ache in his muscles. The rattling of his chains has been replaced by the quiet shuffle of his boots on the damp earth, a small mercy he’s too proud to admit he appreciates.

Brienne leads the way, her broad shoulders hunched and her hand never far from the hilt of her sword. Jaime follows reluctantly, his steps slower than hers as if dragging his feet might somehow delay the inevitable.

“You’re remarkably quiet, Ser Brienne,” Jaime says after a while, his tone light but laced with mockery. “I’d almost forgotten you could speak. Do the Maiden herself guide your steps in this noble act of treason?”

Brienne doesn’t respond, her jaw tightening as she presses forward.

“Come now,” Jaime continues, his smirk widening. “We’re far enough from the camp. Surely you can share a word or two with your prisoner. Or do you fear the wolves might overhear us?”

She glances back at him briefly, her blue eyes cold. “You’d do well to keep your voice down, Kingslayer.”

“Oh, I see,” Jaime drawls, feigning understanding. “You’re brooding, aren’t you? Thinking of how your honor is tarnished, sneaking me away like a thief in the night. Do you think your dear Lady Stark would weep for you if she knew the shame you bear?”

“I’m doing this for her daughters,” Brienne snaps, her voice low but fierce. “Not for you. Don’t mistake my duty and oath for anything else.”

Jaime chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Duty. Oath. Such a fine excuse for treachery.”

Before Brienne can respond, a low growl pierces the air, cutting through the darkness like a blade. Jaime freezes, his smirk slipping as he looks ahead.

From the shadows, Winter emerges, his pale fur gleaming faintly in the moonlight. The massive direwolf stands rigid, his icy blue eyes locked on Jaime with unmistakable menace. Behind him, a figure steps into view, cloaked and armed—a bow drawn and an arrow pointed directly at Jaime’s chest.

It’s you.

Jaime’s heart stutters in his chest, though he forces his expression to remain neutral. The sight of you, standing there with unwavering determination, is both captivating and terrifying.

“What are you doing, Brienne?” you ask, your voice calm but firm, cutting through the air like a northern wind. Your gaze flicks briefly to Jaime before returning to the woman beside him.

Brienne hesitates, her hand instinctively moving to her sword. “Lady Y/N… this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh, it looks exactly as it is,” you say coldly, your bow steady. “You’re sneaking him out of the camp. You’re committing treason against Robb.”

Brienne’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t back down. “I’m following Lady Stark’s orders. She believes this man’s life can buy the safe return of your sisters.”

For a moment, the silence is deafening. Jaime shifts slightly, opening his mouth to speak, but Winter’s growl deepens, silencing him instantly.

“Stay silent,” you say sharply, your eyes locking onto his. The force of your words, the raw authority in your tone, sends a shiver down his spine.

Jaime swallows hard, his usual bravado slipping as he watches the scene unfold. Brienne steps forward slightly, her hands raised in a gesture of peace.

“I understand your loyalty to your brother,” Brienne says carefully. “But this is about Sansa and Arya. Lady Stark gave me her trust, and I intend to fulfill her wishes. Let me pass.”

You don’t lower your bow, your gaze unwavering. “And if you fail? If this man escapes? What then? Do you think Robb will forgive you for putting his sisters’ lives in the hands of a Kingslayer?”

“He won’t escape,” Brienne says firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You’ll make sure of nothing,” you reply, your voice hard. “You might trust him to play along, but I don’t. I won’t risk it.”

The words sting more than Jaime expects, though he knows you’re right. If given the chance, he would run. He would escape this madness and return to his family, to the war he knows how to fight. But something about your gaze, the sheer intensity of it, roots him in place.

“I’m going with you,” you say finally, lowering your bow but keeping the arrow nocked. “It’s a long way to the capital, and I won’t trust a prisoner like him in the hands of one person. If he tries to escape, I’ll be there to stop him.”

Brienne hesitates, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Lady Y/N, you can’t—”

“I can,” you interrupt, your tone leaving no room for argument. “And I will. If my sisters’ lives depend on this, then I’ll see it through myself.”

Jaime exhales softly, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “A family reunion on the road. How quaint.”

Winter growls again, silencing him once more. You glance at him, your expression colder than the northern winds.

“You’ll speak when spoken to, Lannister,” you say, your voice sharp. “If you even think of trying to escape, I’ll put an arrow through your knee and let the wolves finish the rest.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow, his smirk returning faintly despite himself. “Charming.”

You don’t respond, turning to Brienne instead. “Lead the way. I’ll follow.”

Brienne hesitates for a moment longer before nodding, her expression grim. The three of you begin to move, the sound of boots crunching against the frozen ground breaking the silence. Winter pads silently at your side, his presence a constant reminder of the line Jaime dares not cross.

As they walk, Jaime glances at you from the corner of his eye, his thoughts a chaotic mess. You’re closer now than you’ve been in months, but the gulf between you feels wider than ever.

And yet, he can’t deny the spark of something he doesn’t fully understand—something that terrifies him more than chains or swords ever could.

The night air clings to Jaime’s skin as they travel under the faint light of the moon, their footsteps muffled by the soft crunch of the dirt road. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of the trees and the steady padding of Winter, your ever-present shadow. Jaime walks between you and Brienne, his hands bound once more, though the chains are lighter than before.

He knows he should keep his mouth shut. Your warning earlier was clear enough, and Winter’s growls had been more than persuasive. But silence has never been Jaime’s strength, and the anxiety pressing down on him feels unbearable.

“So, Ser Brienne,” Jaime begins, his voice light, “how long have you been in Lady Stark’s service? Or are you simply a sword for hire with an impressive knack for loyalty?”

Brienne’s shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t answer.

“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?” Jaime presses, smirking faintly. “I suppose that’s fitting for a lady knight. Though I must admit, your… femininity is rather understated. Do the men in Tarth prefer their women to be more—what’s the word—formidable?”

Brienne halts abruptly, turning to face him. Her glare is as cutting as any blade, but before she can speak, you cut her off.

“Enough,” you say suddenly. You don’t look at him, your eyes fixed ahead, but the authority in your tone leaves no room for argument. “Keep walking, Lannister. And keep your mouth shut.”

Jaime raises his bound hands slightly in mock surrender. “As you wish, my lady,” he replies, though the grin tugging at his lips suggests otherwise.

The group resumes their journey, the silence settling in again like an unwelcome guest. Jaime bites his tongue for a few minutes, but the words bubbling inside him refuse to stay contained. He’s not even sure why he does it—whether it’s the need to distract himself, the desire to provoke a reaction from you, or some desperate attempt to find absolution for the weight he carries.

“So, Lady Y/N,” he begins, his tone softer now but still laced with mockery, “do you often accompany prisoners on secret midnight journeys? Or is this a special occasion?”

You don’t respond, your gaze fixed ahead as Winter moves silently at your side.

“I suppose it’s for your sisters,” Jaime continues, his smirk faltering slightly. “A noble cause, to be sure. Though I wonder, do you trust her?” He gestures toward Brienne with a tilt of his head. “Or are you here to make sure she doesn’t fail?”

Still, you remain silent, your steps steady and deliberate.

“I must admit,” Jaime says, his voice growing more pensive, “it’s strange, isn’t it? Traveling with someone like me after everything that’s happened. I wonder—do you think of him? Your brother? Of what happened to him?”

At that, you stop. Jaime nearly stumbles to a halt behind you, his breath catching as you turn to face him. Your eyes, so cold and unreadable, burn into him now with an intensity that makes even the lion feel small.

“Do I think of my brother?” you repeat, your voice low and steady, though there’s an unmistakable edge to it. “Every single day, Lannister. I think of how he fell, of how he might never wake because of you.”

Jaime swallows hard, his smirk finally slipping entirely.

“And do you know what I think of you?” you continue, stepping closer, your voice cutting through the night like a blade. “I think of how pathetic you are. A man who threw a child from a window to cover up his sins. A man so desperate to hide what he is that he nearly destroyed my family to do it.”

Your words strike harder than any blow ever could, and for once, Jaime is left speechless.

“You disgust me,” you say coldly, your voice shaking slightly with restrained fury. “And if you speak again, I’ll make sure Winter tears out your tongue. Do you understand me?”

Jaime forces himself to nod, though the weight of your words presses down on him like a mountain.

“Good,” you say simply, turning away from him and resuming your pace.

Winter lingers for a moment, his icy blue eyes locked onto Jaime as if daring him to try something. Then the direwolf follows you, his steps silent and deliberate.

Jaime exhales shakily, his thoughts spiraling as he begins walking again. Your words echo in his mind, each one carving deeper into the guilt he’s tried so hard to bury. He doesn’t know why he provoked you, why he pushed you to the point of breaking. Perhaps it was to feel something—anything—other than the crushing weight of his own failures.

But now, as the silence stretches on and your words linger like a brand, Jaime wonders if he’ll ever be free of the choices that brought him here.

The small camp is quiet, save for the crackling of the fire Brienne has managed to coax to life. The days of travel have been grueling, and Jaime feels every ache in his body, though he’d never admit it aloud. He sits with his back against a tree, his hands still bound but resting in his lap, the chains digging faintly into his wrists. Brienne sits across from him, her eyes never leaving him for more than a moment.

The air smells of pine and damp earth, the kind of crispness that can only be found far from the corruption of cities. It would be almost peaceful if it weren’t for the weight of his own thoughts and the absence of you. You’d disappeared into the woods not long ago, your bow slung over your shoulder and Winter trotting at your side, leaving Jaime and Brienne behind to stew in the silence.

Jaime shifts slightly, his gaze flicking to the direction you’d gone, though the trees obscure any sign of you. He tells himself it’s simple curiosity, nothing more. Yet, even as he tries to convince himself, he knows it’s a lie. There’s something about you that pulls at him, an invisible tether he can’t sever no matter how much he tries.

“Stop it,” Brienne says abruptly, her voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

Jaime turns to her, raising an eyebrow. “Stop what?”

“You know what,” she replies, her tone firm but not unkind. She leans forward slightly, her hands resting on her knees as the firelight flickers across her face. “Stop watching her.”

Jaime smirks faintly, though there’s no real humor in it. “Am I not allowed to look at the person who’s been kind enough to threaten me with death every few hours?”

Brienne’s expression hardens. “It’s not just a look. You’ve been watching her since we left the Stark camp. Whatever you’re thinking—whatever you’re feeling—stop it. She deserves better than someone like you.”

The words sting, though Jaime doesn’t let it show. He tilts his head, his smirk deepening slightly. “Oh, I see. You’re her protector now, are you? The honorable Lady Brienne, guardian of Northern virtue.”

“I’m protecting her from you,” Brienne says, her voice low but cutting. “I’ve seen men like you before, Kingslayer. You think you can charm your way into anyone’s favor, but it won’t work here. Not with her.”

Jaime’s smirk falters, and for a moment, the weight of her words settles over him. He exhales softly, leaning his head back against the tree trunk.

“She hates me,” he says after a long pause, his voice quieter now.

Brienne doesn’t respond immediately, her gaze steady as she studies him. “She has every reason to,” she says finally.

“I know,” Jaime replies, his tone almost bitter. He looks at the fire, the flickering flames reflecting in his eyes. “But I can’t seem to stop myself. Every time I look at her, I see… I don’t know what I see. Something I’ll never have. Something I don’t deserve.”

Brienne’s expression softens slightly, though her resolve doesn’t waver. “Then leave her alone,” she says firmly. “She’s already lost enough because of you. Don’t make it worse.”

Jaime chuckles dryly, though the sound lacks any real mirth. “As if I could. She barely acknowledges my existence unless it’s to remind me of what I’ve done.”

“Good,” Brienne says simply. “Maybe that’s the only way you’ll understand the weight of your actions.”

The silence stretches between them again, heavy with unspoken truths. Jaime shifts uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to his bound hands.

“She reminds me of someone,” he says suddenly, his voice so quiet it’s almost lost in the crackling of the fire.

Brienne raises an eyebrow but doesn’t interrupt.

“My sister,” Jaime continues, his tone distant. “Not in looks, of course. They couldn’t be more different. But in… strength. That fire in her eyes, the way she carries herself. It’s maddening, really. It makes me want to—”

“To what?” Brienne presses, her voice sharp.

Jaime shakes his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “To believe I could be better. But we both know that’s not true.”

Brienne watches him for a moment, her expression unreadable. “You’re right,” she says finally. “You’re not better. Not yet.”

Jaime doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the fire as your footsteps approach from the trees. Winter trots ahead of you, his silver coat gleaming in the firelight as he pads over to sit beside you. You carry two rabbits in one hand, your bow slung over your shoulder, your face unreadable as you step into the clearing.

“Talking about me?” you ask, your voice calm but with a curious undertone.

“Nothing flattering, I assure you,” Jaime replies, his smirk returning faintly.

You glance at him briefly, your expression as cold as ever, before turning to Brienne. “Let’s get these rabbits cooking. We’ll need the strength for tomorrow.”

As you and Brienne begin preparing the meal, Jaime leans back against the tree again, his thoughts a tangled mess. He knows he should stop. Stop watching you, stop thinking about you, stop searching for something he’ll never find.

But as the firelight dances across your face, illuminating the resolve in your eyes, Jaime knows he’s already lost that battle.

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talesofesther · 3 months ago

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the witch and the vampire

modern au! Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Summary: A vampire saves a witch from a monster. Yet the witch doesn't believe she belongs by the vampire's side. Little does she know, his cold heart only ever beats for her.

A/N: A small idea (that ended up not so small lmao) that I had on a whim and decided to write down, with a dash of Halloween spirit. ;)

Word count: 3,8k

Masterlist

Late afternoons at the Targaryen estate were one of the things you counted yourself lucky to have. The mansion itself, faded red and white in color, and built in the early 1900s, was a marvel that caused envy to many onlookers—it stood atop of a hill, with a massive yard at front and back, overlooking King's Landing. It was only fitting, you'd always thought, since the Targaryen's business empire funded most of what the city is today.

Through the large wood and glass doors that led to the kitchen's balcony, you were perched on the balustrade, watching as the golden light of the sun reflected against the ripples of the small artificial lake in the backyard. The air was crisp and fresh, the leaves on the trees were all brown and yellow, fall had officially arrived.

"You know what we need? Ghosts!" Aegon stepped through the doors, his eager voice catching your attention. He held a mug of hot chocolate and had the hood of his hoodie over his head. It wasn't that cold out, but Aegon had always preferred summer. "And bats, we should get bats too."

"I know a store that sells this stuff." Helaena soon followed, holding a mug of her own with one hand whilst the other tugged her cardigan closer to herself. "But we could always craft our own as well," she shrugged, breathing in and allowing the golden sunlight to warm her skin.

They sat at the round table of the balcony, and you turned around, leaning back against the balustrade to tune into their conversation, brows furrowed in curiosity.

Aemond was the last to come outside, and with a warmth to your cheeks, you couldn't help but stare. He had his long silver hair up in a loose bun, snuggled with a light brown sweater, and holding two mugs in his hands.

He didn't say anything as he walked up to lean beside you. Keeping you on his good eye's side, Aemond's shoulder was warm as it touched yours. He gave one of the mugs to you and took a sip of his own, closing his eye when the steam of the hot chocolate hit his nose.

You took the mug from him, biting the inside of your cheek when your fingers brushed his. "You made me one," both your hands closed around the warm ceramic, and you fought a smile. "Even if I said I didn't want it," you mumbled then, more to yourself than to him but Aemond heard anyway.

He hummed. "Even after all these years, you still refuse to take us seriously when we say 'make yourself at home'." Aemond glanced at you, he bumped his shoulder against yours. "I knew you wanted one."

You pursed your lips, bashful eyes shifting to the floor lest he saw the evident blush on your cheeks. Yet you leaned closer to him, whispering a 'thank you'.

"But it could be fun." Helaena's voice cut through your moment. You hadn't even noticed that she and Aegon had yet again fallen into a halfhearted discussion.

"Why would I go through the work of making something myself if there's a store that already sells it?" Aegon countered, shaking his head as if his point was the most obvious one.

"It's not about the work, it's about the fun process of it," Helaena rolled her eyes, slapping Aegon's hand away when he tried to reach for her half-filled mug after he finished his. "Plus it's not even that hard," she huffed, "you're just lazy."

"I'm not lazy," Aegon pouted.

"You're whining about making ghosts out of white cloth and styrofoam," Helaena raised a teasing brow, "And you say you aren't lazy?"

You shared a confused look with Aemond, who simply shrugged, despite having a smirk on his lips. "Guys," you called the two siblings, "What are you talking about?"

Helaena turned to you then, leaning back on her chair and taking her mug to her lips. "We are organizing a Halloween party," she spoke, before taking a sip.

"Next weekend, since mother will be out of town with Criston, we'll have the house all to ourselves," Aegon added in, with a pleased edge to his tone.

"And you will be attending," Helaena gestured a finger towards you, "No questions asked."

You blinked at her words, subconsciously leaning yourself closer to Aemond. "Oh, you know I'm not big on parties, Hel." A nervous chuckle fell past your lips. Ever since you became friends with Helaena back in middle school, she'd tried dragging you to all sorts of parties and events her family hosted. You'd think by now you should be used to high society events, even the ones organized by the siblings themselves, but really, you were not. "Besides, I uh- I don't even have a costume to wear."

"That's the least of your worries," Helaena waved you off with an easy smile, "We'll get you something, we can go shopping together this week." She then turned back to Aegon and continued discussing the decorations, as if the matter had been all resolved.

Your mouth remained agape, fingers tapping the warm edge of your mug. "It won't be anything big." You heard Aemond say from beside you, he leaned closer to your ear, feeling your anxiety coming off you in waves.

It wouldn't be farfetched to say you've spent more time at the Targaryen estate than in your own home these past years. Helaena loved you like a sister, Aegon adored making you laugh, their mother Alicent treated you almost as if you were a child of hers as well, and even Daeron who was pretty much never home always greeted you with a warm smile; and Aemond… Aemond was special and complicated and heartwarming all in one. They were family to you, but that doesn't mean anyone besides them would believe that. Others who held the same social status as them would often throw curious and judgemental glares your way when Helaena dragged you to events. You didn't belong in the upper-class crowd.

"It's just for close friends," Aemond continued, waiting for you to look up at him. "And some buddies Aegon is calling over."

Birds sang in the distance, announcing another day's end as the evening's cold breeze settled in. Aemond looked at you all soft and sweet, features shaped by the dusk glow, you sometimes liked to believe he kept that softness just for you. You held his gaze for a moment longer before raising one hand, worrying your nail between your teeth.

In the same beat, Aemond's hand came to close around yours, his fingertips tracing the bumps and ridges of your palm—all gentle and staggering as if he couldn't touch you enough. His touch would always give you goosebumps.

"It's your call." He pulled your hand down, but didn't let go. "But I'll… miss you, if you don't show up."

There was a hint of nervousness in his voice and in how he closed his eye when he spoke. It called you in, as if he truly meant it. And it's not like you've ever been able to tell him no.

─── ⋄✧⋄ ───

Helaena and Aegon had gone all-in for the decorations. String lights with small plastic pumpkins attached to them illuminated the stone pathway that led to the mansion's entrance; along the same path, there were bats and ghosts attached to the trees, and real candles on the ground. The deep warmth of the orange lights was strangely comforting. From outside, the music was muffled by the walls, and even so, it sounded considerably loud. The thin curtains did little to hide the colorful lights illuminating the dim insides of the spacious living room and kitchen. The silhouettes of people dancing, talking, and making out could be seen as well.

And you stood a couple of steps away from the small stairs that led to the main double wooden doors. The moon remained high in the sky, barely covered by a few dark clouds.

Your hands clutched a pointy, black witch's hat. It was the best you were able to find at such short notice. A witch's hat, a black vintage dress, a long and dark cloak draped over your shoulders, and black boots. All paired with some ominously made makeup around your eyes and burgundy lipstick.

Securing the hat back over your head, you quit stalling. With a deep breath in, you walked up to the door and knocked.

Helaena was the one to open it for you—dressed up as a faerie, with fake wings and everything—she had a big smile on her face and a flush to her cheeks, undoubtedly from the expensive wine being served in solo cups that you could already catch a glimpse of. Alicent wouldn't be happy about it.

"You came!" She exclaimed.

"Trick or treats?" You greeted her with a grin of your own, opening your arms to show her the fantasy that you and she had picked out.

Helaena didn't hesitate to take hold of your hand and tugged you inside, "Come on in, we just raided the wine cellar," she spoke the last words closer and quieter as if it was any kind of secret.

You chuckled under your breath, blinking as your eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" The music was now loud and clear against your ears, as were the few colorful lights that danced around. Much like the outside, the estate's interior was beautifully decorated with all things Halloween; ghosts hanging from the ceiling, glowing pumpkins scattered around, candles warming up the rooms, and even a human-sized skeleton standing beside the doors that led to the balcony.

Helaena waved off your worry, "Mom won't even notice that a bottle or two are missing." She then took a moment to look you up and down, narrowing her eyes with a teasing smirk, "You look great, by the way. See? I knew it would suit you."

"I suppose it's not so bad," you acquiesced, smoothing down the fabric of your dress and cloak. There were eyes on you—the mansion was filled with people, all around your age yet you didn't know any of them. They all sneaked curious glances, wondering why you were there and how you could be amidst the most influential family in the city. A simple girl like you.

Your palms grew clammy at the unwanted attention, and you tried to push aside the twisting of your stomach when Helaena gave you a sympathetic smile you knew too well.

"Okay, I have to close up the wine cellar, or else then we'll certainly have a problem," she grimaced, squeezing your hand once, "Have fun, will you?"

"When do I not?" You teased, to which she simply raised a brow before turning away, leaving you all too alone in the middle of the crowd. You felt exposed, truly. Suddenly out of place as if you were invading. But at the same time, small, so very small. Each of the people around you—drinking and dancing and laughing—held a weight to their presence, to the expensive costumes they wore, and to the poorly concealed scoffs falling from their lips as they walked by you.

You tried killing some time by eating one of the cupcakes on the kitchen counter, some were shaped like pumpkins, others like skulls. You chose the pumpkin one, fidgeting with the edge of your cloak as the sweet taste of the chocolate filling invaded your tastebuds.

It was hard finding anyone with the poor lighting of the room, and even harder with everyone wearing some kind of costume for the night. Your eyes skimmed over the small crowds of guests, looking for Aegon or Aemond, anyone to make you feel less like an outsider—you'd spotted Helaena again, but she was enthralled in conversation with a group of girls you didn't know and you didn't feel like intruding.

Eventually, you gave up and made a beeline to the balcony, squeezing your way past bodies and clutching your pointy hat to your head so you wouldn't have it knocked off. Already craving some fresh air. As soon as you crossed the threshold and felt the crisp air of the night hit your cheeks, someone managed to step on your cloak.

A yelp escaped you when you felt yourself being tugged backward, your back hitting someone's shoulder. You turned around fast, apology ready on your lips even if you weren't the one at fault.

"Hey," the tall man you'd bumped into didn't give you a chance to talk, he was dressed up as Frankenstein and had a half-filled solo cup in hand. "Watch where you're going," he spat, with something akin to repulse dripping from his tone.

"I'm sorr-"

"Aren't you a little far from home, girl?" He pushed into your personal space, forcing you to take a step backward.

Only for your back to brush against another someone. You closed your eyes, biting at the inside of your cheek as you cursed out every possible entity for giving you such tremendously awful luck. Perhaps coming to this party was a mistake. But then, warm and familiar hands slowly closed around your shoulders, thumbs pressing into your flesh in something comforting.

"She is exactly where she is supposed to be." Aemond's calm and even voice felt like the breath of fresh air you were so desperately seeking. You kept your eyes closed still, relishing in the feeling of his hands holding you, pulling you closer to him.

Aemond hummed, and his tone dropped to something more dangerous; "You, however," he addressed the man who had stepped on your cloak, but you felt shivers going up and down your back all the same, "Better be walking out those doors within the next five seconds or else I'll put you out myself." Aemond merely leaned his head towards the main doors of his house, and it didn't take long for you to feel the other man's nauseating presence vanish.

Only then did Aemond let go of you, stepping around you so he could look you in the eyes. And your breath stumbled the same way your heartbeat did when you finally looked up at him. Thanks to a thin layer of makeup, his face was paler than what you were used to. There was a steady trail of fake blood coming from the edges of his smirk. His hair fell completely loose and framed his angular face between the long silver strands. The prosthetic sapphire eye you so rarely saw on his scarred eye certainly completed and gave its own flare to the look. He dressed in a loose frilly shirt, with a long black cape over his shoulders that had red satin on the inside of its fabric. Aemond was a vampire. A very charming and alluring one at that.

"You uh-" The word fell like a breath past your lips, completely muffled by the music. You cleared your throat, glancing away from his piercing gaze. "You didn't have to do that."

"Do what?" Aemond shrugged, his lips pressed together in a playful pout. "Am I not allowed to take out the trash in my own house?"

Fighting a smile and losing, you shook your head at him. For once you were thankful for the dim light of the room, as it hid the warmth that spread to your cheeks.

"Let me grab you a drink, witch." Aemond reached a hand to the small of your back, pulling you towards the kitchen before you could protest. He kept close to you at all times, There was an almost predatory sharpness to his eye anytime someone so much as thought about looking at you the wrong way—even if with him by your side, no one dared to. It blossomed a heat in your chest that was difficult to deny, the valves of your heart working overtime to keep up with its frantic beating.

Aemond only let go of you so he could fill up two red cups with what you could only assume was a bottle of wine that cost more than your monthly salary. His cape swayed behind him as he walked, as did his hair, soft silver strands contrasting against the black fabric of his cape's raised collar.

"I'm glad you came," Aemond spoke just loud enough for you to catch it over the music. He handed you one of the cups.

You granted him a small smile, observing as the candles from the kitchen counter cast a pleasant warm glow to one side of his face, and the distant colorful lights of the adjacent living room cast a myriad of colors on the other. His prosthetic eye shone under the light. You had only seen him this bare a few handful of times. Helaena told you it had taken years for him to ever allow anyone to see him without the eyepatch he wears most of the time.

"I'm still deciding if it was a wise decision or not," you confessed, trying to lighten the mood with an awkward chuckle.

Before Aemond could answer, a heavy hand patted your shoulder and nearly made you spill your drink on yourself. "I knew you wouldn't miss it," Aegon's enthusiastic voice appeared beside you, he laughed, greeting you with a quick but sloppy kiss to your cheek, "My parties are always irresistible."

"Hey Aegon," your smile grew wider as you turned to him. The older Targaryen was dressed as a king, with a huge golden crown on his head, a red regal outfit, and a mantle of white fur over his back. "I love what you've done with the place," you praised loudly as a new song began, "The decorations are awesome."

He refilled his cup, stealing a glance at his own house. "Eh, turns out making some of these yourself does pay off," he shrugged, gesturing to the many ghosts and bats hanging from the ceiling and the carved pumpkins lying around.

It stole another chuckle from you. Aegon held his cup with one hand and gave you an exaggerated curtsy with the other, before going back to disappear between the crowd of costumes.

You and Aemond remained quiet for several beats then. You leaned back against one of the counters, taking small sips of your drink as you quietly observed everyone around you. The wine burned a little down your throat, but you found yourself enjoying the taste of it. A soft breeze came in through the open doors of the balcony, it carried the smoke of the candles and the smell of incense and wine.

Aemond had already finished his drink, his thumb traced the rim of his cup. "You do belong here," his voice was so soft it almost got lost with the music. You averted your eyes to him only to see him already watching you. He let go of his cup, placing it beside one of the carved pumpkins—yours, now you noticed, the one you had carved with Aemond at the start of the month.

You pursed your lips when Aemond walked closer to you, holding onto your breath. "More than any of them ever have," he whispered then, but he stood close enough for you to feel the warmth of his body on yours. You didn't have to try hard to hear him.

There was electricity in the air as one of Aemond's shoes stepped in between your boots. His eye cast over every speck of your cosmetic makeup, resting longer on your lips, as if wondering how many times he'd have to kiss you until your dark lipstick would fade.

With your heart in your mouth, any and all words you could think of were gone. Because Aemond was close, too close. He'd only been this close to you once before, on a late summer afternoon, when you both sat by the pool and his chapped lips brushed yours; he'd tasted of strawberries then, the ones you'd been eating by the water together; it was a fleeting moment, gone so fast that none of you dared to speak of it after.

But now, his soul intertwined with yours again, and you felt as one of his hands sneaked to your waist. His fingers traced your curves with purpose, as if he'd missed how the shape of your body felt in his hands. Maybe he did.

Aemond's nose was short of brushing yours when you sucked in a sharp breath. Your eyes caught the other guests of the party; stealing glances at you and him, whispering with near scandalous looks. Your hand clutched tight at Aemond's loose shirt. "Aemond stop."

He pulled back in the same breath, but didn't go far, your hold on him didn't allow him to. "They're-" You gulped heavily, feeling inebriated in his closeness, "They're all watching." It was nothing but a breath past your lips, because your hand was on his chest, and even through the thin shirt, you could feel the heavy beating of his heart trying to escape its confines.

Aemond's lips parted with a smirk, he had his tongue between his teeth. He shook his head, hair falling over his scarred eye, whilst the other one glinted with something akin to deep adoration.

With the boldness of a man who had surrendered himself to a heart that wept for another, Aemond leaned in. His lips pecked the corner of yours, it was a quick kiss, but it lingered with the way his other hand had come up to cup the corner of your jaw and press you into him.

You could melt. Turning your head toward him and chasing his lips when he pulled away.

"Let them see," Aemond hushed, his thumb came over your bottom lip, brushing away a stain of the fake blood that came with his kiss. "Let them see how much I-" He grew breathless before he could finish, his lips hovering. But the look in his eye begged you for something. Longed for something. "Let them see."

The music suddenly became muffled to your ears, and the eyes of anyone else disappeared in a blurred background. There was only him, and a gravity pulling at your heartstrings with a desperation you couldn't keep to yourself any longer.

Biting back the hesitation, you raised a hand to Aemond's face, your fingers buried between strands of his hair as you pushed it behind his ear. He closed his eye with your touch, falling forward until his nose touched yours. You met in the middle, and this kiss held more hunger to it. You caught his lower lip between your teeth, something harmless, yet you couldn't help but soothe with your tongue afterward.

Aemond pressed his body to yours, if he could be closer, he would be. Both his hands had sneaked beneath your cloak, needing to feel the warmth of your body the most he was able to. Your nails mapped the edge of his jaw, digging softly into the skin there. It gave beneath your fingertips as though his skin had been molded for your touch, and Aemond's mouth parted on an exhalation of your name.

You smiled, dodging his lips when he leaned forward yet again, going for his scarred cheek to lay a kiss there. "You were right, I do belong here."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond one eye #aemond fanfiction #aemond imagine #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #aemond targaryen x reader #my story #aemond one eye x reader

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the-witch-of-one-piece · 2 years ago

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Pierced Nipples 18+ Ft: Draken, Taiju, Nahoya & Hanma WC:1000+ (unedited) A resident of the: @enchantedforest-network TW: Pierced nipples, masturbation, fingering, sucking on breast, tiddie f****** , hickies, penetration, Suggestive themes, Suggestive language Synopsis: Your tits are their main focus. MINORS DNI 18+

Nahoya

Nahoya’s eyes focused on your tits and didn't leave them for one min. This would be the first time he would see them without the bra and they were perfect for him. He was a little surprised to see the jewels of your pierced nipples. “You have some pretty tits baby girl.” he licked his lips. He was getting hard as he began to imagine his lips latching onto your tits. “You’ve been depriving me of seeing your body for so long I’m gonna savor every min of it.” His hand reaches over grasping onto your tits. “Don’t be so rough Nahoya.” softly whimpering as you felt your head hit the pillow.

His lips inches from yours “I can’t make any promises on that now.” his lips press onto yours.Feeling his teeth nibble on your lower lips, his lips traveling lower and lower till he reaches your tits. Hearing the soft pants was turning him on he reached for his cock and began to stroke himself. Hearing the lingering groan coming from his lips as he still sucked onto your breast. He could feel the cold metal of the nipple piercing against his tongue.

Your hands grasping his thick hair.. “Na-Na” your eyes looked down at him, you couldn’t even say your boyfriend's name. His hands slid down to the dripping mess between your thighs. His index finger slid up and down making your body squirm. “Na-ho-ya.” he said, removing his lips from your perfect tits. his finger finally penetrating your aching swollen cunt.

Hanma

His tongue slightly dragged against your nipple as he blew on them getting hard. He watches as your nipple becomes warm. “I fucking love your tits pierced.” he admired your tits that had hickies all over them from his lips. “Who would have thought you would go through the bet months back.” He didn't think you were going to pierce them but when you were there getting them done he witnessed it. He was deprived of touching or sucking on your nipples during the first month of them healing. He held onto your hips raising your bottom of the bed. He raised his body up and he had a good view of your body with his hands rocking you against his hip as his cock rammed inside of you. The way your tits bounced with each thrust. Your hands gripping the sheets underneath you. Your knuckles were turning white due to your grip on the sheets. “Shit mmm Hanma just like that.~~~”

“Play with them sweet tits of yours,” he grunted his order at you. It didn't take long for your hands to reach for your breast. Your thumb grazing your nipple you began to grope your breast. "Fuck that's so hot."

Taiju

His brow cocking down at you, as you were between his legs. You made eye contact with him, your hand stroking his cock your lips wrapping around his thick member. “Remove your top,” Taiju spoke in a deep voice as his yellow orbs pierced down at you. Removing your lips from around his cock the string of salvias that connect your lips from his cock separated. Pushing down the straps of your top exposing your breast. The cold air hitting them makes your nipple get hard instantly. The decorative jewelry he picked out for you when you get them pierced. The intense yellow orbs focused on your lips and then on your nipples. Bringing your chest a bit higher to his girthy erections. His slippery cock slid between your tits. You held your breast as your breast slid up and down his cock gliding with ease. Hearing a low growl coming from his throat his eyes closed for a moment enjoying the sweet euphoric form of pleasure. “Does it feel good, my king?” you cooed softly as you leaned your head down your tongue licking the tip of his cock. Feeling his cock twitch between your breasts. “It would be better if that pretty little mouth was wrapped around my cock more. But seeing your tits work just fine… for now.” his hands began to undo the rest of his shirt as he was becoming hot. The pretty little gems on your breast sparkling back at him he wanted to play with your tits so badly “Enough playing around I wanna see those pretty tits bounce as your ride my cock.”

Draken

He liked it when you got them pierced he found it sexy. He understood they were sensitive the first few days and you could wear a bra. He didn't mind it. But when they started to heal the more you wore a bra and it would be obvious when your nipples were cold. Hanging out with friends was all fun until he noticed a few Toman members looking at your chest and seeing the outline of your pierced nipples. He began to become a bit more possessive about how exposed those intimate piercings were. The little empty closet you both managed to fit in as he wanted to ‘talk’ to you.

Your back was against the cool concrete he held one of your legs up. The low panting spilled from your lips as he sucked on the nape of your neck. “I already told you about wearing something underneath so people couldn’t see them when we were out.” His voice was raspy. “You know how many Toman members were looking at you?” he thrust a bit harder as he brought his head up looking at you.

“I’m sorry babe mmmmm. Oh shit~~~” you whimper softly.

Draken's free hands pull your top down exposing your breast. “Now the next time we go out what are you gonna abide by?” his eyes watching your tits as he was becoming a bit more sloppier with his thrusting.

“I- I will make sure to cover my tits more~~~~” your eyes looked at him as he was enjoying the view of your tits before bringing his eyes up back at you and giving you a smirk.

Intersted in joining the taglist please fill out form below to get notification of your favorite character when they are being posted! Link here ->taglist

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incorrectjttw · 2 months ago

Note

Yellow Brow: You’re too later, Superdorks! You'll never stop me now! Tang Sanzang: That’s where you’re wrong, evildoer! We WILL stop you, with the powers of: Sha Wujing: Friendship! Bai Long Ma: Harmony! Sun Wukomg: Incredible violence. Zhu Bajie: And love!

Sun Wuhuan/Liu'er Mihou: And the help of powerful allies!

Maitreya: Hi! I've been looking for you! And my stuff! :D

Yellow Brows Demon: ... Shit.

#journey to the west #yellow brows great king #tripitaka #sha wujing #bai longma #sun wukong #zhu bajie #liu'er mihou #incorrect quotes

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the-monkey-ruler · 1 year ago

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Monkey King Reborn (2021) 西游记之再世妖王

Director: Wang Yunfei Screenwriter: Wu Xiaoyu / Wang Yunfei Starring: Bian Jiang/Zhang Lei/Cai Haiting/Su Shangqing/Zhang He/Lin Qiang/Liu Sicen/Wang Chenguang/Baomu Zhongyang/Zhang Bin/Chang Jin/Tut Hamon/Zhang Yaohan/Bai Xuecen/Qiu Qiu/Chang Wentao/Li Jiaxiang Genre: Action / Animation / Fantasy Country/Region of Production: Mainland China Language: Mandarin Chinese Date: 2021-04-02 (Mainland China) / 2021-08-07 (Re-release in Mainland China) Duration: 95 minutes Also known as: Journey to the West: Ginseng Fruit / Monkey King Reborn IMDb: tt14391088 Type: Retelling

Summary:

When chaos first emerged, the world's first demon came into the world, named Primordial / Yuan Di (voiced by Zhang Lei), and was regarded as the ancestor of the demon. Millions of years later, the former demon king Sun Wukong (voiced by Bian Jiang) was rescued from the Five Elements Mountain by Tang Seng (played by Su Shangqing). Wukong promised to protect Tang Seng and go to the West to learn scriptures. The legendary demon ancestor Yuan Di appears again, and the Three Realms are in danger. Two generations of demon kings are destined for a final battle, but this time, Sun Wukong meets a real powerful enemy.

Source: https://mov-20.chinesemov.com/2021/Monkey-King-Reborn

Link: https://myflixer.pw/watch-movie/monkey-king-reborn-75178.5590519 https://www.bilibili.tv/en/video/2008955865

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some-bunniii · 11 months ago

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Lucifer dotes on a pregnant!reader [Sneak Peek]

you can find the original prompt here! fem!reader with no use of y/n.

EDIT: Full fic here!

take this little (unedited) blurb from my upcoming longfic! it’s another big one folks, maybe as long as my soul deal fic when it’s finished. character building underneath all that fluff y’know. i’m 13k words in and still going strong, so stay tuned!

“So…. I was a little bored last night,” Lucifer started, adjusting his long collar nervously as you regarded him with a quirked brow, “and, well, seeing as you didn’t have much for the baby, I thought I could give you a hand, soooo I made you this!”

His arm quickly lifted towards you, and you leaned forward to get a look at the small object in his hand.

Nestled in Lucifer’s palm, was a small, yellow rubber ducky. Your eyes widened, breath hitched, as your gaze flicked from the toy to Lucifer, then back to the ducky adorned with a small, white hat. He watched your reaction intensely, and at your silence he cracked an awkward grin.

“For the little one, in case you didn’t have anything for them. It’s even got a little baker's hat, since I know that’s kind of your thing.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you took the duck gingerly from his hand, turning it over as you traced the outline of the beak, the cute little hat, and finally the adorable tail feathers curled at its back. It stirred something in you, your stomach swimming with emotions that were threatening to bubble up and consume you while staring at the toy.

He made this… for your baby? As a gift to you?

That was so sweet of him, and not even Charlie had given you something so thoughtful. Sure, she paid for a majority of your baby necessities—which you owed her your life for, no matter how much the girl disagreed—but she never presented you with something made from the heart like this.

Lucifer did, though. Even if he made a million matching yellow duckies beforehand, he still made this one specifically for you. Had your ex ever cared enough to do something like this for you? You couldn’t recall. And yet, a man who was practically a stranger before you was the one to care enough.

Fuck, you were about to cry. You tried to steel yourself, holding back tears.

You met Lucifer’s gaze after a few moments, as you softly stroked the little toy with your thumb. The fallen angel only grimaced at your reaction, his smile faltering slightly as he watched your eyes well with tears and your lip start to quiver.

“Do you hate it?” He asked slowly, and you began sniffling softly hiccups building in your chest as you blinked in confusion.

“Hate—hic—It? Why would you think…?” You started, before you felt tears welling up underneath your chin, and dripping softly onto the ducky close to your chest.

You mentally slapped yourself, of course Lucifer would think you disliked it with how emotional you were being. Shame ate at you after that. Here the King of Hell was, thinking about you and your baby and making something in his own free time, only for you to reward him with tears.

Curse these hormones!

Now, the quiet sniffles that escaped you were from both sadness and delight, as you clutched the rubber ducky closer to your chest. The tears spilled faster from your cheeks, wetting the ground beneath you. A few droplets landed on your exposed arm, and its cool touch was a welcome sensation from the heat boiling underneath your skin.

“I-I-I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” you finally breathed, rubbing a hand across your face to get rid of the tears, before you inhaled a sharp breath to calm yourself, “I’m sorry for being such a… such a—”

You clamped your mouth shut, trying to rope in the last bit of control you had over your emotions that were threatening to come undone. You sucked in a large, sputtering breath and Lucifer leaned back, just as your lips quivered violently.

“—a wreck!” you wailed after that, placing your free hand to your mouth to try and hold in your sobs.

Lucifer jumped slightly, closing in the small distance between the two of you as he rushed to your side. He bit his lip, his hand reaching towards you to give comfort, before he hastily pulled it back.

“Wait, no! You’re not a wreck, you’re completely fine. Perfect, even! Oh, please don’t cry…”

The man was starting to pace as you held a hand to your mouth, slowly but surely clamping down on your outburst of emotion.

“Here, have another one!” A second rubber ducky appeared with a red burst of smoke, landing softly into his palm as he lifted it towards your face, “Don’t worry I have a lot more at home!”

The duckies cute little apron, displaying a cookie and two tiny wooden spoons in the shape of an X, only made your lip quiver more violently. Lucifer slowly pulled the third ducky behind his back and out of view, staring at you with concern as you tried to catch your breath.

“It’s so cute!” you gasped through the tears, before rubbing your eyes once more.

“You think so?” He replied in disbelief.

You nodded your head vigorously, smiling through the tears as you clutched both ducks to your chest. Lucifer slowly caught on, before breathing a large sigh of relief like he just avoided doomsday.

“Are… you two okay?” Came a familiar voice from the edge of the room. You turned your head to see … 🫣

ah, the wonders of hormonal pregnancy changes! sorry for the wait 😔 health issues have arisen and the motivation to write plummets when you’re in pain, but don’t worry, i’m still writing everyday and it should be out soon <3

thanks for the patience 🤍

#lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hellaverse #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader

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yeeterthek33per · 11 months ago

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Loved and Landed (Steph Catley x Reader)

A/n Requested

-------

Steph lives a busy life.

There's her football life. Obviously.

There's her schooling life.

There's the life she lives with her friends and family.

And then there's the life with-

"Steeeeeph, come on, I wanna get there early, I'm not dealing with Katie leaving something for me to find, again."

There's incessant tugging at the sleeve of her red Arsenal hoodie.

Of course, her football life keeps her the most busy.

Especially when she has to drive it to and from home all of the time now that Kyra's living in the house as well.

It had been a hectic process, but the young midfielder had settled in quickly, taking in the familiarity of the Aussie herself and her club teammates' closeness around them.

Quickly becoming a child amongst the older girls on the team, much like a sibling to them, within but a few months.

That being said.

Kyra was a little shit.

And she knew it too.

A demanding one at that.

Hence why Katie had taken to knocking the young brunette down a few pegs.

Her cockiness was starting to show under the protection of the older girls, so the Irish captain had been messing with her enough to take the invincible mindset away from her.

Leaving her ultimately latched onto Steph now.

A lot.

"Seriously, Steph, please, I can't deal with her leaving shaving foam in my boots again."

The older woman raises an eyebrow at the pleading look on Kyra's face.

"You did this to yourself, Ky. Katie's only retaliating because you decided you were king shit enough to put hair dye in her shampoo."

The younger girl whines.

"Don't you think she's retaliated enough? I've had my shoes violated, my shin guards replaced with slightly smaller ones. I mean, the other day, my water bottle was filled with pickle juice. Pickle Juice! For gods sake."

Steph sighs, rolling her eyes slightly, grabbing the last of her stuff to shove into her pack, she gestures to the front door, to which the midfielder eagerly hurries out of and towards the car, waiting impatiently for the defender to unlock it.

"You've seriously gotta apologise to Katie or something. The girl has ten siblings, I can't imagine she hasn't spent her whole life dealing with bratty behaviour from little shits like you."

Kyra scoffs as she hurriedly buckles herself in.

"Rude."

"The truth."

Steph smirks at the small pout that forms on the other girls lips.

"Hurry up and drive."

"So bossy."

-------

As expected, they arrive with hardly any other people around, decidedly much earlier than any of the other girls. Katie wasn't the earliest of player's anyway, so Kyra really shouldn't be worried about her beating them there.

Still, the youngin looks exceptionally nervous as she peaks into the changing room and gingerly makes her way over to her cubby, scanning it with a ridiculous level of detail.

Steph can only shake her head, watching the young girl sheepishly wander around the room, checking for what may well be hidden traps.

Maybe she should talk with Katie about getting her to take it down a notch.

The Irish woman was nothing if not relentless when it came to getting back at someone.

The last thing the team needed was a midfielder with serious trust issues stemming from their infamous yellow card magnet of a winger.

"Ky, relax. She's not even here yet."

"Yeah, but you never know."

"Seriously, it's game day, relax, she won't-"

"Oh, hello, you two. Stephy. Kyra."

The ever so loud and joyful Katie enters the changing room with a bang of the door as it slams open and hits the wall.

Her smirk quirks up a little wider at the sight of the midfielder, who's looking rather sheepishly around her rather than at the Irish woman herself.

"You two extra early today, eh?"

"Ha, something like that."

Steph gives her a look as she nods in Kyra's direction.

"Give the poor girl a break, would ya? I think she's been thoroughly humbled."

Katie snorts in amusement, eyeing her up.

"Eh, she’s fine. I wasn't gonna do anything."

Steph raises a brow at that.

"....Yet."

There it is.

"Of course. Don't mess around too much, though. We still have a game to play, McCabe."

She lets out an unconvincing hum in response, right as some of the other girls start to filter in, Caitlin one of the ones to settle into her cubby beside the defender.

"What's up with the kid?"

Steph snorts.

"Ask your girlfriend. She's been torturing the poor girl."

Caitlin rolls her eyes, turning to Katie, who's now got a cheeky glint in her as she eyes up the younger of the three.

"Katie."

"What? I didn't do any-"

She stops at the look she gets from the Australian, grumbling as she relents and turns back to her cubby.

-------

Kyra's finally able to escape the locker room out of sight of the defender the moment the Irish woman is distracted.

Heading down the hall towards the physio room, she ends up coming face to face with and bumping face first into someone.

She groans when she rubs at her face and her backside from where she landed on it as she stands up again with the help of her assailant.

The person is stood in a royal navy uniform, a patch on her shoulder with three horizontal gold stripes and a small circled loop on the top, hair slicked back and tight into a bun behind her head.

'L/n-Catley' the name badge reads.

Confusion crosses her face which you quickly notice.

"You're Steph's teammate right?"

"Uh yeeaah? Who are you?"

"It's a long story and sorry about the bump there. I uh, I don't know if y'all know yet but I might need your help. The staff were nice enough to let me in but I need an escort here."

"Where are you going?"

"I got told to wait for one of the trainers in the staff room?"

"Can I ask what you're doing?"

"Waiting to see Steph, but don't tell her, it's supposed to be a surprise."

Kyra is extremely sceptical, but she leads you down the hall to where the trainers are situated and one of them recognises you immediately, hugging you and dragging you into the room.

She's even more confused when the staff member is nearly in tears.

Wait.

Navy uniform.

Here to see Steph.

L/n-Catley on the name badge.

There's no way.

"Are you... Are you married to Steph?"

You chuckle softly, rubbing the back of your neck.

"Yes I am. If you can't tell it's been a little while since we've seen each other."

"Yeah, I can tell, her house is far too empty for the size of it."

"Ah, so you're the new roommate. Kyra, right?"

"She's been talking about me?"

You nod.

"We would call every two weeks. When she found out you were moving to Arsenal, I couldn't tell if she was happy or mad because you'd already trashed her white towels."

"Hey! That was not my fault, the wine just fell... on it's own."

There's a sheepish look on her face.

You chuckle softly.

"She'll be fine, the pattern was ugly anyway, we needed new towels... Don't tell her I said that."

Kyra smiles at that.

"It's great to meet you, then... How are we planning this out?"

"I'll have my sister here sneak me somewhere I can wait and surprise her at the end of the game."

She nods.

"Alright, I better get going then before the girls come looking for me for pitch inspection."

You nod back and give her a warm smile.

"Oh, I'm Y/n, by the way, Lieutenant Commander Y/n L/n-Catley."

-------

The roar of the almost entirely red and white crowd as the girls enter the pitch is as usual, deafeningly loud.

Home games are always the most adrenaline instilling games, ones where their fans are always the loudest, chanting and screaming every time one of their own touches the ball.

Steph can still hardly believe it.

The growth in the game. Breaking records every single home match so far.

The FA Cup semi-final was no different it seems.

Her eyes subtly scan the crowd as she jogs out behind the others, shifting from clapping fan to clapping fan. There's an air about the crowd.

A massively high inducing air, one that she can feel in every nerve ending in her body as she practically bounces around the pitch in warmups.

She brushes it off as it being a semi final type of high.

Aston Villa would be a difficult opponent and she assumed that was the reasoning.

-------

It seems she's proven wrong in the first ten minutes.

It doesn't take long for Stina to score, the home crowd immediately losing their minds, and they barely have time to recover just two minutes later when the Swede swoops in for the double.

By the fourty-fifth minute, they know they have the game. Four to nil over the Villans thanks to a Stina hattrick and a goal from Frida. Her heartbeat is thumping in her ears as they approach the final minute.

This is the part they're in the dark. How many minutes left of stoppage? How much longer does she have to defend?

The players are taught not to worry about that. To just play until the whistle blows. And she does.

But she can't help the nagging awaiting of the whistle, wondering when it will go.

The moment it does, there's celebration, relief, and a lot of cheering and screams and congratulation from the air around.

A pair of arms and legs wrap around her from behind as Kyra jumps on her back, the young Australian whooping into her ear.

"Onto the finals, Stephy!"

The defender chuckles and celebrates with the team, the announcer shouting out the home teams win to wind up the crowd once more.

As they do the celebration walk around the pitch, the announcer announces player of the match, and then one more announcement catches her ear.

Her head snaps toward the tunnel the moment she hears it, heart stopping at the words of the female announcer.

"And finally, one last round of applause. Let us congratulate and welcome back someone very special to one of our own. Lieutenant Commander Y/N L/n-Catley returning from fifteen months of duty at sea with the Royal Navy."

And truly, there you are, her wife.

Dressed to the nines in your Black, long sleeved uniform, hands clasped behind you, standing with a wide, almost teary smile as you watch Steph bolt across the pitch towards you, catching her with little effort as she jumps into your arms, knocking the cap off your head with the force.

The rest of the Arsenal girls stand shocked, looking between themselves and their left back at the sudden appearance of a totally new member of the Catley family.

Before they can even try to work out who you might be to Steph, the defender has her lips pressed to yours tightly, tears streaming down your face.

The sensation of finally being able to kiss you, her wife. HER wife, has her trembling against you, her stomach twisting and curling as you hold her tight against you, your own hands shaking as they rest on her back.

It had been the longest stint you'd gone without seeing each other, having been on a cramped ship for the majority of that time.

Even having been used to long times apart, the immense relief of being able to hold your person, your love, YOUR wife, after so long. was like nothing else you'd ever experienced.

And you were glad you had all the time in the world to experience it now.

When Steph's finally able to pull back and look you in the eye, hands holding your face, eyes scanning your features, noting a small scar under your right brow, and then returning to make eye contact again with you, albeit very tearily, much like yourself.

Lifting your own hands, your thumbs swipe away the tears on her cheeks, leaning down once more to kiss her, forehead leaning against hers.

You take in the immensity of the screams of the crowd all of a sudden, especially the crowd around the players' tunnel.

With that, she buries herself back into your hold, her nose buried into the crook of your neck.

Your eyes scan the pitch, watching the applauding or shocked expressions of the players.

You'd already known her teammates didn't know she was married, however their shocked expressions still have you chuckling.

All except Kyra's wide smile as she watches the two of you and you give the girl a wink.

"I can't believe it. You're here."

It's half whimpered into your shoulder, and you just barely hear it over the crowd.

"I'm here. I'm home."

"They finally let you on leave?"

She's using a half joking tone beneath the watery chokes and sobs.

"Better than that, Love."

She pulls away shocked.

"You mean.."

You smile down at her teary eyed.

"I'm home for good, not retired but they're giving me an office in London. Full time hours still but I won't be needed for duty anymore."

She frowns softly after a second.

She knew you'd always hated the idea of an office job.

Catching the look on her face, you knew what she'd be thinking about.

"I don't care where it is, or what I'm doing. I'm just glad I'm home, with you. I've had my fill of travelling and front line work for a lifetime."

Leaning your forehead back against hers, you let the moment sink in.

You'd known it was coming for months now, haven spoken to your superiors, and them letting you know there was a position available remotely, you'd taken it in a heartbeat.

If it meant coming home to your girl, you'd have done anything.

A small throat clearing a couple feet from you, the team had moved to stand around the pair of you, eager to ask questions of the brunette in your arms.

You nudge her softly with a small giggle in her ear.

"Babe, I think they have questions."

"They can wait a little longer."

You don't fight her on it just letting her settle into you again, holding you tightly.

The moment she does let go, she's grabbed by the shoulders and interrogated by the team rather swiftly.

Leah stands arms crossed.

"Now Stephy, when did this occur?"

Steph sheepishly smiles around her at her.

"Alright alright, Gunners, meet my beautiful wife, Y/n. She's been in the navy since she turned eighteen, we met five years ago when she was on leave in Australia. We started dating less than a month later and she left on duty about four months later. We got married after three years, bought a house right before she left a year and a bit ago. We haven't seen each other in person since then. Until now, that is."

And just like that, you're immediately dragged into the group rather swiftly, squished into several hugs.

A firm handshake and then a tight hug from their captain, especially. The Scot making firm well you know how quickly she'd bury you should you hurt their defender, despite the fact you'd known Steph longer and you chuckle, nodding in agreement at the stern look turned cracked smile she lets go.

When you're finally free, Steph takes no time tucking herself under your arm and wrapping hers around you, looking up at you slightly with a proud, elated smile, eyes still slightly teary.

Returning the expression, you press a small kiss to her nose.

"Welcome home, Baby."

You shake your head.

"Congrats on the win, Baby, this is your moment right now. Go celebrate for a bit, we've got all the time in the world now."

She pouts but relents with a small peck and nudge.

"KYRA, YOU KNEW?!"

The shouts of the Irish captain make her jump but chuckle a little as a gloating midfielder teases the rest of the girls.

Yeah. She was in for it.

-------

#woso x reader #steph catley imagines #woso #woso imagines #woso imagine #steph catley imagine #steph catley x reader #steph catley

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merlucide · 6 months ago

Text

BLLK BOYS W/ A THEATER NERD S/O

notes: HELP I H8 THE DRABBLES..🥲 (og ask)

characters: Reo, Isagi, Rin, Bachira

warnings: cursing?, implied fem, cringe

bllk mlist

MIKAGE REO

oh, he just LOVES watching your performances.

Wether your on stage or not- he comes to EVERY show (drags nagi w/him too LMAO)

Helps you memorize any of your lines / helps you gather stuff you’ll need backstage.

He loves seeing you thrive in theater, and how happy it makes you ><

He always listens intently when you talk about your favorite broadway show, amazed how you remember even the smallest details

Sings your favorite musical songs with you, he will even act out the scene with you

Brings you a BIG bouquet of assorted flowers when the performance is over— rambling about how just wonderful it was

He is really proud of the effort you put into you craft, and the outcome always amazes him

Everyone had gathered on stage for the final bow, the crowd clapped and cheered. You smiled when you spotted your boyfriend holding up a limp Nagi. Reo clapped with a bright smile on his lips— and Nagi squinting at the bright lights. Everyone headed backstage and the crowd cleared, most left but close friends and family stayed and came backstage.

“Y/N that was wonderful!” You hear the familiar voice of your boyfriend praise, him running to you and hugging you tightly. He pecked your cheeks and held onto your arms. “My love that might just have been your best performance yet,” You snorted at his comment “Reo, you say that after every performance.”

“Well every performance is perfect my love,” Reo quips, his face into a smooth grin. Behind him trailed Nagi, who slurred a ‘good job’ with a thumbs up. Reo pulls back a bit and hands you a beautiful bouquet you can’t help but smile at. It was so pretty, full of tulips and lillies and smaller flowers complimenting the main ones.

“Thank you Reo,” you smiled before kissing his cheek. “Of course my love, just doing my job,” <3

ISAGI YOICHI

oh he is so cute

You 100% get him into the world of theater

Thinks that it’s really cool how you’re passionate about this

Super supportive— tells all his friends about your plays and all of the stuff you like

His favorite broadway shows are Dear Evan Hanson and Hamilton— he thinks King George is hilarious

He likes being involved with your plays anyway he can—he will be try to be involved if he is free

Tells his family all about your performance!!

The whole family goes to your shows (≧∀≦)

Tries to memorize your lines / the plays lines with you but forgets them 💀

(or) Tries helping you with props/technical stuff but doesn’t know what to do so he just stands there 😭

“Yoichi- can you pass me the yellow please?” You asked from sitting on the floor, paint brush in hand. On the floor was props you were tasked with making.

“Here,” Yoichi hands the paint bucket to you as he watches you pour some on your pallet. You guys were supposed to go out tonight but you still had some props you needed to finish— so Yoichi offered to keep you company. “Uhm, are you sure you don’t need any help..?” He nervously asks.

“Oh no I’m okay, thanks though,” you happily replied, you already felt bad for canceling date night and didn’t want to ‘burden’ him with helping you. “Oh okay,” he sits back down on the floor and continues to watch you.

“…Did you wanna help?” You slowly asked.

“I dunno,”

“Yoichi”

“Yeah..”

You softly sighed and handed him a brush. “Here, you can paint the moon,” You stood up and grabbed the unfinished moon set-prop. Yoichi nodded eagerly as he started painting. His strokes were in all directions— you’d have to go over them later but you didn’t mind too much. He looked so cute with his brow slightly furrowed when he concentrated on painting the edges.

“How’s this?” Yoichi asks, pointing to his moon with a little grin. “It’s perfection,” you praise, which he responds with a soft ‘thanks’ as he admires his work. <3

ITOSHI RIN

lmao he does NOT get it 😭💀

like you showed him a clip of your fav musical and he was like ??? Ppl ACTUALLY like that..?? (Ignore him he’s stupid)

but SUPER supportive of your performances!! he just lacks artistic appreciation, aaaand he has as much creativity as a wet sock, so yk

When he comes to your performances, he always brings a small but pretty bouquet (he’s beet red when he hands them to you >< )

You have desperately tried to get him into the arts— which just continued to confuse him🫠

He likes Shakespeare though??? which is probably like the only plays he will willing watch (aside for yours ehe:3)

You call him your Romeo ;) (he gets embarrassed and gets mad at you LMAO)

Lmao he should’ve never voiced his ‘like’ for Shakespeare bc when ever he asks you a simple question you’ll end up going “To be or not to be, that is the question” (que rin groaning)

“Rin, you need to put more emotion into it!!” You exasperatedly said, flinging your paper up. You had asked Rin to go over your lines with you, which was a stupid idea to begin with. He ticked his jaw, fingers firmly pressing into the paper.

“tch. This is stupid,” Rin answered, glaring at you. You sighed, “I can’t feel the scene if you sound like a robot!”Rin huffed, his pride clearly wounded. He groaned and flicked the paper back and examined it again.

“What. do. you. mean he’s. been. lying?” Rin reads, his voice flat.

You internally sigh, “I’m not sure, but when I asked him he was acting strange..” you spoke, already memorized your lines. “Could. it have. something. to do .with his. sister?” “No- he wouldn’t tell her about something like that… Unless!!” You clapped your hands.

“YAAAY!! I FINALLY NAILED MY TIMING!!” You exclaimed, clapping your hands excitedly. You then tackled Rin, who was sitting on your bed, catching his lips in a fat smooch. “Thanks honey, I really appreciate you tryin,” you praise, hands resting on his shoulders.

“Tch.. It’s nothing..” Rin muttered, his hand coming to rest on your waist. “I’m never doing this again,” you snickered at his mood change (he’s gonna end up helping next time you ask <3)

help Ik that was so bad 💀

BACHIRA MEGURU

AJHSNJANANNRNE

HE MATCHES UR FREAK!!!!

LIKE HE GETS IT FR!!!

omg you wanna binge watch Chicago, Six, and Heathers? WELL SO DOES BACHIRA!

yall sing musicals together all the time like- yall are in character doing the choreography and all

He loves watching musicals sm

And he LOVES watching you perform/work in theater

Like- seriously goes to all of your shows, even rehearsals if he can

Gets super immersed in your performances- thinks it’s 10x better than any broadway show

Loves seeing your/the costumes- will definitely try to try them on (before he gets caught and gets in trouble lmao)

After every performance he takes you to go get ice cream- a little ritual you guys have :3

OH. And he tries to match his outfit to what your play is >< (keyword, tries)

He brings his mom to your plays and she whistles and claps so loud when the plays over 😭💗

“Y/N you were friggin’ awesome!!!” Bachira exclaimed, hands swinging yours back and forth. “I wasn’t even on stage for 5 minutes,” you snorted. “Well you were the best one there! Being a tree takes a lot of skill y’know!!” He grins, pulling you along faster.

You finally arrived at the sacred land, Benny’s Ice Cream Parlor. Bachira ordered for both of you, handing you one cone of (Fav Flavor). You sat down on the bench, already licking your cone. Bachira put his foot on the bench, “Ahem, Ahem,” He began, lifting his ice cream up. “I would like to make a toast!,” You smile at his antics, waiting for what he’ll say next. “A toast to the best play in the history of the plays!” You snickered, raising your cone “A toast!” You said, ‘clinking’ your ice creams together.

“Ah, being Tree #4 is no easy task…” You dramatically sighed, licking your ice cream. Bachira shook his head. “Tut tut..,” you both snickered, finishing your ice creams and heading back home. <3

bllk mlist

taglist: @gigiiiiislife @sharkissm @luvingshidou @kurona-theshark @soleilonthesun @duckydee-0 @rinitoshisgirl @someprettyname @nikomelo

kanakakannakkkse ive rewritten the Drabble so many times bro 😭😭 ARGH AJSNSNANANA

made August 22nd 2024

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ladyinwriting18 · 1 year ago

Text

A Gift For A Hound (Sandor Clegane x Reader)

Summary: Joffrey gives his faithful Hound a gift---you.

Words: 5,277 Warnings: PIV, Oral sex, Master/Slave,

The Hound walks down the long stone corridor that leads to his room. In his right hand he carries a wineskin filled with the first thing he could get his fucking hands on. Being the personal bodyguard to a cunt like Joffrey is no easy task. The little shit is ruthlessly cruel. Which is saying something coming from him. Sandor Clegane isn’t known for being kind hearted but he’s no Joffrey. The boy is sick in the head. He does his best to push it from his mind. The day is done, meaning he can forget the shit from the day and drown himself in wine alone until the numbness of sleep takes him. This is Sandor’s nightly ritual. One that he honestly looks forward to. But when he opens the door, he isn’t greeted by the usual solitude. Instead, there’s a naked woman kneeling on the floor beside his bed.

It takes him a moment to get over the initial shock, but when he does, his voice booms throughout his chamber. “What the fuck is this? What are you doing here?” You lift your head to look at him, keeping your hands palms up on the tops of your knees. You’re as naked as your nameday, all except your neck. Tied around it is a yellow ribbon with three black dogs down the front—the colors and sigil of his house. “Hello, My Lord Hound.” “I’m no lord. So you can keep those meaningless titles to yourself.” You nod but stay silent. Sandor growls, nearly barking at you. “Well? Are you going to tell me what the fuck you’re doing in here?” You don’t even flinch at his raised voice, just answer him softly with a voice as warm as honey. “I belong to you. I am yours to do with as you please.” His brows pull together, not understanding the words that just left your mouth. “What?” You smile and patiently repeat yourself. “I belong to you now, for as long as you want me.” Your words have his eyes roam over your body for the first time. Every curve, the smoothness of your skin, and the way the chill in the room already has your nipples hard makes his cock twitch. “I’m a gift from King Joffrey.” That catches his attention. Joffrey barely spared him a glance. Now he was giving him gifts? “You’re…my gift.” You smile warmly. “Yes. Master.” That was new. No one had ever called him that before. He isn’t sure how to feel about it, but it’s far better than being called ‘my lord’. He steps over the threshold and lets the door shut behind him before moving closer. At his approach, you once again bow your head. There’s a gentle air about you. It’s something that isn’t a typical trait to the women found on the Streets of Silk. Not that Sandor was a frequent visitor. Most women couldn’t stomach looking at his scarred face. Even when he paid them, they struggled. What was the point of wasting coin on that?

You, on the other hand, are almost intoxicatingly feminine. It makes him want to press his nose to your cunt and breathe in your scent. He looks down at you, feeling more curious and less irritated than when he first walked in. “You said you belong to me?” You nod. “So, you’ll do anything I ask you to?” You keep your eyes downcast but respond without hesitation. “Yes, Master Hound. It will bring me great pleasure to fulfill your every request.”

A tension builds through his frame. Not out of anger, but anticipation. Anticipation to feel release that he often doesn’t get unless he takes his cock in his hand. “Look at me,” he commands. You do so eagerly, looking at him without a speck of fear. He searches your eyes for the lie, determined to find it. He is the Hound afterall. Usually he could smell a liar from yards away, but with you, he only sees devotion. As if you truly wish to serve him. Most were intimidated or afraid of him, but this is something different. It’s submission. It awakens his more animalistic needs. The part that wants nothing more than to fuck and claim and breed. His unscarred eye twitches as his hand moves to your cheek—to see if you’ll flinch at his touch. But, fuck, you lean into his palm and press your lips to the pad of his gloved tumb. Never once averting your gaze. He lets out a breath that he wasn’t aware he was holding. You’re all his. He starts to pull his armor and clothes from his body. You sit up on your knees, helping where you can. You manage to pull the gauntlets from his hands and unbuckle his sword belt. But the rest he does. His fingers move too fast and he knows the armor like the back of his hand. You find other ways to make yourself useful, taking items from him and gently placing them down while he throws the rest on the floor. When he’s left in nothing but his pants and boots, your hand lightly runs over the bulge in the front of his pants. Involuntarily, he bucks into your touch, wanting more. However, you make no move to continue past teasing touches. He grunts impatiently, catching your attention. Your eyes meet, your head tilting to the side as you whisper the words…. “Command me, Master.” Command? Why the fuck would he need to do that? Any other whore he’d ever slept with always took matters into their own hands and rushed to get things over with. “Tell me how to please you. I just want to please my Master.” Your pleading tone shoots right to his already hardening cock. The corners of his mouth twitch into a grin while his hand moves to the back of your skull. He pulls you in, guiding you closer to his groin.

“Kiss it.” Immediately, you obey, leaving kisses along his clothed cock. Only the linen of his pants separates you, but still he can feel the warmth of your mouth. Sandor lets out a rough growl while undoing the knot at the front of his pants. “Don’t stop.” You coo as sweetly as a dove and your kisses become more passionate as moans escape your parted lips. You hold eye contact with him without fear, without disgust, without judgment. He can’t recall a time when even his fellow King’s Guard was able to look at him, let alone a woman. Everything about this is different. You are different.

You look at him with desire. It only makes him more eager to sink his cock into you. However, once the cloth falls away to reveal his fully naked form, you sit back on your heels with your feet folded beneath you. You sit with your spine perfectly straight and your hands resting on your knees. You look more like a high born lady than a common whore. So submissive and pretty. “You’re waiting for my command, aren’t you?” His hand comes down to wrap around the length of his aching cock. Your eyes dart to the movement of his hand. You seem transfixed but still manage to respond, “My sole purpose is to give my Master pleasure. I’m your property to do with as you please.”

“My property?” he breathes and starts to slowly stroke himself. He does this more to tease you than himself. It clearly works because you only seem able to nod. A sly grin comes across his features. “You’re my property,” he repeats, louder to refocus you. “A beautiful…little thing…that belongs to me.” Sandor pants between words, stroking himself with a firmer grip.

“Yes, Master,” you moan with a lick of your lips. “I belong to you and only you.”

“Then be a good girl and come suck your Master’s cock.” You rise onto your knees so fast that you almost take him by surprise. Within moments, you’re pushing his hand away and wrapping your own around the base while your tongue traces over the veins in his shaft. “Your cock is so thick,” you moan out. Sandor isn’t sure if you meant to say that out loud but it hardly matters once you wrap your lips around the head of his cock. Your hand and mouth work in tandem—tugging firmly while lovingly sucking. That is…until you drop your hand away and swallow his cock whole. “Fucking Hells,” he swears and involuntarily bucks his hips forward. You hum, tightening your lips around his thickness as you pick up the pace and bob your head up and down. He watches you intently. Dark brown irises burn with lust as you suck him off like your life depended on it. “Filthy thing is enjoying this, isn’t she?” he pants, dick stiffening and pulsing in your mouth.

You nod with a happy little hum, and Sandor can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of his scarred lips. Your mouth is warm and so fucking inviting, like his cock was always meant to be there. He wants more. His hand shoots out to grip the back of your head as thick fingers tangle in the locks of your hair. He moves you up and down at just the right pace. You obey his physical command, allowing him to fuck your mouth while you drool all over him. Sandor is by no means a small man and his cock is no different, but you handle it with skill. The sloppy, wet sounds of you sucking with such enthusiasm makes him feel drunk. The pleasure courses through him, all the way down to his toes. It’s almost too much. And your big, beautiful eyes don’t make it any easier. They’re full of affection while unshed tears prickle at the corners of your eyes from how wide your mouth is stretched open. He slams his cock into your throat, hitting as deeply as you can possibly take him. Your hands and nails dig into his thighs to hold yourself steady. “That’s it,” he grunts, “take it.” You moan and gag with your brows knit together. He would have thought you were in pain if it wasn’t for the blissed expression on your face.

Sandor takes all of you in, wanting to commit the image of you gagging on his cock to memory. So that when you were gone, he’d at least still have that. But that’s when he catches sight of you pressing your thighs together. The blood in his veins sings. You’re getting off on this.

On pleasing him. On having his cock in your mouth. On obeying. Suddenly, having you down on the ground isn’t enough. He forcefully pulls away, slipping his cock out of your mouth. You whine at the loss and lean forward to try and get him back in your mouth, but not even your alluring mouth will keep a man like The Hound from getting what he wants. Bending at the waist, he shoves his hands under your armpits and lifts you up from the ground before throwing you onto his bed. You yelp when your back hits the mattress. Sandor simply grins at your shock from being so easily manhandled. “Is that cunt as pretty as your face, girl?” Blood rushes to your cheeks, coloring them, but still you open your legs, baring yourself. You’re a soaking, dripping mess. He’s certain he’s never seen a cunt as wet as yours is right now. It makes his throat feel dry…and in desperate need of a drink. Not willing to wait any longer, Sandor sinks to his knees and dives his face between your thighs. His tongue drags along your folds before it grazes your clit. Even at the slightest touch, you sigh and arch into his mouth. “More. Please, give me more.” Your pleas are sweet. So sweet that he’s no longer interested in teasing. He repeats the movement of his tongue but this time uses the flat of it to press firmer against your sensitive bud. You cry out, thighs closing tightly around his head. Sandor grunts, his arms sliding under your legs. He curls them around your thighs and uses his hands to keep your legs apart. With your movements restricted, he smashes his mouth against your clit. His lips wrap around it and suck. You buck and manage to throw a leg over his shoulder. Your foot presses against his broad back, using it as leverage to grind your hips towards his mouth. He smirks, proud that he’s the one eliciting such a response from you. While it’s true he rarely spends his coin on whores, this skill was something he learned long before his days at King’s Landing. In his youth, there had been a servant girl who worked in the kitchens. They had grown up together and thus she hadn’t ever feared his burned face. Exploring one another's bodies had felt natural. That’s how Sandor became acquainted with the taste of women. Once upon a time, they might have been married…if Gregor hadn’t found out and killed her in a jealous rage. Sandor forces the past from his mind. There’s no use in it when he has your cunt filling his senses. He savors the taste on his tongue, using it to flick your clit while sucking on it. You continue to buck and cry out, the pleasure clearly building for you. But he doesn’t want you reaching your peak just yet. He moves away, only slightly. His saliva mixes with your slick. They drip together making you all the more wet. It’s a delicious sight.

“Messy thing,” he praises, and he can feel the way your toes curl against his back. “You know,” he continues, “I usually spend my nights drinking but you’ve interrupted that.” Purposely, he pauses, letting you think he’s actually upset. You whimper, ready to apologize but Sandor speaks over you, his voice huskier than before. “Are you going to make it up to me, girl? And give me something else to drink?” You stumble over your words but still manage to speak, “Y-Yes Master, anything.”

Sandor hums from the back of his throat and swipes your clit with his tongue before answering. “Then be a good little slut and cum on my tongue.” Not bothering to wait for a reply, he runs his tongue to your slit, gathering more juices along the way. He probes your entrance before letting it fill you. You gasp in time with his moan. No longer can he taste the wine he was previously drinking. His taste buds are filled with nothing but your cunt. He vigorously pumps his tongue in and out of you. Your hands find his head, fingers tangle in hair in an attempt to tug him in deeper. “Fuckkkk, you’re so good with your tongue, Master!” Usually Sandor hates being touched without permission, but you’re so desperate it feels like he’d be committing a sin if he stopped you.

Besides, you’re dripping down his chin and giving him exactly what he wanted—a drink. But like a man starved, he wants more. He presses his thumb to your clit to stroke it. You throw your head back and sing. It’s the purest music he’s ever heard.

The louder you moan, the harder his cock throbs.

For the next few moments, the only sounds are your cries of pleasure and his grunts against your core.

It isn’t long before you start trembling, to the point that even your inner thighs shake.

“I…I’m going to–”

You don’t need to finish your sentence for Sandor to know that you’re about to cum. He doesn’t let up the movements of his tongue or the pressure to your clit but still you try to force words out of your mouth. “P-Please. Please can I–?” Realization flashes through him. You were asking for permission to cum. Why you think you needed to ask, Sandor doesn’t know, but Gods if it isn’t the most erotic fucking thing. He moves away just enough to speak. “Go on, girl. Give me what I want and cum.” His tongue plunges back into your depths and you spasm around it. When your orgasm hits, your entire body goes rigid and breathy, unrestrained moans bleed from your throat. His cock twitches wildly in response, precum surely dripping onto the stone floor he’s kneeling on. You’ve coated his tongue with your juices, making Sandor wonder if you’ll do the same to his cock. He works you through your aftershocks while drinking from you, licking up every drop he can. It's only when you fall limply back onto the mattress that he stops and removes his tongue and fingers from you. He sits back to look you over. You’re even more beautiful with a flushed face and glossed over eyes.

“Thank you for letting me cum, Master,” you murmur politely.

And just when he thought you couldn’t be any more perfect. Rising onto the bed, he grabs you by the back of the neck and hauls you towards him. His mouth crashes onto yours, forcing his tongue past your parted lips.

You return the kiss in a flurry of passion while your hands roam freely over his body. Starting from his shoulder, you trail your hands down his bare chest to his hip bones. He moans into your kiss, enjoying the feeling of your soft hands and the way you gently suck at his tongue.

Your hands continue downward until your fingertips brush against his still very hard cock.

He breaks the kiss with a smirk. “Something you want, Little One?” You brush your lips against his with a nod. “Make me belong to you.” “I thought you already did,” he teases gruffly with his hot breath in your face. “You’re my property, remember?” Color blooms across your cheeks, but whether it’s in satisfaction or embarrassment, Sandor isn’t sure. “I am. I belong to you, Lord Hound. I’m your—” He barks over you, cutting you off. “What did I say about that ‘my lord’ shit?” You instantly close your mouth, lips pressing into a thin line at your mistake. Fucking hells. He wanted to fuck you, not scold you. Sandor lets out a breath and forces himself to soften his tone. “I don’t need fancy titles, my name is good enough.” Your expression falls, the color draining from your cheeks. “King Joffrey only referred to you as ‘The Hound’. Is…Is that not your name?” You look upset, bordering on mortified but Sandor can’t stop the gruff laugh that bubbles from his chest.

“I should have known that slimy little bastard would pull something like that.” You look thoroughly confused. His dark eyes look you over, your once pliable body now stiff as stone. However, it’s the ribbon of his house sigil that catches his attention. It doesn’t have the same appeal now that he knows you don’t know what it means. “And I’m guessing he didn’t tell you the meaning behind this?” he questions bitterly and starts untying it from around your neck. You shake your head ‘no’. “Just that it would please you to see me wear it.” He pulls the ribbon free, but before he can toss it away, you grip his large hand with both of yours. “Tell me? Please, Master, I want to know.” You ask so sincerely that it halts his movements. Your eyes meet, and all his willpower leaves him. “It’s the sigil for my house.” “House?” you prompt in hopes he’ll continue.

“Clegane.” You smile bright, repeating after him so you could lock the information away forever. Sandor, on the other hand, is too distracted by the new rush of blood that pumps down to his groin. When he doesn’t say anything else, you squeeze his hand gently. “And my Master’s given name?” “Sandor.” “Sandor.” You take your time saying it, as if tasting his name on your tongue. “Sandor Clegane,” you whisper with a smirk, noticing how he starts leaning in closer. He doesn’t stop, forcing you to shift your position and slowly lay back onto the bed. “Master Sandor.” You moan and he growls. Your legs part to accommodate him and he places a hand beside your head, trapping you beneath him. “You don’t need to call me Master.” Your smirk widens. “But you like it when I do.” He huffs because you’re right. “Fucking vixen,” he snarls and kisses you hard. Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders and your legs hike up to his hips, allowing his cock to press against your core. You’re still so warm and wet that it’s almost painful to not plunge himself inside. And maybe he would have if you hadn’t been so smug just now. “Beg,” he commands, while the hand not holding him up grips your neck. “And tell your Master what you want.” His fingers wrap effortlessly around your throat. He doesn’t do this to hurt you, just to apply enough pressure so you know who’s in charge. To his surprise, you moan and tilt your head back to give him better access. “That’s better,” he coos and rewards you by running his tongue from your jawline to the shell of your ear. “Brat just needed to be put back in her place, didn’t she?” His hot breath in your ear gives you goosebumps. “Yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master.” “Then prove it.” He gives your throat another squeeze before releasing it. “I’ll behave, I swear.” Your hands run from his forearms, over his muscular shoulders and down his chest until the swell of your breasts are pressed against him. “I just want my Master to claim me. Want to feel him inside.” You pause and rock your hips forward to grind your cunt against his length. “Please, Sandor? Please fuck me.” It’s his name that does him in. He isn’t used hearing it, let alone someone saying it while asking him to fuck them. He straightens his back and guides your legs to fully wrap around his waist. You continue pleading but instead of giving you a verbal reply, he plunges balls deep inside of you. You both instantly tense. He, because of the tightness of your walls clinging around him, and you, because of the sudden intrusion of his cock demanding to be taken. “That’s it. Taking me so well,” he breathlessly praises, slowly moving out, then back in so you’d have time to adjust. He breathes out, watching his cock glisten from your juices when he pulls out a bit. Your head lulls to the side with a moan, feeling beyond stuffed full but also whole.

“Is this what you wanted, girl? To be speared on my cock and used?” “Yes!” you cry, trying to arch back to get his cock deeper. “Please use me. Ruin me for anyone else.”

At that, he slams into you, not being able to wait any longer. You yelp at the pressure, screaming and twisting your fists into the bedsheets. There’s no way he could keep his pace slow, not when you feel this good melting around his cock.

You had said you wanted to be ruined. Sandor Celegane might not be a lord, or a knight, or a gentleman, but he could most certainly ruin you with his cock.

He repositions your legs, throwing them over his shoulders so that your feet are by his ears. He’s able to fuck you even deeper now, his balls smacking against you with every brutal thrust.

His rhythm is rough and steady. And with how tightly he holds your legs in place, you can do nothing but lay there moaning and clenching around him.

“You’ll never forget this. When the next flimsy little knight comes along to fuck you, it’ll be my cock you think about.”

Your eyes screw shut, the pleasure building in your lower belly. It feels like he’s everywhere, filling your cunt and taking over your mind and body. How you manage to nod in response is beyond you. But a nod isn’t good enough.

“Say. It,” he snarls, punctuating his words with even deeper thrusts. You curl your toes with a whine. “It’ll be your cock, Master! Only your cock.” “Mhmm, good girl.” He looks down at where your bodies are joined and sees his cock, hard, ribbed with veins and coated in your juices as it thrusts in and out of your wet hole. It’s a glorious sight and it has his orgasm threatening to hit, but there’s something he has to do first. And that’s making you cum. He reaches between your bodies and easily finds your clit. He rubs it, strokes it, and draws circles on it until he finds the touch that has you babbling in broken, indecipherable sentences.

“I want you to cum,” he speaks in labored breathing, rubbing your clit while still spearing you on his length. “I want you to cum for me now. ”

For a moment, you fall completely silent, but then it hits. The unfiltered, beautiful howls that accompany your climax. All the while your inner walls close around him in the most delicious way.

He curses, lurching forward as you gush and spasm all over him. It’s too much and he’s quickly following you over the edge, filling you with his cum. Like a cat having their head scratched, an almost purring like sound leaves you at the feeling of him filling you with his seed. It has Sandor feeling dazed as to why that would please you, but his focus is on steadying his breathing as he comes down from cumming for the first time in fuck knows how long. Your breathing is also labored, while your eyes struggle to stay open. It’s clear you’re fighting off sleep. He carefully slips out of you, even more careful not to jostle you as he sits on the edge of the bed. He finds his wineskin from earlier by the foot of the bed. Greedily, he drinks from it until his throat no longer feels dry. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of your naked form. If he was this thirsty, then your throat must be raw after all that screaming. He reaches for you, tugging you into his arms to help you sit up. You whine, eyes fluttering open, but relax when he pulls you to sit between his thighs and leans you against his chest. “Here, this will help soothe your throat.” He hands you the wineskin, which you graciously take. Sandor watches you take long, slow sips. A drop slips past your mouth and drips down your chin to land on your breast. He grins. He likes a woman who doesn't mind getting dirty. You’re just as beautiful now as you were when he first walked in to you demurely sitting on the floor. “Will you tell me your name?”

You lower the wineskin from your lips and say it with a smile. This time it’s he who repeats you, liking the way it rolls off his tongue. You nod, smiling at him before taking another drink. He stands and starts making his way to the basin of water set on a small table in the corner of the room. “Drink as much as you like. I can get more,” he says from over his shoulder as he starts washing away the sweat on his chest and the slick that you’ve managed to coat even his balls in. Afterwards, he puts on a pair of lightweight sleep pants. When he turns back to you, he expects to find you still drinking or dressing, but instead he finds you sitting on his bed and watching him. “Where are your nightclothes?” You fidget uncomfortably, looking away. Sandor grunts under his breath, he should have known this wouldn’t last. “If you don’t wish to stay, then just say so.” The bite in his voice is evident and you snap your head up in his direction. “I-It’s not that!” you protest. “I want to stay. I just…don’t have any clothes.” His brows pull together in confusion, “Joffrey didn’t leave your clothes here for you?” You shake your head ‘no’. That angers him. Joffrey was a callous shit but to leave you with nothing was just cruel. “No personal belongings? How the fuck did he expect you to get home after this?” You flinch, once again looking away. “The King said….” you trail off. “Nevermind, Master.” Your discomfort radiates off of you. Quietly, he fishes out a clean shirt out of a trunk at the end of the bed and makes his way over to you. “Arms up, Little One.”

You lift your head and see the shirt in his hands. You obey and he slips the shirt over your head and helps you dress. “This damn thing is going to look more like a dress on you, but it’ll do until morning.” You pull your knees to your chest while muttering a ‘thank you’. There’s still something bothering you and Sandor is determined to figure out what it is. “Look at me,” he commands, knowing you’ll obey. You do and he continues. “Do you know why they call me ‘The Hound’?” You stare at him in fascination and shake your head. “Because I can smell a lie as easily as I can breathe. So out with it. What’s upsetting you?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip before responding. “King Joffrey told me I didn’t need to pack anything because he bought me from the keeper of the pleasure house. He…” You falter, trying to find the bravery to continue. “He said that if you didn’t wish to keep me once we were through, that he’d pass me around to his other guards until they used me up. Or that maybe he’d kill me himself.” Rage boils in his blood. Not only because Joffrey put you through hell, but because he suddenly can’t bear the thought of another having you. “No one is going to touch what’s mine.” The threat of his words hangs in the air but you look relieved. “You…You mean you’ll keep me here with you?” Sandor nearly chokes because he hadn’t thought that far ahead. All he knew is that he didn’t want Joffrey or any other to get their hands on you. “Is…Is that what you want?” You smile bright, brighter than the summer’s sun. “Nothing would make me happier, Master.” As beautiful as you are, and as lovely as it sounds to have a warm cunt to bury himself in each night, the cold blade of reality cuts through. “Well don’t go making it sound like it’ll be all sunshine and lemoncakes. I’m not by any means a joy to live with and—” But you aren’t listening because you’re too busy crawling into his lap. You straddle him and nuzzle your face into the side of his neck. “Thank you, Sandor,” you whisper against his skin, melting against his body as you make yourself comfortable. No one had ever thanked him in his entire life. He isn’t sure how to handle it. The longer you lay against him, the more a warmth blooms inside his breastbone. He likes the way it feels having you close. It makes him feel things. Things he doesn’t have a name for. You let out a small sigh, seemingly starting to fall asleep while sitting up. He shifts and lays down on the bed with you still tucked against his chest.

There was no way of knowing what the future held, but Sandor Celange did know one thing….. This was the best damn present he’d ever received.

#lady in writing #sandor clegane #sandor x reader #sandor the hound clegane #sandor clegane smut #rory mccann

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