#dmchnknst

[lainelannister]

Jaime/Sansa B1, please 😏 and maybe the same universe as in Slayers and Stones?

“God, you have amazing tits.”

Sansa snorts a laugh through her nostrils that’s equal parts amused, aroused, and embarrassed as Jaime swirls his tongue and scrapes his teeth over her nipple. The laughter clearly jolts him out of the moment; he glances up at her face, his eyes slightly shadowed by confusion and a hint of affront. He really can’t stand it, when he thinks that he’s being laughed at.

In a clumsy effort to explain her reaction, she starts murmuring: “No, I just...I never know what to say...you know, when-”

“Dirty talk’s not your thing?” The corners of his lips venture upwards into a grin that might seem predatory, if not for the gentle way his fingertips coast over her chest, trailing between her breasts and skimming over the soft skin of her belly.

“It’s not even that...I’ve just really never done it before.” 

Jaime quirks one eyebrow, then the other, his lips and tongue journeying over to her other breast to lavish it with the same attention as the first. She chokes back a moan, and he seems a bit annoyed by her restraint...annoyed enough to cease his progress and fold his hands over her breastbone, propping his chin on top as he observes her.

“Want to give it a try? It’s easy once you start.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” she quickly replies, hoping that the undulation of her hips beneath his erection might be enough to distract him...

“Say something about my cock,” he suggests - no, directs - as his mouth curves into a lupine smile. 

“It...feels good?” she awkwardly stammers, a hot flush of red spreading down her neck and chest.

“...that’s all you have to say?” Again, the hint of affront; he’s so much easier to rankle than she ever expected, his confidence more fragile...

“You’re so hard and so thick...” She feels her own confidence waning, and she lowers a hand to grasp said hard-and-thick cock, stroking in even rhythm as her mind scrambles for more adjectives...

But he seems content with what little she’s offered thus far, enough to plunge his tongue into her mouth and utter a soft moan when she massages her thumb over the tip of him.

[chininja]

Brienne + Tormund + Ghost. (Brienne had no bad experience with Jaime)

He's never been one to mince his words, or dwell on their propriety, really. He was a free folk after all, taught to live life with candor - to fuck and fight whomever as he please. He wonders if that's why all these Southerners all act like they have a stick shoved up their assholes - unable to be let loose, always so paranoid of someone betraying them.

So he tells the story of how he got his name to the Big Woman and of the battles he's won. Somehow, he doesn't get the reaction that he's aiming for.

But when he tells her to fuck tradition, he sees some of the tension gathered in her eyes start to ease. When Jon Snow's wolf settles by his feet nuzzling him, he sees them disappear completely.

"He likes you.." Tormund doesn't think she means to voice that one out, but there was a mixture of wonder and disbelief at the image before her.

"He didn't always like me," he gruffs out. "We were on opposite sides once," he mutters, scarred hands scratching Ghost behind his ears. And all of a sudden it isn't a menacing direwolf that is before Brienne, but a domesticated animal that's turned putty at the hands of the Free Folk's leader.

"What changed then," she asks softly, uncaring of Pod's singing or Tyrion's bawdy jokes.

"Hardhome, I s'pose," comes the reply, slowly as though each syllable has brought on memories he'd rather not dwell on at the moment.

Blue eyes flicker to blue eyes, and Brienne senses that there is an understanding of a sort that has come between the two of them that comes from experienced grief and battles. It catches her off guard that she feels relief to see a different side of him.

There is depth to this Tormund, not just drunken hedonism or obnoxious lasciviousness.

There was a humanity in him she was able to connect with, moments before they fight against the dead.

Brienne leans down and smooths her hand against Ghost's fur, brushing against the other man's hand every now and then. When she looks to him once more, there us a soft smile on her face.

"It would be my honor to fight with you."

Eyes crinkled and a deep belly laugh with breath stinking of fermented goat's milk, "Aye, me too Big Woman. Me too."

[chininja]

Jaime + Sansa + lemon cakes 🍋

Sansa has had a long day, and all she longs for is to go back to her chambers, sink into a hot bath, and sleep for three full days.

It is a tiring task to be the lady of a keep, especially one such as Winterfell. And with Jon as Daenerys’ consort, the burden of Warden falls on her slim shoulders. She loves her home, and the North - she wouldn’t have fought tooth and nail for it if she didn’t. But sometimes she just wishes the lords will stop their squabbling and actually act like grown men.

Brienne looks at her sympathetically, offering whatever comfort she can to her lady as they walk back to the lord’s chambers.

“Brienne, would you please ask one of the maids to draw me a bath? And that I am not to be disturbed for the rest of the evening.” She calls to her night, the fatigue seeping into her words.

“Of course, my lady.” Her knight responds, and turns on her heels leaving her blessedly alone in her rooms.

She has taken off her gown and is in just her shift when a maid knocks while three others come in with the copper tub, hot water, and surprisingly a plate of lemon cakes.

“Alys, who sent for the lemon cakes?” She asks, pleased to see her favorite childhood treat once more. It’s been ages. 

“From Ser Jaime, my lady.” The girl replies. “He says that the only reason the keep hasn’t fallen over is because of its lady.” At this, Sansa nearly curses herself for the blush that comes upon her and Alys’ eyes sparkle at her unflappable lady seeming entirely too flustered, the other maids failing to keep a straight face themselves.

“Th-that will be all, Alys. Thank you.” Her maid bobs a curtsy, her smile still in place, the others following her lead.

Sansa moves towards the plate and picks up a cake, her delight plain on her face. Whether it is because of the treat or the giver, she pushes the thought for later. But Sansa can’t deny that the knight has managed to resurface the young girl she thought she has buried. The effect that he has on her both pleases and frightens her.

But for now, lemon cakes.

[chininja]

Hi! Can you make collection of your drabbles on AO3? Sometimes I want to read it again, but it’s difficult to find something on tumblr even with hashtags 🙂

Sure! Lemme just fix them and I'll update with a link :)