There was no logical explanation as to why she wanted to hide her relationship from her roommates… except for the fact that she was afraid they wouldn’t understand why she fell for him. Beau didn’t mind sneaking around though, as long as he got to be with her.
Pairing: Beau Maxwell x Fem! Reader (established relationship)
Warning(s): a few cuss words, maybe illusions to sex, mentions of sex (no smut), coloring date (some may be offended or disgusted? Idk why but..), mentions of future, sneaking around, soft! Beau, best friend! Dean.
Word Count: 3.8k
Request: Yes | No
Note: so I’m tired of all the ☠️ memes and talk. So here’s a cutesy little fluffy post. I love Beau and he’s my favorite. Also my TikTok is flooded with off campus right now and how did I never notice Beau handing Tucker a coconut during the drunk Shakespeare? 😂 This is my first off campus fic so… I guess I’m officially writing for it now. 🤪 (I also read the books like in 2016 or 2017 but I’m re-reading them now so if anything is ever a bit different from the show that might be why)
*Not Edited!* (are we surprised? 🥲)
You didn’t mean to keep your relationship a secret for as long as you had. You meant to tell Allie and Hannah within a few weeks or months after you started seeing Briar U’s quarterback, but then things kept popping up. Allie and Sean kept splitting and Hannah kept her focus on her jobs and scholarship to-do’s. You understood that they had their own issues to worry about and it never seemed like a good time. You didn’t want to seem inconsiderate by flaunting your happiness in front of them.
Fast forward to now, your junior year of college has come and you were currently still seeing your boyfriend. It had been over a year at this point but Beau didn’t seem to mind as long as he got to be with you. He would rather be with you in secret than not be in your life at all.
It wasn’t like you were a secret to everyone, after all, you had met each others parents/guardians (and extended family) and made it clear that you were serious about each other. Dean also knew because Beau couldn’t really keep anything from him even if he tried. The two men knew each other too well.
“Are we still on for girls night?” You had curiously asked Friday morning knowing that the three of you had always planned a night of movies, dinner, and drinks. Especially since Hannah only drank in privacy.
Hannah sighed, “I can’t tonight. I have practice for the showcase and then I have a tutoring session with Garrett.” She gave you an apologetic smile. “Rain check?”
You nodded, “sure. No problem.” You assured giving her a reassuring smile before moving your gaze to a guilty looking Allie. “Let me guess? You’ve got a date with Sean?”
Allie gave a soft smile, “I’m staying at his tonight.” She replied softly. “But I can cancel if you still wanted to have our girls night…”
You shook your head, “No, don’t cancel your plans for me.” You assured. “We have a girls night once a week. I’ll find something to do.”
Allie gave you a knowing look as a smirk grew on her face, “you’ll be here alone… so maybe you should find someone to do.” She suggested.
Hannah let out a little laugh but nodded her head anyways in agreement, “it’s been what? Freshman year since you’ve hooked up with someone?”
You didn’t say anything, but ‘If you two only knew’ was repeating in your head. It hadn’t been freshman year (obviously) but Beau just happened to wonder in your life not to long after your last hook-up. “I’m happy right now.” You admitted honestly to your girls. “I really don’t need to hook-up with anyone.”
Allie huffed, “everyone needs to have good sex once in a while.” She spoke confidently, “it’s only natural.”
“Aren’t you friends with one of Garrett’s groupies?” Hannah spoke up and you slightly nodded. “They’re all good looking so why not him?”
You cringed internally at the thought of screwing Beau’s best friend. You loved Dean but not in any type of romantic or sexual manner. He was someone you could trust and lean on for anything, and a part of you would forever thank Beau for introducing you to that part of Dean.
You shook your head at Hannah’s suggestion once you broke out of your thoughts, “Never going to happen.”
Allie’s face looked like she was lost in a thought for a moment before she looked from you to Hannah and back again, “who was that dude in your ethics class?” She asked trying to think.
“The one who hangs out with Garrett and the hockey team?” Hannah asked, slinging her back over her shoulder. “If you’re talking about him it’s probably—I think Garrett said his name is Beau.”
Allie turned back to you, “how about him?” She asked.
“You two are insufferable.” You muttered before grabbing your bag and heading towards the door so you could get to class.
🫧
Half of your school day was over and you had yet to see your friends or Beau for most of the day. Which it was a given because you had a few different classes and everyone had their own lives outside of the friend group. You were currently grabbing lunch since you had a decent break between classes.
“Hey beautiful.” A soft voice whispered close to your ear before you noticed your boyfriend walk around the table and sit across from you.
A smile grew on your face causing you to bite your lip to keep it from stretching into a grin.
“Hey,” you replied softly. “How’s your day been so far?” You asked knowing some of his schedule.
He shrugged acting nonchalant; “as boring as usual.” He muttered before mentioning something that had happened in conditioning earlier. “You wanna swing by the house before your girls night?”
You huffed a laugh, “about that… there’s no girls night anymore.” You replied. “Allie is staying with Sean and Hannah is tutoring Garrett.”
Beau’s eyebrows shot up, “they bailed?”
You shrugged, “we have them often so it’s not like it’s too important.” You assured while giving him a smile. “That also means that I have the dorm to myself…. So I was thinking that you could swing by for a bit? Hannah won’t be back until late and it gives us time to hang in my space.”
He smiled, “sounds like a plan, baby.” He agreed leaning back in his chair.
You hesitated for a moment before meeting his gaze again, “you don’t have to be in a rush either.”
That grabbed his full undivided attention (not like you didn’t have it anyway) as a look of shock seemed to cross his eyes. “Are you saying you don’t care to finally be semi-public?” A teasing tone could be heard in his voice making you roll your eyes.
“It’s long over due, isn’t it?” You asked softly.
Beau’s eyes softened as they looked over you, “what changed your mind?”
You shrugged and thought about it for a moment, “you know I love you, right?”
“Yeah, and you know that I love you.” He assured softly but also watching you carefully.
“Maybe they’ll understand more than I think.” You mutter as you feel him grab your hand easily from across the table. “and it would be nice if they quit trying to suggest people for me to hook-up with.”
His eyebrows furrowed, “who are they suggesting?”
You pursed your lips, “well the last one they mentioned was you.”
“Can’t argue with that.” He teased causing a scoff and an eye roll to come from you.
“Yeah and the other one was Dean.” You huffed. “But I’m pretty sure she was hinting at me being with anyone in the hockey house.”
“Dean? Really?” He asked and you nodded thinking back to what Hannah had told you.
Before you could say anything a mop of blonde hair plopped himself down beside your boyfriend, “what about me?” He asked flashing his dimpled smile.
You shook your head not wanting to mention what Hannah had said, but apparently Beau didn’t mind. “Her roommate mentioned her hooking up with you.” Your boyfriend muttered.
Dean’s eyes glistened with a teasing in them, “As much as I would love too. I think bro-code out weighs that.” His reply earned a glare from Beau causing him to joking put his hands up in surrender. “Let me guess, Wellsy thinks your lonely?”
You sighed, “something like that.” You muttered; “my roommates think everyone needs good sex at least once a week.”
Dean nodded, “they aren’t wrong.” He agreed with Allie which wasn’t surprising to you.
You rolled your eyes before throwing a fry off your to-go basket at the blonde’s face. “I have plenty of that.” You assured not missing the smirk that grew on Beau’s face.
Dean snorted, “I don’t doubt it.” The teasing tone was still very prominent in his voice. “You got Beau Maxwell to be in a committed relationship…. You deserve a cookie.” He joked.
Beau rolled his eyes, “seriously dude?”
Dean sent the couple a smirk, “what? You know how many girls want to be in her place right now?” He then turned his attention solely on Beau, “you know how many men want to be in your place right now?” He added.
“I know I’m lucky she chose me.” Beau replied his eyes narrowed at his best friend.
“Damn straight.” Dean replied with a teasing smirk.
You let out a breath, “on that note… I’m leaving.” You muttered and stood up from your seat. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“I love you.” Beau called softly after you.
Dean snorted, “you’re so pussy whipped.”
🫧🫧
You sat at the kitchen table three cases of markers laying on the table. Some would say coloring was for children, but it was a stress reliever for you when you wanted something that was simple. Snacks were also lying along the table as well as drinks and your own custom cocktail. Beau was to be over after football practice was concluded.
Allie🌺
Did you find someone?
You:
I’m not hooking up with anyone. I’m a relationship girlie now. You know that.
Allie🌺
Hooking up might be the start of something more 🤷♀️
You sighed laying your phone down. You loved Allie and you knew your friends wanted you happy, but sometimes they need to leave things alone. It’s partly your fault as well, since they don’t know you and Beau are together.
A knock on the door tore you out of your thoughts. You laid your marker down and went to open the door to see Beau looking as attractive as ever. His hair was still wet from his shower in the locker room.
“Hey, baby.” Beau greeted once you opened the door. He walked forward and placed a kiss on your forehead before walking into your dorm.
You smiled softly at the man you were in love with, “hey.” You greeted back while shutting your dorm door.
Beau stopped when he noticed the coloring book, markers, snacks, and drinks laid out on the kitchen table. “Doing a coloring date, are we?” He asked teasingly.
You huffed a laugh, “No. I was just stressed about midterms and I wanted something to calm my nerves.” You explained before going over and starting to clean up the markers.
Beau was right behind you, stopping you from cleaning up the markers. Without saying a word, he sat down in the chair beside your pulled out one and picked a page from your pile. “If my girl’s stressed, then I’m here to help her forget about it.” He spoke softly taking the markers out of your hand.
You felt a blush creep up if the heat radiating from your face was any indication. “You don’t have to color.” You assured as your boyfriend took the lid off a green marker and started coloring a tree that was on his page. “Beau, really it’s fine. You always make everything better anyways…”
Beau huffed playfully moving his gaze to you, “shut up and sit down with me.” He demanded yet his tone was still as soft as it had been.
You smiled to yourself with your heart full of love before sitting down beside him. You were back in your original spot and coloring the page. You two sat quietly, with Beau stealing drinks of your cocktail you had made every once in awhile.
You loved Beau. You truly did because what type of man would willingly sit and color with you. Letting you know that he only cared about being in your presence. Your heart was so full just thinking of him and all the ways that he proved to you that he loved you. Ways that were silent and caring, and not loud or overly sexual.
These are the days that you would remember and reminisce on when you two were old and gray. You smiled thinking about that, even though you and Beau hadn’t exactly mentioned getting married you both knew that you were in each other’s futures.
“What’s got you all smiley?” Beau spoke after a while of silence. Your eyes met his gaze, both of your eyes were filled with love.
You shook your head, “you’re literally perfect.” You mumbled feeling shy suddenly. You dropped your gaze back to your page.
Beau shook his head, “I’m not perfect.” He promised. “I’m far from it, honestly, but you on the other hand? Definitely perfect.” He replied with a cheeky grin on his face.
“I’m serious.” You defended your compliment. “I’d marry you right now if you’d ask because you’re so…” you trailed trying to find the right word to describe him.
Beau looked away for a moment before moving his eyes back over to you. You finally raised your gaze back up to meet his, “you’d marry me?”
Your brows furrowed, “Yes! Is that shocking or something?”
Beau bit his own lip for a moment to stop a grin from forming, “I’m holding you to that.”
You grinned, “is that your way of saying we’re going to get married?” You asked playfully.
Beau nodded, “oh, totally.” He promised and his voice held seriousness. “We’ll get married and have at least two babies… I mean, only if you want children.” He assured
“You sound so sure of yourself.”
“Baby, I’ve had my life planned out with you since I saw you crying in the library freshmen year.” Beau mumbled as he went back to coloring his page. You knew he was using it as a distraction for dropping his truth-bomb on you.
Your eyebrows creased again, “freshman year? But that’s….” You trailed.
“The first time we met and you told me that your first college crush broke your heart.” Beau whispered letting you know that he remembered.
You looked at your boyfriend shocked, “Beau Maxwell, are you telling me that you were pining after me all of freshmen year?”
“Why are you so shocked?” His voice raised slightly but not in anger. It sounded like disbelief.
“Maybe because that’s a truth bomb I wasn’t expecting?” You explained with your hands waving around frantically seeing as you were shocked. “You’re Beau Maxwell.” You elaborated.
“So?”
“So—how can you say so? You’re the quarterback of the football team.” You explained more in depth. “You have had girls falling at your feet since high school and you just tell me that you were harboring a crush for almost a year prior to us sleeping together.”
Beau pursed his lips while nodding, “We’re together now… so why does it matter?”
You huffed, “what would you have done if us having sex didn’t turn into anything?”
His eyebrows furrowed at that because he honestly didn’t know. He had just been lucky and the plan him and Dean had come up with worked. Which now that he thought back may not have been the best idea.
“I don’t know but it did work so I’m not thinking about it.” He shrugged and turned his full attention back to the picture in front of him.
🫧🫧🫧
It was now 9pm and Hannah was still tutoring Garrett and you hadn’t heard from Allie in a moment. You and Beau had finished coloring and you had picked up the pages and markers while Beau helped clean up the snacks and drinks.
You two had moved to the couch as a movie played on your laptop that sat on the coffee table. You weren’t really paying attention to what was happening on your laptop. Your mind kept going over the conversation you two had talked about earlier.
It was definitely more of a glimpse of the future than what either of you had previously admitted. It didn’t scare you or anything, but you just wondered if there was anything that could change his though process. You honestly didn’t think that there was, because like you had stated earlier, he was the perfect boyfriend.
“I’m so in love with you.” You spoke softly as you broke the silence that had settled over your cuddling figures as the movie played. You moved your head to where you could look up at him and see him.
He wore a soft smile on his face, “where’d that come from?”
You shrugged slightly, “I just—I’m lucky to have you.” You settled for that even though it wasn’t exactly what you wanted to say.
His hand softly came up and rested on your jaw and neck, “I’m in love with you too.” He replied softly and leaned his head down just a bit to capture your lips with his.
The kiss had been soft and full of love, something that you were use to Beau doing. It didn’t take long for things to heat up, especially not with how the two of you were talking and feeling.
You blamed your hormones for not being able to hear your phone buzz on the kitchen table. And twenty minutes after your phone went off, You blamed yourself for not hearing the door unlock or open at first either.
“So I know we bailed on girls night, but I was thinking—OH MY GOD!” Hannah screamed before quickly turning around.
You shoved Beau away with more force than you meant too and quickly stood up to find your shirt that said man how thrown across the room. You huffed and rolled your eyes knowing that Hannah was a bit dramatic because neither of you were naked. You both were just shirtless and making out, so it wasn’t like she had walked in on anything.
“You can turn around now.” You sighed as you handed Beau his shirt.
Hannah slowly turned around and faced the two of you before giving an awkward smile, “so you took Allie’s advice on…” she trailed as her eyes flickered to Beau and then back to you.
You gave her a small smile, “not exactly.” You replied before Beau pulled you into him. Hannah’s eyes kept flickering back and forth between the two of you. “We’ve been dating for over a year…”
A flicker of hurt passed through Hannah’s eyes, “and you didn’t trust me enough to tell me?”
You shook your head quickly, “no. It’s not like that. I trust you and Allie completely.” You assured as you finally relaxed against your boyfriend.
“Then why not tell us?”
You shrugged, “it never felt like a good time.” You mumbled knowing that wasn’t an excuse. “Allie and Sean kept breaking up and I didn’t want to flaunt my relationship in front of her, and then you were worried and busy with the showcase and your scholarship list that I didn’t want to seem like I only cared about my relationship.” You explained hoping that she understood where you were coming from.
Hannah was silent for a moment before she finally nodded. “Okay, I understand why you hid it.” She accepted. “But don’t put your happiness in the closet all because you’re worried about us.”
You gave her a smile and nodded, “okay. No more secrets.” You promised and grinned when you felt Beau kiss the top of your head.
Hannah smiled back, “now I’m going to my room and I’ll put my headphones on as loud as the go and close the door.” She assured and shot you a wink as she walked off to her room.
You smiled turning back towards Beau and pulled him towards your room.
“That went better than you thought?” He asked causing you to nod in response.
“Way better.”
🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧
You hated the idea of getting out of bed. Beau had finally spent the night without worrying about sneaking out the next morning. Which means you woke up in his embrace for the first time in weeks. It was something that always made your mornings feel complete and it made your heart swell with love.
You could’ve stayed in bed for hours, but you were hungry from not having a full dinner last night. So, reluctantly you got out of Beau’s embrace and found some clothes to slip on before making your way to the small kitchen. You started the coffee maker before pulling out some (protein) pancake mix and getting the add-ins.
“Are those pancakes?” Allie’s voice interrupted your thoughts. You turned and watched her walk out of her room and towards you before hopping up on the counter.
“It is.” You nodded and turned back to the pan on the stove. “I thought you were at Sean’s?”
Allie sighed, “we got into a fight late last night—or early this morning—it doesn’t matter. I just came straight home.” She muttered placing her head in her hands. “I didn’t want to wake anyone up.”
You turned and gave her an apologetic smile, “we’re always available for you.” You promised causing her to send you a small smile.
The kitchen settled into a comfortable quietness for a bit before Hannah came out of her room. She joined you two with a smile on her face which dropped as soon as she noticed Allie’s face. You listened to the two girls quietly as you finished making breakfast. You had listened to Allie’s story about Sean, which always was the same, but you couldn’t convince her she deserved better. She had to figure that out for herself.
You had cooked a few sides to go with the pancakes while Allie had went on-and-on about Sean and Hannah had put her input in every once in a while. You didn’t know what to say, mainly because you had a great boyfriend. Someone who truly loved you and you never had to guess or wonder if he did.
Once breakfast was done you told the girls and the three of you made plates and sat at the kitchen table together.
“We seriously need a girls trip away from this place.” Allie groaned taking a sip of her drink.
You nodded, “I’m down.” To which Hannah agreed too.
You three were talking and making plans to take a trip together eventually, until Allie went quiet mid sentence causing you to look her way. Her fork was frozen mid-way to her mouth and her eyes wide. You followed her line of sight to see her staring at Beau casually padding out of your room and into the small kitchen and living area.
“Morning baby,” he greeted softly as he walked over and gave you a kiss on the head. “Ladies.” He nodded in recognition.
You smiled, “morning. There’s breakfast I fixed a few minutes ago.” You offered
He sent you a thankful smile and gave you a soft “thank you, babe.” before going to fix himself some food as well. You turned your attention back towards Allie who had closed her mouth now but was still looking at you.
“What the hell is Beau Maxwell doing in our dorm and why the hell did he call you baby?”
Summary: A mission gone wrong leaves you poisoned and fighting to recover. As Zuko refuses to leave your side, he finds himself facing the terrifying thought of a future without you—and the promise he was already planning to make.
Author's Note: this was a request and i had a lot of fun writing it!! 😭 i really loved the idea of zuko being this intimidating, composed Fire Lord to everyone else, but completely losing it when it comes to the person he loves. this is definitely more soft than angsty (even though there is a little bit of hurt in there), because i just can't imagine putting zuko through all that and not giving him the sweetest ending possible haha. i hope you enjoy!! constructive criticism is always welcome :)
The poison hits your system like fire—which is ironic, considering the source.
You don't realize it at first. The tremor in your hands during training with Katara is easy enough to blame on exhaustion. The way colors seem to bleed at the edges of your vision? Dehydration. The creeping numbness climbing up your spine like skeletal fingers? You ignore it, push through, because you're a warrior and warriors don't complain about minor discomfort.
It's only when you collapse mid-sparring that anyone notices something is truly wrong.
Your vision swims as Katara catches you, her hands cool and panicked against your burning skin. You're burning—no, that's not right. You're freezing. Everything is wrong and fractured and you can't remember how to tell your body to listen to your mind anymore.
The last thing you hear before everything goes dark is someone screaming your name, and it sounds like it shatters something inside his chest.
When you wake, the world is muted.
Voices drift in and out like you're underwater. You recognize Katara's urgent tone, Sokka's worried rumble, Aang's panicked questions. There's another voice too, quieter but somehow the most violent of all—a low, dangerous whisper that makes your bones ache.
Zuko.
You try to open your eyes, but they feel weighted with lead. Your body isn't listening. The poison—because now you understand it was poison, some rare variant they're discussing in urgent, clinical tones—has settled deep into your nervous system. Shutting you down piece by piece.
"How long?" His voice is different when he's like this. Stripped of pretense, raw edges showing. The Fire Lord accent dissolves into something older, something that remembers being desperate.
"We don't know." Katara's response is careful, which means it's bad. "The compound is unusual. We've never seen anything quite like it."
"Who?" One word, lethal and low.
"We're still investigating, but whoever made this knew exactly what they were doing. It's designed to degrade slowly, to make it hard to trace—"
"I don't care about the academic breakdown, Katara. I care about—" He stops himself, but you hear the unspoken end of that sentence anyway. I care about her.
There's a rustling, and then warmth beside you. A hand finds yours in the darkness, and the touch is so unmistakably him—calloused fingers, the heat that radiates from his skin like a living thing, the way his thumb traces small circles against your palm—that your heart tries to remember how to beat faster.
"Stay with me," he whispers, and it's an order and a plea all twisted together. "Please. Just stay."
You want to. God, you want to. But your body is a prison and you're locked behind glass, watching the world continue without you.
The poison doesn't kill you, but it comes close enough that everyone learns about the secret anyway.
On the third day, you're still paralyzed. The healers work in shifts, trying everything—herbal remedies, gentle waterbending to flush your system, even some experimental firebending technique Zuko insists on attempting despite Katara's protests about causing more damage. Nothing works. The poison is patient. Methodical. It spreads like a slow-motion wildfire through your veins, and your body is the kindling.
On the fourth day, Zuko stops leaving your side.
It starts with small things. His hand never leaving yours, except when Katara forces him to eat. His voice, rough from disuse, telling you stories—about his childhood, about his travels, about the first moment he really saw you, saw you, not just another capable warrior in their ragtag group.
"You were arguing with Sokka about something stupid," he says into the darkness of the infirmary tent. His hand is warm against your hair, gentle in a way that burns worse than any fever. "And you were so angry, and you were so alive, and I couldn't stop watching you. I tried. For months, I tried."
It's intimate in a way that feels dangerous. You want to respond, want to tell him that you remember the exact moment too—three months ago, after a successful mission, when he'd touched your face with such careful reverence that you'd known, without a shadow of doubt, what this was becoming.
What it already was.
"The ring is in my quarters," he continues, his voice barely a whisper. "I was going to ask you properly. I was going to do this the right way, with flowers and—" He breaks off, and you hear the sound of him trying to breathe through something that isn't quite composed. "You can't die before I get to ask you properly."
On the fifth day, your fingers twitch.
It's small. Involuntary. But it's movement, and Zuko reacts like you've just defeated a hundred Fire Nation soldiers. He calls for Katara immediately, urgency cracking his careful composure. Within hours, the poison's grip loosens degree by degree. Your lungs remember how to breathe without prompting. Your eyes flutter open to find his golden gaze absolutely wrecked with relief.
"You came back," he says, and it's not quite a question.
You try to speak, but your throat is sandpaper. He brings water to your lips with steady hands, and you drink, and somewhere in the back of the tent, someone gasps.
"Oh my god," Sokka's voice carries the specific tone of someone who's just solved a puzzle he didn't know he was working on. "You two are—that's why he's been—oh my god, they're together."
There's a beat of silence. Then Aang laughs—a real laugh, surprised and delighted. "That's… actually kind of sweet? I mean, we figured something was up when he basically threatened to burn down the world if anyone couldn't save her, but—"
"Zuko," Katara says, and you can hear the smile in her voice despite the concern still threading through it. "You could have just told us."
Zuko's hand tightens around yours, and when you meet his eyes, you see the question there. The vulnerability. The absolute terror of having almost lost you before anyone even knew to be careful with what you meant to each other.
"We were taking it slow," he says quietly, though his eyes never leave your face. "We wanted to be sure before—" He stops, and something in him settles. Decides. "Before we told everyone that she's going to be Fire Lady."
There's a stunned silence.
Then Sokka whoops, and Aang is suddenly very interested in the exact details of when this started, and Katara is already planning something with the expression of someone who's been waiting years for good news like this.
But Zuko—beautiful, graceful, dangerous Zuko—just leans down and presses his forehead against yours, breathing you in like you're oxygen and he's been drowning.
"Still want to marry me?" he whispers. "Even after I let you get poisoned?"
You manage a small laugh. Your voice is wrecked, but it's there: "Especially after."
His smile against your skin is fire and home and everything you thought you'd never get to keep.
"Good," he murmurs. "Because I'm not waiting for the proper proposal anymore. The ring is in my quarters, and as soon as you can move, we're making this official. I don't care who has opinions about it."
"Very romantic, Zuko," you tease weakly.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his golden eyes are intense, steady, absolutely sure.
"You poisoned yourself and survived," he says simply. "You've already proven you can handle anything. I'm just trying to keep up."
And when he kisses you—soft and careful, like you're something precious and fragile—the whole tent erupts in chaos.
hey babe!! do you think u could pls do smut for dean winchester x reader where she’s really tough and mean, she’s a hunter, but when she’s in bed with him she’s all shy and whiny?? :3
hiii !! of course, hope u like it:))
ALL BARK, NO BITE
wordcount: 2623
summary: Out there? You’re stubborn, mouthy and unapologetic– the moment Dean gets his hands on you? It all melts away.
warnings: fem!reader x dean winchester, established relationship, mild arguing, cursing, dean being a smug little shit, brat-ish? Reader, smut (dry humping, groping, grinding, fingering) think that’s all for now!!
“You’re unbelievable” you snapped, slamming the motel bathroom door hard enough that Sam probably heard it from his own room. To be fair, the shitty walls were thin, but still. Meanwhile, Dean chuckled while plopping down onto the bed– low, smug, entirely too entertained for someone who’d just spent the last hour being yelled at for something he didn’t even remember. Something about him not taking your hunting knowledge seriously, was it? Never mind, it’s not like it was a huge deal– you were just more… opinionated than others.
“Gonna hold this grudge forever, sweetheart?” He drawls, lazy enough that you can almost feel the stupid little smirk that was definitely on his face.
“Yes”
Dean huffs with dismissive amusement, more than used to dealing with your temper. “Cute”
You yanked your jacket off your body with enough annoyance to nearly dislocate your shoulder. “You are the most annoying person I have ever met”
“And yet–” Dean drawled from the bed, “ –you keep me around?” He adds, adding a sarcastic tilt to his voice to fake innocent curiosity. Asshole.
Heat flared instantly up your neck. Half from frustration, half from that ridiculously attractive gravel in his voice. God, you hated when he did that. That stupid voice– that same stupid grin from before you could feel without even seeing it. You opened the bathroom door just enough to glare at him. The Winchester looked entirely too comfortable sprawled against the headboard, green eyes bright with amusement, one arm behind his head like he didn’t have a single care in the world despite his girlfriend currently berating him.
“You’re insufferable”
“Mhm” Dismissive. Smug. Amused.
“You’re cocky” You continue, listing off all the different reasons Dean had pissed you off tonight.
He tilts his head to the side, a teasing glint to his eyes– further testing your patience. “Usually means I’m right”
“As if” A scoff escapes your lips as you plop down onto the mattress beside him– craving his closeness even while technically arguing with him. You were stubbornly looking at the other side of the room, away from his preying gaze, so you didn’t see the slow smile pulling at his mouth when all of your attitude disappeared the second his hand slid over your waist. Because suddenly, the same girl who’d spent all evening mouthing off at him was melting against his chest over one touch. And Dean noticed. Of course he did.
“Oh” he murmured quietly. No matter how many times y’all did this little dance, the back and forth– he’d always act as if it was new to him, feigning surprise just to get a rise out of you.
Smug bastard.
“Shut up” You huff out, shifting away from him once more– though your voice lacked some of the earlier bite.
Dean’s hand tightened slightly against your waist before dragging you back against him with embarrassing ease. (Stupid Winchester genes and their ridiculously large men, built like fucking tanks made for hunting and surviving on the road)
“There she is” He murmured, nose nudging against the top of your head.
You rolled your eyes instantly, even as your body betrayed you by sinking into his warmth– your back melting into his broad chest. “Don’t start”
“Start what?” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, voice dipping lower on purpose. “Pointin’ out how mouthy you always are until I touch you?”
Heat slowly creeped out your neck and towards your cheeks– not that you’d ever admit that, or let him see. “You’re so annoying”
“Mhm” Dean sounded entirely too pleased with himself. “Y’ve said that already, sweetheart” Before you could retort with another protest, his hand slid under your shirt– rough, warm palm splaying against your stomach, making your breath catch in your throat before you could stop it. And that– that was exactly the problem– because Winchester’s always noticed everything. Especially smug Dean Winchesters, looking for another thing to tease their girlfriends about. He pressed the proud grin you’d been avoiding all night against your shoulder, letting out a quiet chuckle. “Wow”
“God” you groaned, already annoyed and flustered, shifting even more away from him– back still flush against his chest, only now your face was practically buried into the pillows.
“No, sweetheart, c’mon” His fingers spread slowly against your skin, almost innocent, but you knew him better than that. He never did anything out of pure innocence, not when it came to getting under your skin. “You were just yellin’ at me five seconds ago”
“Still am” Your voice is muffled into the fabric of the bed.
“Sure y’are” You hated how weak you’d sounded compared to earlier. Hated it even more when his hand drifted higher– teasing the space between your breast and making your thighs pressed together automatically.
Dean went quiet for half a second, absorbing his quiet victory.
“There it is” He coos– voice soft, low and gravely as he murmurs against your skin, his face burrowing into the crook of your neck. Your face burned even more, hating how smug he was inevitably about to get.
“Shut up” Your boyfriend just laughed quietly against your neck, the sound warm enough to make your stomach tighten.
“Nah” He murmured. “Think m’ finally startin’ to understand something”
You groaned into the pillow once more. “If you say one more smug thing, m’ leaving”
“That so?” His hand slid higher beneath your shirt, fingers spreading slowly over your breast– squeezing it between his long fingers– until your breath caught again. “Then why’re you still here?”
You opened your mouth with a comeback already prepared– something sharp, mean and satisfying– but it was forgotten the moment his teeth grazed the spot under your ear. The noise that escaped you was humiliatingly soft. Dean went still for exactly half a second before you felt him grin against your skin.
“Oh, sweetheart” He said, low and rough. “You are not helpin’ your case here”
“Dean” You warned– but it came out ridiculously weak compared to all the earlier words you had to throw at him..
There was no bite left in it– you knew it and Dean definitely knew it.
His hand tightened on your waist, dragging you fully into his lap with ease. “Where’d all that attitude go, huh?” He teased softly against your skin. “Thought you were gonna keep yellin’ at me”
“I can multitask”
That actually made him laugh. A real laugh this time– not the teasing chuckle– a sudden, fond sound that wrecked any chance you had at staying irritated. (Whatever once of annoyance was left inside of you)
“Cute” He mumbled, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your jaw.
“You’re still annoying”
“Mhm” His lips brushed the sensitive spot caught between your jaw and neck, stubble scratching your skin. “But now you’re whinin’ about it”
“Am not” You retorted– flushed and embarrassed by how easily he could always get you to shut up and melt into his arms. Dean only hummed, entirely too pleased with himself, before tilting your chin up just enough to make you look at him. God that was a mistake. Because Dean Winchester looking at you like that– lazy and heavy-lidded and smug underneath you– was enough to make every coherent thought in your head disappear.
“There’s my girl” He said under his breath, proud like he’d won something.
You hated how your body brayed your stubbornness– reacting to his gravelly tone. One look, one touch, one stupid soft spoken sentence from Dean and suddenly all that sharp attitude melted into something embarrassingly soft. His thumb brushed slowly along your jaw, eyes fixed on your face like he was watching your walls break down, brick by brick.
“Look at you…” He murmured quietly. “Can barely mouth off anymore”
“I can too” You argue weakly– was it childish? Totally. But you needed to grasp onto whatever ounce of dignity that remained inside of you.
“Yeah?” His eyebrows lifted slightly in a quiet challenge. “Then do it” The dare should’ve been easy– it usually was– you’d moth off at him all day, any day. Usually you’d have ten insults locked and ready before he even finished speaking. But his other hand slid down your back, gripping your ass hard enough into his lap to pull a breathy moan from your throat. A slow, proud grin spread across his face, leaning in close enough for his lips to brush yours when he spoke.
“That’s what I thought” Then he kissed you– that slow, lazy movement of his mouth he always did after getting what he wanted– working you up just by being his unbelievably asshole-ish self. Your hands instinctively pressed to his broad chest, hands tightening on the fabric there to anchor yourself to him.
Dean groaned quietly at the touch. “Jesus Christ” He murmured against your lips. “You get this needy from a little attention?” Heat surged straight through you, flooding at your core.
“Shut up–” Repetitive much?
The words broke apart into a gasp when his free hand joined the other one on your ass, kneading the flesh there while dragging you more firmly against him– making the hard bulge of him press into your core through the fabric of y’all’s pants. A broken, needy moan escapes your lips– shame gone the moment his cock strained through his jeans and into you. He actually smirked at that. As affected he was himself, he still needed to relish in your embarrassment a little more. “What?” Dean asked innocently, despite the way his hips thrusted up to meet yours. “Thought you were still mad at me” He batted his unfairly long eyelashes up at you.
“It’s complicated” You huff softly.
“Bet it is” He replies with faux sympathy– his mouth moving down your throat slowly, deliberately slowly over the spot that always made you lean further into his touch. Your head tipped back before you could stop it. Dean (of course) noticed how your body followed his touch, his hips now shamelessly grinding up against you. A quiet chuckle brushed against your hair when you buried your face into his shoulder, clearly trying to hide even while still meeting his thrusts halfway. “Oh c’mon” he teased softly. “Now you’re shy?” He asks, hands slowly pulling your shirt over your head.
“No” Defensive, sharp– but weak.
“That sounded real convincing, sweetheart” He hums dismissively, turning his attention towards your newly exposed breasts, large hands cupping and kneading the flesh while peppering soft kisses over your collarbone. You made a noise somewhere between a groan and a complaint, which only seemed to amuse him more. (Even if you were struggling not to moan pornographically at his touch) “There’s that attitude again–” Dean murmured approvingly, his breath brushing your neck. “Missed it for a hot second”
“You’re so full of yourself”
“Mhm” One of his hands slid down to the small of your up your back before flipping you down into the bed below him. “You’re about to be too” The proud little smirk on his face when saying that– he thought he was so slick.
The moment you’re under him, your whole face changes– morphing from that barely restrained frustration into a doe eyed mess, already breathing heavy for him. God that fed right into his ego. His sharp, mouthy, hunter girlfriend all soft and pliable beneath him. Out there? In the real world, on the field? You stood your own. Here? Beneath closed doors? Dean could make whatever the Hell he wanted out of you. His inner dialogue is cut by the feeling of your gentle hands trailing under his shirt, pulling it up– demanding without words. He huffs out a soft, quiet breath of amusement, sitting back on his heels before pulling the fabric over his head and tossing it somewhere onto the floor. “Better?” He hums knowingly, hovering over you, forearms braced on the bed and mouth latching onto your bare chest.
You make a barely there sound of agreement as you nod, hand cupping the back of his head as his lips seal around your nipple, fingers threading through his dirty blonde hair while your back arches off the bed and into his warmth.
“Bet you’re all nice and wet for me aren’t you sweetheart?” He murmurs against your skin, green eyes flicking up to meet your dazed expression. Instead of answering (you were too gone for words) you simply lift your hips off the bed, grinding up into the hardness of his jeans. “Take that as a yes” Dean hums to himself as he traces his hands down your sides, hooking his thumbs into the elastic of your sleeping pants (You’d changed into them while raging at him from inside the bathroom) and slowly peeling them off your legs, leaving you completely bare under him. “Such a smart girl all drippin’ for an asshole like me?” He continues talking to himself, smug admiration in his voice as he trails the kisses lower and lower until they reach the sensitive patch of skin under your navel.
“Shut up n’ fuck me” You protest, trying to sound firm despite the breathiness of your words.
“Yes ma’am” Dean hums against your skin, placing one more kiss for good measure before pulling back. He sits back on his heels, rough hands working fast to unbuckle his belt and push his jeans off– leaving him in his boxers, already stained with a patch of precome. Despite how cocky he was acting, he clearly had been getting affected himself. “Sure you’re ready for me, baby?” You hear him talk, but you’re too distracted by the feeling of his fingers suddenly stretching you out. His fingers are big– like pretty much everything about him– thick and impossibly deep inside your pussy. The movement is meant to check if you’re stretched out enough for his cock, but he also simply enjoys seeing how you squirm, pushing down into his fingers whenever he curls them just enough inside you.
It was supposed to be a quick check– a push of his fingers before pulling them out. Instead, he starts thrusting them into your pussy, deep, slow pushes that reach spots you could never touch by yourself. You try to protest, say something snappy about how he’s an asshole for teasing but all that comes out of your mouth is soft moans and pleas.
“I know, I know, sweetheart but you can take it” He coos, voice low and gravelly with need of his own, even when fully focused on taking care of you. “Wanna see you cum on my fingers first, then I’ll fuck you real good, ‘kay?” He says it with such softness that it almost makes you forget he’s currently pounding your walls, his fingertips relentlessly pressing into your g spot. Dean knows your body better than you do– he’s spent countless hours focused both on the outside and inside– he knows what buttons to press and how hard to press them to get you undone.
Just when you think it can get any more intense, his thumb joins into the movements, pressing sharp circles on your clit. A sharp cry of his name escapes your lips, hips arching up from the bed– though you’re not sure if it’s trying to escape or follow the feeling. “Mhm” He hums, smug with dismissal as he keeps working you closer and closer to the edge. “There she goes, come on sweetheart let go for me”
That’s all it takes before you’re cumming all over his fingers, thighs clamping around his arm as embarrassingly loud moans escape your lips– completely opposite from the tough, mouthy girl from just an hour ago. His name falls on repeat from your lips, quiet and breathy.Fucking Dean Winchester and his ability to make you crumble.
I love all of your headcannons (esp with Rusty Nail) and thank you for making them!! If i can ask for this, could you do one where reader is a brat trying to test the slashers?? (Would mean everything to include spanking)
SUMMARY: ‘’ Being a total brat around slashers and how would they react! ‘’
TAGS/WARNINGS: small plot with porn, this is utterly filthy, nymphomanic! reader, bratty reader, clit + pussy slapping, ruined orgasms, spanking, bruises, biting, hickeys, use of toys, pet names, degrading names and comments, thigh riding, cigarette burns, face fucking, fingering, p in v, awkward positions, object insertion MENTIONS but not acted upon, most of these characters should be a warning, face riding, overstimulation, dumbification, aftercare, drool, excessive saliva, ovulation, breeding kink, established relationships, tried to keep it gender neutral but there are hints of female anatomy for some, public sex, praise kink, cervix breaching, pregnancy mentions, lactation kink, cumplay, murder mentions, boot play, bondage.
A/N: So it happened, I’m out of my writer's block! At such an inconvenient time too because I’ve been testing all month, how wonderful! I’m lowk proud of myself for pushing and making longer posts since I know the last two were super short. Also was thinking of Lady K and the sick man while writing this, it’s just perfect. Anyways, enjoy my lovely anons. <33
PROOFREAD!
NSFW UNDER THE CUT.
‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚ RZ! MICHAEL MYERS.
⋆˚꩜｡
You and Michael have been in a relationship well over many months, well a situation ship? A situation?
He seeked refuge at your house after being shot a shit ton of times, you stitched him up, fed him, did his laundry, the whole 9 yards. You knew who he was, but as long as he didn’t kill you did not gaf.
Your relationship began after he heard you moaning, thinking it was pain (no he didn’t) he walked in on you trying to shove a monster dildo inside of you. While shocked, he was extremely aroused and did it himself.
Using toys to help get you off went to fingering, went to him just straight up fucking your brains out and sharing a bed with you instead of sleeping on the couch.
He wasn’t home when you came home after work, stressed from the overbearing stress at your job. The constant yelling and bickering at your job put tiny thumb tacks into the wrinkles of your brain, and you needed stress relief now.
So you went to your bedroom, went on pornhub, and grabbed your vibrator. Which ended up inside of you as you cried and whimpered on your bed, squirming like a worm as you tried to fuck the thing inside of you deeper. Gasping like a fish out of water how the vibration of the toy made your slick walls quiver and clamp down, spread out open for the leering hungry eyes staring at you through the small crack in the door.
Michael was home, he was just in the shower. And he’s been standing here for 30 minutes watching you go from rubbing yourself through your clothes, to your pathetic attempt at shoving a vibrator inside of your needy hole. His erection pressed firmly against the wood of the door through his towel. He swore he was dripping clean because of how long he’s been watching you.
You were such a slut in his eyes, he had been stalking you prior to him barging into your home ‘’randomly’’. You were going to be one of his victims till he saw how captivating you were trying to fuck yourself into forgetfulness. He never understood sex or pleasure till he met you. And all he wanted was just to fuck you stupid all the time.
You gasped when the door slammed open, seeing your hungry hunter you called a boyfriend. Hell you tore the vibrator from your sloppy hole with a needy squelch. Your juices covering the entire toy as you tossed it aside, much preferring your boyfriend to dick you down. :(
‘’Mikkeeyyy..’’ You cried out, letting out a gasp when he dropped to his knees and gripped the shit out of your sweaty hips. Dragging you towards the end of the bed. Your thighs immediately locked around his skull, squeezing his poor brain as his tongue licked your slick away from your thighs before messily slurping on your hole as he ate you out like a man possessed.
You wanted to act like a needy brat? You get treated like one, his rough scarred hands gripping your hips. Keeping you from bucking and enjoying yourself or taking control as his long tongue penetrated your hole. Licking at your walls and covering his entire chin in your slick. He could feel your sap pouring down his neck as he devoured you with the determination of a malnourished wolf.
Don’t think he’ll let you up either, he’ll hump the bed and cum untouched as many times as he needs as he drags orgasm after orgasm from you, refusing to let you up or even move.
You have to be passed out for him to stop, he makes you cum so many times you just start squirting in his mouth and he drinks it like it’s some top tier beverage. Your poor hole weeps more slick until you can audibly hear him eating you out, learning the difference of what it sounds like to be licked from the inside out.
Even when you're quivering, twitching, sobbing and whimpering. He grabs that vibrator and turns it back on and shoves it deep inside you, causing you to clench down so hard that it's stuck and you can’t get it out without his help. And you stay like that till he’s done with a long shower.
୧ ‧₊˚ 🥩🦴 ⋅ THOMAS HEWITT
( -_•)︻デ═一
The Texas heat has been notorious for messing with people's minds, causing hallucinations, visual impairment, dehydration, heat strokes.. To you it just made you insatiably horny for your big ol’ hubby.
Some stupid teens had a run in last week, luckily The Tea Lady sounded the bell so you all knew more victims arrived. Which were dealt with accordingly and made into the next brisket sandwiches sold at the gas station..
But Tommy was out there in the hot Texas heat, burning clothes, dismantling vehicles, burning evidence.. And god it just made you so needy. Seeing how his chubby body soaked through the fabric of his tank top, to him hosing himself down when he got overheated. Seeing the way his muscles flexed and contracted every time he did something or tore something apart and threw it into the scrap pile so Hoyt could turn it into traps later.
You were being tortured watching your sweaty man work so hard for you, you appreciated him greatly. He worked so hard for this family, and to keep you happy and well fed. So you made him some fresh iced tea with a shit ton of sugar to help him.
Tommy’s eyes damn near bulged from his skull when he saw you walk outside in that tiny apron lingerie that was tight enough to rival that one pizza hut worker. Your cleavage being more pronounced from how tight it was. Cooing at him as you held a jug of ice cold sweet tea coaxing him into drinking some so your ‘’big strong baby’’ won’t pass out.
He could see by the way your eyes were glued to his throat, watching his Adam's apple bob as chugged down the sweet refreshing beverage. Offering to hose him down with the hose so he could cool off which he accepted.
Hosing him off broke your little act, it just made his clothes tighter on him and you wetter as you oogled him. Loving the way his soaking wet clothes curved around his body.
Being all domestic didn’t last long at all when he dragged you to the barn and threw you into a gnarly mating press. Soaking through your apron as he tore off your underwear and wasting zero time to dick you down like a man possessed as you pressed your ass against his pelvis like a cat in heat.
Sloppy noises of your slick running down your legs and onto the hay below to the loud squelches and pops as he slid his thick cock in n’ out of you, hissing every time your hole fought to keep his tip in like a suction cup making it impossible for him to pull out and slam back in. Your knees were completely bruised and trembling against the dirty barn floor, the dust bunnies below licking your bruises on your knees and legs as loud cries and squeals escaped you. Beckoning him to go harder n’ deeper.
‘’P, Please Tommyyy.. I need it deeper! I wanna, hah, I wanna feel you in my guts!’’ Your pathetic cries and begs ringed out in the barn, almost being louder than your husbands animalistic grunts and groans as his big rough hands equivalent to a bear’s paws kept your plushy hips steady. He forced your face into the spilt hay below not wishing for you to feel uncomfortable as lifted your hips higher. Trying to comply with your wishes without coming too goddamn quickly.
You wanted this man in your liver, and he got so far he breached your cervix with a hasty pop. Making you come all over his happy trail because of how good it felt to be overstretched by him.
He will not let you up till someone walks in, and that someone was unfortunately Hoyt. Tommy had reduced you to a slobbery, needy, mewling mess who could only think about his dick and needing to be creampied to the point of pregnancy. And trust, Tommy had the same mindset. He wanted you to carry his baby bulls, imagining your tummy all big.. Your tits full of creamy milk–Maybe he could put some of those old milk pumps they used to use on the cows here on you. Get his pretty spouse all dolled up in cow lingerie while you beg him to help him relieve your heavy chest.
𖥠╾━╤デ╦︻ BO SINCLAIR
🦌౨ৎ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚
Bo had been working hard all day since Lester called to let him know a couple of tourists were coming to Ambrose because they ran out of gas, so he spent 99% of his morning setting everything up and cleaning up the earlier messes.
Which really sucked for you since when Lester called Bo had his fingers so deep inside you it was like he was doing a pelvic exam, and he couldn’t get you off since he had to make sure these tourists didn’t pull up now. So he slapped your poor clit silly until he ruined your orgasm and told you he’d finish the job later.
Knowing Bo, if he found out you made yourself come without him he’ll lock you in his sex basement with a vibrator on your clit for hours. Or stuff you with a remote controlled one and every time you got close he’d shut it off.
Frustrated, upset, and hazy. You decided against stuffing yourself full with every toy you could find to make yourself squirt all over his side of the bed for him to find later. Besides he needed your help as bait like usual.
He used you to bait horny men and women into trusting you so you could lead them into the House of Wax for Vincent to deal with. And to make things seem more lively, sometimes he’d have you posted at one of the houses acting as a housewife. Watering plants, attending to the fake gardens. Sometimes as the clerk to his mechanic shop.
He didn’t tell you exactly where he wanted you or what to do, so you took it upon yourself to create a character. And you chose to swear the skimpiest bikini you owned and to sunbathe on a towel on one of the plot's lawn. Setting up a small dollar store kiddie pool full of cold water just in case you got too hot from Louisiana’s scalding sun.
Bo didn’t know you did this until a male tourist came in all cocky and horny, talking about some cute bimbo rubbing sunscreen all over their thick thighs. And Bo damn near jumped the man, he almost slid across that goddamn counter and choked the young boy out with his paws.
You little slut, you little fucking succubus whore. He doesn’t give you what he wants and here you were, rubbing pure white sunscreen all over yourself, sighing at the cold lotions feel. Rubbing it all over yourself like Bo just busted a load on you and told you to use it as lotion.
The tourists were dealt with accordingly, aka Bo told them before they should leave they should go visit the House of Wax. And they did, like most idiot lambs. He drained all of the gas from their vehicle and popped holes into the tires so if one survived they couldn’t go anywhere. Before cracking himself a beer to calm his nerves.
He stalked towards the lawn you were using, his dark brown furious eyes glued to the arch of your back. To the way your stupidly big tits were pressed against the towel, to your ass that was all plush and out in the stupidly small bikini you chose to torture him with. You groaned in discomfort when you felt shade disrupt your sun, looking up and seeing Bo looming over you with a scowl.
‘’Look at ya, ya fuckin’ needy slut.’’ He snarled in displeasure, hating how fucking breedable you looked right now. ‘’I don’t get you off one time, and here you are whorin’ yourself out like a cheap slut.’’ His degrades were mean and sharp, full of jealousy and anger. He heard about your little ‘’incident’’ with the tourist. Asking him to rub sunscreen on your back. Bo could practically see the man's hand prints on you.
‘’Hopin’ he’d dick you down in front of everyone huh? Make you squirt all over that towel of yours? Hm?’’ He snapped, almost like he was accusing you of cheating. But you didn’t cry, you pouted and sent out a rebuttal that had Bo snarling like a fighting dog.
‘’Maybe he’d actually get me to come..’’ You did not just fucking say that to him, you did not just fix your lips to say that to him out of all people. You could practically hear the gears in his skull twisting angrily as he gripped your hair with a violent tug. ‘’Get up, now.’’ He threatened, plopping his ass down into the small lawn chair as he dragged you like a sack of veggies into his lap. Over his knee.
You gasped, hands gripping his thigh as he chugged his beer. Putting the half drank beverage into the cup holder built into the chair as his cold hand went to your lower back. Forcing you to arch as his other hand started to smack, not slap, but brutally smack your ass. The sunscreen and lotion you applied to keep you moisturized and safe from the sun's harmful uv’s made it more painful as he beat your ass raw.
He didn’t stop till both cheeks were raw and covered in welts, and even with the tears rolling down your cheeks and your pleas for him to stop he spread your legs and started meanly rubbing at your hole through the soaking wet fabric of your bottoms, loving the way your vulva clang to the fabric. ‘’Damn nympho, this is what you wanted huh? Wanted me to come out here and beat your ass fuckin’ raw in front of everyone?’’ He hissed feeling the tips of his digits get wet from your slick seeping through. All you could cry out were whimpery yes’s and please.
‘’Make yourself useful an’ light me a goddamn smoke.’’ He snarled, shifting to reach into his back pocket and pulling out a box of cigarettes and his zippo lighter. Throwing it onto the ground instead of handing it to you, you wanted to be a whore? Whore’s get treated like dogs.
You knew he was never gonna make it easy, because as soon as you reached he untied your bottoms and ripped them off. Revealing that sloppy hole to him, using his thumbs to spread you out as your hands shakily reached for the box and lighter. He didn’t wait for you to even breathe before he began to ruthlessly smack your hole directly, the tips of his fingers just barely sipping into you before pulling out.
Stupid gasps and frustrated whines escaped you as you tried to light the cigarette with your shaky hands, losing focus and grip every time his pussy slaps got harder. Only getting 2-3 inches of his fingers in your needy spasming hole before pulling out, and it didn’t help his thumb was mercilessly rolling your clit. ‘’Fuckin’ useless you are.’’ He groaned in anger and annoyance when your thumb couldn’t catch any friction on the lighter. ‘’N,No! I–I can–’’ ‘’Shut the fuck up slut.’’ He snapped, sending a harsh slap to your leaky hole. You would have been so embarrassed from how audible it was, you could hear every slap. His fingers barely dipping in and rolling against your squishy walls. How much slick was covering your legs and rolling down onto the fake grass below. Making it look all dewy, you should be ashamed he was doing this in public.
Turning his murder set into a porn set. He snatched the lighter and cigarette from you and did it himself. Sighing in relief as he inhaled the nicotine and blew it out of his nostrils like a bull. Throwing you off of his lap.
You whimpered, looking up at him so frustrated and upset. Crying he was treating you so poorly despite you loving it, ‘’Needy bitches don’t get fucked. Unless you wanna shove this in your cunt.’’ He taunted, gesturing to his beer. As much as a horny mess you were, you weren’t going to shove that up your hole and risk a pH imbalance. Or it breaking and injuring yourself.. Instead you opted to hump his leg like a needy puppy, rolling your slick hole all over his boot as he sat there and ignored you. Not letting you come at all, every time you got close he kicked you off. But even he gets bored of watching you cover his boot in slick.
He grips your hair again forcing you to tilt up your chin at him as he snuffed out his cigarette on your tit. Pressing it down as you cried in pain until it left a burn mark before getting up and grabbing his beer. Leaving you frustrated and upset.
✧₊⁺🕯⋆.˚୨ৎ VINCENT SINCLAIR
⏾⋆.˚
Vincent had been working so hard recently, a bit too hard actually. Bo put a deadline on him for some repairs and sculptures since Lester was at the print shop printing out new ADs to lay around the highway to attract more victims so Vincent was beyond stressed.
He was constantly in that hot basement working his ass off to get these sculptures out by the deadline so Bo wouldn’t get on his ass again for ‘’being lazy’’. What a hypocrite.
You chipped in and helped the best you could, doing repairs and setting up so Vincent wouldn’t have to do as much which he greatly appreciated. But you were getting lonely not having your beautiful baby boy sleeping beside you, his head tucked into your shoulder without his mask. You missed the feeling of his accidental drooling because he felt so safe around you he went into a deep sleep that not even thunder could disturb. So you went down to assist him, helping him wax corpses and sculpt.. And your efforts were rewarded greatly, because you convinced him to come to bed.
You’d spent many lonely nights in this bed, waking up insatiably horny and humping his pillow or sweater–Trying to stuff yourself with your fingers despite them not being big enough to fill you. So finally having your man in your bed set you off.
Poor Vincent barely had the chance to even get comfortable when you started pawing at his baggy pj pants and pulling them off his hips. He started sweating when he saw his hip bones get exposed to your greedy view. When he felt you lap at his inner thighs he damn near started crying, he couldn’t take you sucking hickeys on the inside of his thighs so it’d chafe later. And he couldn’t handle you harassing his tip by using one of your vibrators against it. Making him leak all over himself and mix his black pubic hair with his pearly white pre, he couldn’t help but shove you down all the way to his happy trail, fucking your tight throat like it owed him. Having you drool and cry against his length, a mix of clear saliva and pre dripping down those pretty lips as he made you swallow every drop of his cum. Tasting like an aphrodisiac on your tongue. He tasted so good you just couldn’t help to wring him from every drop he had to offer!
That’s how you ended up lazily sucking his weeping cock as he ate you out like a man feral, stuck in the 69 position with cum dripping down your chin. Your hips feverishly rocking against his face as his rough hands stayed glued onto your ass, forcing you down more so he could make out with your dripping hole. Groaning at your sugary slick dripping onto his face as you suffocated him.
He’ll drown himself in your hole, making you think you need a restraining order against his tongue because of how many times he laps at your clit trying to make you come all over his face. He is absolutely messy with it, trying to get every inch of your scent all over him so he permanently smells like you. And it doesn’t help that his face is disfigured, him missing his cheek and lip make it sooo much easier to eat you out from every angle. By the time he pulls you away he has a fountain of slick down his neck and throat and the most fucked out expression on his face.
He’ll stay like that till you freak out from any movement, he’s too tired to fuck you. But he’ll gladly watch you set up your dildo machine and cry out of sensitivity as he turns it to the max speed and keeps it like that. Taking out his camera and record you getting your poor brains fucked out as he feeds you his dick. Making you mindlessly drool all over his pelvis and yourself like a dumb puppy as you can’t stop cumming everywhere from the machine.
He knows your throat is swollen and you're beyond exhausted, but he can’t stop! You just look so adorable.
🦴⋆˚🐾ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 RUSTY NAIL
⋆🐾⋆
Rusty had been home for over a month after a 8 month long haul, you didn’t like it when he was gone for long periods of time but understood why he did so. So he could make a shit ton of money so he could stay home even longer and to spoil you.
The whole 8 months without him was literal torture, being without him. He facetimed you 24/7, there was never not a time you two wouldn’t be calling each other. But there's only so much your fingers, brain, and toys could do.
Rusty would always pull over and assist you with getting off, but even his voice didn’t work. You’d always end up begging for him to drive back home just to get you off. And he almost has, he’d do anything for you.
You two were just in a cuddle puddle on the couch in your dark living room, watching one of your both favorite reality tv shows so you could make fun of the stereotypical stupid people wasting their lives on a screen. As domestic and innocent as it was, your brain had other plans. Rusty’s big ol’ hand was in yours. Letting you absentmindingly play with it.
Your focus wasn’t even on the tv, it was on his hand. Your warm metal wedding bands clinking together every time you messed with his fingers, observing how long they were, the healed scars on them, to his blunt fingernails. His hands were huge just like the rest of him they dwarfed your own hands.
It always got you going knowing how dangerous and psychotic he was, how aggressive he was.. And here he was treating you like fine China. Hand limp in your touch, just enjoying your presence and being cuddled into him. It wasn’t very often he was in a state of calm and ease. But every time he was around you his facade turned off and he felt like he could be himself around you.
You let his hand rest on your lower abdomen as you returned your focus onto the tv screen, not realizing Rusty this entire time has been subconsciously watching you. You were just wearing some underwear and one of his worn fleece sweaters that was far too big on you, looked more of a nightgown than a sweater.
Rusty had been suspecting for over 20 minutes your mind was elsewhere, and he had a theory you had zoned out and was thinking about his fingers stuffed into you. As innocent as his hand laying on your abdomen was, he just wanted to test a theory.
His finger slid down the front of your underwear and before he could even reach where he wanted all he felt was wet fabric, he had to bite his back teeth to stifle a groan, a shiver running down his spine. Christ, all he did was let you touch his hand and you were already soaked. What a nympho you were, all he had to do was breathe and you were arching your back like a cat in heat.
Rusty’s libido had been dead before he met you, I mean all he did was constantly work. Not to mention he was very picky with his women, then when he met and married you he’d pop a boner from anything you did. He hated how fast you got him going, it embarrassed him every time. Especially hearing other truckers talk on the CB channels about how much foreplay has to happen before they get hard–For Rusty it took you blinking at him like a dumb fawn and his cock was already fighting the confines of his pants.
But he opened the gates of hell for you when he stuck his finger down there to confirm his theory, a small noise slipped from your lips as you pushed your pelvis closer. Hands around his wrist keeping his hand there as your plushy warm thighs locked around his hand. Effectively keeping him trapped there.
He snarled at you, locking his hand between your thighs, shuddering at how warm your bare thighs were. His hand shifted to rub at you through the fabric of your underwear as he taunted you.
‘’Where’s this comin’ from huh? All I did was let you play with my hand n’ suddenly your more soaked than a goddamn water park.’’ He taunted as he continued to slowly rub you making sure the tip of his thumb would nudge against your hole as soft sighs and gasps escape you.
He won’t stop either, he’ll embarrass you with his filthy dirty talk as he continues to get you off with just rubbing. Making embarrassing remarks on how your underwear was sticking to your vulva, only making it worse when he makes you come and completely soak your underwear.
‘’Jesus, you gonna make a mess on the couch?’’ He taunted abusing the fact your bottoms were clinging to you like a second skin as he softly slapped your aching clit through it, letting out a rumble when that somehow made you come harder. He couldn’t believe how much of a bimbo you were for him, all he did was slap your clit and you came so hard he saw the whites of your eyes and that heavy full chest of yours heave and croak.
At this point your horny brained, n’ can only think about his dick as you yank off the soiled garment and straddle his clothed thigh. Pathetically humping it and rolling your hips against his tree trunk of a thigh as he tensed it for you so you had better friction, not caring about the snail trail of slick you left behind on his pj pants.
His sandpaper-like hands don’t grip your hips, they pull up on the sweater and make you hold it up with your teeth as he plays with your chest. Groping and fondling at the heavy flesh till your nipples pebble so hard they can cut diamonds. His hands feel like a big cat’s tongue as he jerks you forward, making you drag your swollen clit against his thigh so he can suck your tits. Groaning against the sensitive flesh like he’s trying to wring milk outta you. He’s fantasized so many times making you dress as a hu cow and having you sit on his cock as he drinks from you till you're tugging him off.
Failing to realize you are actually tugging him off because he’s hurting you, he sucked on your nipple for too long and now it’s sore and raw and you're crying and shoving his face away as he drools all over you. When reality finally snaps into him he doesn’t apologize, just looks up at your hazy drooly expression and finally registering the big wet spot on his thigh. Realizing you came all over him, he’ll ‘’get mean and mad’’ when in reality he’s gonna hide these pants to smell them later.
‘’I just fuckin’ washed these, and here you are with your stupid cunt. Always so needy for me to fill.’’ He snarled, forcing you into a full nelson, one arm keeping your legs spread and up as he duct tapes your wrists together. Your back is pressed firmly against his chest, your lower back feeling his huge and pulsing bulge through his pants as he teases your messy hole. Collecting slick and smearing it all across your thighs. Just letting his long n’ thick fingers slide against your folds and hole. Teasing you by poking and prodding at it but never entering, tears are streaming down your wet cheeks as you plead for him to just do it already. But he blissfully ignores you, only giving you what you want when your hole accidentally won’t let go of his fingers.
‘’Needy thing, look at ya. I can barely catch a goddamn break.’’ He huffed in faux annoyance as his two fingers give you that painfully good stretch that almost has you coming again. Loud squelches and squishes of his fingers sliding against your walls fill the dark living room, the tv long forgotten.
He denies you release every time, slapping your hole and ruining your orgasm as he wolfishly smiles down at you. Watching you squirm and suffer, this was the only type of torture you ever got. ‘’Y’know, someone on the CB was tellin’ me about how his wife recently got into sex toys. He couldn’t believe it when I told em’ you had 4 whole drawers full of em’. He asked me if I married a fuckin’ succubus.’’ He teased as he added a third finger to stretch you out even further, pressing messy kisses to your teary cheeks. Kissing your tears away, ‘’Told em’ I did, told him about the long 40 minute video you sent me of you stuffin’ yourself completely full n’ not being able to get off at all.’’
Your thighs at this point are trembling like you don’t know how to walk, completely limp and aching as he taunted you about him ruining you. And he has ruined you, he was right. Getting off was impossible unless he was the one doing it, which worsened your case with your libido.
‘’R, Rusty.. Please.. I can’t take it anymore–S’ not enough!’’ You sobbed out pathetically as he rolled his eyes and huffed. He couldn’t take anymore of your crying, it was breaking his heart. So he finally gave you what you wanted, and got you in the nastiest mating press you’ve ever seen.
Your legs were all the way hiked onto his sweaty shoulders, heels digging into his back as you loudly whined and moaned. Blessing every god and goddess out there you two lived on isolated farm land because your neighbors would have been sick of you by now. His fat n’ long cock mercilessly pounded into you with the most brutal thrusts equivalent to a jackhammer as he jackhammered your poor hole. Making a mess of the carpet below as it sucked up your mix of juices and his cum as it poured out of your gaping hole. Not an inch of you wasn’t touching him, his happy trail stuck to your puffy clit as you grinded hard against him. Trying to get this feral man to feverishly breed you, and he was.
Cream pie after cream pie he filled you up till it was glorified cream cake. Having excess leak out of you forcibly, knowing he’d make you lick it up after. Your wrists were still tied together tightly as you begged him to go deeper. He was already in your cervix, but you wanted him in your liver.
His drooly lips roughly smashed against yours into a ferocious kiss, shoving his tongue down your throat as he tried to touch your voice box. Meaty hands lifting your hips higher so he could bully his aching cock into you harsher. Trying to split you into two and then some..
This lasts the entire night till you are trying to crawl away from him, pleading your case and sobbing uncontrollably. Leaking n’ dripping from every hole, shaking like an earthquake, bruised internally and externally, so full of his cum your body physically can’t handle anymore. But he’ll just drag you right back over to him and keep you locked in a bear hug as he bullies himself back inside of you to really make sure it takes. ♡
Description: Jamie Lannister is forced to marry a Tully, he didn’t expect to fall in love with Catelyn’s sister.
-anon- requested!
Warnings: Twincest (Jamie x Cersei cannon event), Smut p in v, oral F received, smut in public places, violence, mentions of death. Time skips (like a lot), it’s pretty lengthy.
Up Next:
Sandor Clegane x Reyne!Reader - requested
Daemon Targaryen x Greyjoy!Reader -requested
Tywin Lannister x Dorne!Reader
Petyr Baelish x Reader
Cregan Stark x Celtigar!Reader - requested
Young!Robert Baratheon x Targaryen!Reader - requested
Theon Greyjoy x Stark!Reader - requested
Credit to the owners of the pictures! I got them from Pinterest!
Tywin Lannister, Lion of the West, stood with one hand resting lightly on the carved lion-head arm of his chair, a satisfied glint in his pale eyes as he watched King Robert pace the length of the chamber. The king’s brow was furrowed, thick fingers raking through his beard as he weighed the proposition laid before him. Beside Tywin, Ser Jaime stood silent, his jaw locked and hand clenched into a fist at his side—whether from anticipation or fury, none could tell. The torchlight danced against the golden plates of his armor, the Kingsguard’s white cloak draped still across his shoulders, though it hung now like a relic from another life.
“He serves no purpose, not as he is,” Tywin said, voice calm and unyielding as steel. “His post was earned by convenience, not merit. But he can still be of use—your sworn sword, aye, but also a husband. Heirs, Robert. Sons bearing the lion’s name. That’s what he was born for.”
Robert halted mid-step, turning with a grunt. “You’ve a match in mind then? Or is this another ploy of yours, Tywin?”
“I do,” Tywin replied smoothly. “Lady Tully. The youngest daughter of Hoster Tully—sister to Edmure and Lady Stark. A proper girl, bred of good stock. Lord Edmure has already sent word of his approval. The girl is en route to the capital as we speak. They’ll wed here, before the royal party rides north. A festival, a celebration to set the tone, maybe she’ll even visit her sister. Gods knows you adore the Starks. It’ll do her good to see her sister again.”
Robert scratched at his chin, then shrugged. “A wedding might cheer the people. Put something warm in their bellies before the cold of the North sets in. Two weeks, you said?”
“Within the fortnight,” Tywin confirmed. “The preparations have already begun. Two week celebration.”
Robert nodded slowly. “Alright… alright then. Let it be done.”
Tywin inclined his head, already satisfied, his fingers brushing the fabric of his crimson sleeve as though dusting off the matter entirely. Jaime, however, remained frozen, his golden brows drawn tight, his shoulders rigid.
“You’ll take your new oath after the wedding,” Robert added with a smirk, lifting a goblet of wine to his lips. “And keep the armor, boy. Suits you. Might even distract the girl from your sour temper.”
“When does she arrive?” Robert asked, glancing over at Tywin once more.
“She’ll be here soon,” Tywin replied coolly. “And she’ll be yours to present at court.”
Cersei stormed down the corridor, the silk of her gown hissing like a serpent with every furious step. Servants scattered at the sight of her, heads bowed low, skirts gathered quickly out of her path. When she reached Jaime’s chamber door, she didn’t knock. She shoved it open with enough force to rattle the hinges.
“I found out through Tyrion—Tyrion, of all people!” she spat, her voice sharp with betrayal. Her golden hair was unbound, wild about her shoulders, and her eyes burned with fury.
Jaime turned from where he stood near the hearth, already tense, his jaw tight. “Don’t look at me like that, Cersei,” he said quickly, raising his hands in something like surrender. “Please—it wasn’t my choice.”
“Then why didn’t you fight harder?” she snapped, advancing on him like a lioness with blood in her mouth. “You’re Tywin’s heir, his golden son. You could’ve refused—should’ve refused!”
He shook his head, stepping back just enough to keep distance between them. “You know how he is. It was already done before I was even told. The match was signed, sealed, and ridden for Riverrun before I could speak a word.”
“You’re marrying her,” Cersei snarled. “A Tully. One of Catelyn’s sisters. Do you know what they’ll say? What they’ll think?”
“I know,” he said through gritted teeth. “Do you think I haven’t already thought of that a thousand times?”
She turned away from him then, as if disgusted by the sight of him, hands curling at her sides. “You’re mine,” she said, voice trembling—not with weakness, but with rage. “You’ve always been mine. And now you’re just—giving yourself away?”
“I didn’t give anything,” he bit back. “He took it from me.”
Cersei rounded on him once more, eyes glassy with unshed fury. “Then take it back.”
Cersei’s breath caught as the silence thickened between them, heavy as smoke. Her fists trembled at her sides, but she didn’t move away. Not when Jaime stepped closer. Not when his voice lowered.
“I didn’t want this,” he murmured, gaze pinned to hers, the firelight flickering gold across his face. “I swear it, Cersei. I tried—I tried to make him see, but he wouldn’t bend. He never bends.”
Her lip curled, but the anger faltered just slightly. “You’re stronger than him,” she whispered. “You’re better.”
“I’m yours,” he said, voice raw.
His hands came to her waist—hesitant, almost reverent. She let him. Her body was taut with tension, but she didn’t resist when he drew her in. Her hands found his chest, fingers curled in the fabric of his tunic. He ducked his head, their foreheads brushing. His voice was a breath against her lips.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, softer this time. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know how to face you.”
And then she kissed him.
Her kiss wasn’t tender—it was a punishment. Her mouth crashed into his with the heat of a wildfire, angry and possessive, like she meant to devour the apology right out of his throat. Jaime grunted against her, stumbling backward as she pushed him, lips bruising, hands clutching fistfuls of his tunic like she wanted to tear it apart.
He didn’t stop her.
His hands gripped her waist, hard, dragging her against him as if he needed to feel her anger to believe she still wanted him. Her teeth caught his lip, and he hissed. She smiled into the kiss, wicked and breathless.
“You let him chain you,” she snarled, lips brushing his jaw as she bit at the skin there. “You said you were mine, Jaime—mine.”
“I am,” he gasped, kissing her again, sloppier this time—off-center, raw, all tongue and desperation. “I didn’t ask for her—I didn’t ask for any of it.”
Her hand tangled in his hair, tugging his head back so she could look at him—lips red, eyes shining, chest heaving like she’d just fought a war.
“Then prove it,” she whispered.
He kissed her again before the words finished falling, hands moving rough under her skirts, pressing her back toward the table, knocking over a goblet and not caring for a single heartbeat. Her thighs hit wood. His mouth never left hers.
“Say you still love me,” she said, half a breath, half a challenge.
“I do,” he said, panting, forehead against hers. “Gods, Cersei—always. Only you.”
───── ♛ ─── ⚔️ Lannister ⚔️ ───── ♛ ────
You arrived without fanfare, just as you preferred—no banners, no trumpets, no company beyond a modest escort of Tully men who said little and kept their heads down. The sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon, and the courtyard of the Red Keep was cloaked in shadow. A few lanterns flickered near the gates, their flames swaying in the wind. You dismounted with practiced ease, your cloak fluttering behind you in the night breeze, your blue silks catching only the faintest kiss of firelight.
Tywin Lannister was waiting at the top of the steps. Regal as ever, stone-faced and imposing even in silence. But when you smiled—softly, without pretense—it startled him. You were younger than he remembered. More beautiful than he’d expected. And far, far softer. There was no hard edge to you, no sharp tongue. Just river-steady grace and that keen, unbothered composure that made men underestimate you far too easily.
“Lord Tywin,” you said lightly, lifting a hand in greeting, fingers curled in a gentle wave. “It’s been far too long.”
“It has,” he replied with a nod, his voice unreadable. But his eyes did not leave your face.
You stepped forward, skirts whispering against the stone. “My brother didn’t come. He trusts me in your care,” you said, tilting your head just slightly. “For the wedding, I mean. I’ve not told my sisters yet either—though I suppose I’ll have to now, won’t I?”
Your smile widened, sweet as spring rain. “I trust everything is in order—your hands are known for order, after all. Robert, in his drunken ramblings, speaks of you often. Not all bad, mind you. He said the feasts would come after the ceremony. Then we ride north.” You paused, brushing a loose strand of hair from your cheek. “All very well planned. Very… Lannister.”
Tywin studied you for a long moment. And though he said nothing, there was a flicker of something behind his eyes—something between respect and concern.
Because you were not what he expected. You were worse. You were gentle. And that made you dangerous.
“Come,” Tywin said, turning with the authority of a man who expected obedience. “You shall meet Jaime.”
You froze. Hands clutched together before you, the lace at your wrists trembling faintly in the night breeze.
“Oh, gods—no, I can’t!” you said quickly, cheeks flushing as you shook your head. “It’s… against Riverrun tradition. I’m not to see him until the wedding. Bad luck and all that.”
Your voice was light, teasing, but your eyes flicked nervously toward the great doors of the Keep, as if the Kingslayer himself might come strolling out to catch you mid-sentence.
“Hopefully,” you went on with a breathless laugh, “he’ll find me beautiful. And not just another old, sour-faced Tully.” You scrunched your nose slightly. “You Lannisters have such strong features. I always worried the Riverlands bred girls a little too plain.”
Tywin paused at that, glancing back at you. His lips twitched—almost a smile. Almost. But not quite.
“He’ll find you pleasing enough,” he said. “You are young. You are lovely. And, more importantly, you are useful. That is more than most women can claim.”
You smiled, but the weight of his words pressed behind your ribs.
“I’ll have my steward take you to your chambers,” he added. “You’ll be presented properly before the court at the feast.”
You dipped into a polite, practiced curtsy. “Thank you, my lord.”
He watched you one last time before turning, the click of his boots fading into stone. And as you followed the steward through the quiet halls of the Red Keep, you touched your cheeks and whispered to yourself—
“Please let him have kind eyes.”
───── ♛ ─── ⚔️ Lannister ⚔️ ───── ♛ ────
Jaime paced the length of his chamber like a caged lion, his golden armor half-undone, the clasps at his shoulders hanging loose where he’d started to tear it off in frustration. His breath came short, sharp, like every step might somehow undo what had already been set in stone.
“She’s here,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “She’s actually here. Gods, why—why did Father have to find her so soon?”
Tyrion lounged in a carved chair by the hearth, a goblet in one hand and a smirk on his lips, watching the dramatics unfold with barely veiled amusement.
“You knew this day was coming,” Tyrion said mildly. “Father made it quite clear you’d be married off the moment Robert gave permission. You should be thanking him—he could’ve saddled you with a Frey.”
Jaime spun around, eyes wild. “Lysa Arryn was a Tully. She was supposed to be beautiful too.”
“She was, once,” Tyrion said, swirling the wine in his cup. “Many say this one favors her—delicate, they claim. Polite. She has the hair. The eyes. That Riverlands charm.”
“If she looks anything like that sickly hag of the Eyrie I swear to the gods, I’ll—” he choked on the thought. “Her eyes! They were like a fish pulled too long from water. That awful limp hair. Pale as bone, and her voice—”
He shuddered dramatically, one hand pressed to his chest like he’d been stabbed.
“I’ll surely die.”
“You won’t,” Tyrion said with a sigh, setting down his cup. “She’s young. That much I know. And she’s no fool. She knows what this marriage means. You’ll get through tomorrow, and then you can return to pretending to hate politics.”
“I was fine,” Jaime snapped. “Content with life. My white cloak, my sword. Her. I didn’t ask for this.”
Tyrion raised a brow. “You mean Cersei?”
Jaime didn’t answer. He looked away, jaw clenching, hands curling into fists at his sides.
“She’ll be at the feast tomorrow,” Tyrion added quietly. “And by the look of things, she’s not what Father expected.”
Jaime’s eyes snapped to him. “What do you mean?”
Tyrion’s smile was slow, knowing. “You’ll see.”
───── ♛ ─── ⚔️ Lannister ⚔️ ───── ♛ ────
Morning came too quickly.
The halls of the Red Keep were transformed, the stone corridors draped in sweeping banners of Tully blue and burgundy, braided together with Lannister red and gold. The colors twisted in perfect harmony—rivers and lions bound in silk—a symbol of alliance, though few would dare call it love. It was beautiful, undeniably so, and that alone was enough to sour Cersei’s mood. She watched from her place near the dais, her jaw clenched behind a forced smile, envy roiling beneath the surface. You were all anyone spoke of. No one had seen the youngest Tully since girlhood, and now here you were—grown, radiant, untouched by time or scandal. Some whispered that your beauty rivaled hers. Others said it surpassed it.
Your hair was a striking Tully red—brighter than Catelyn’s, longer than Lysa’s—and it shimmered like copper fire in the sunlight spilling through the stained glass. Your eyes, soft sea-blue with a ring of storm grey, carried the hush of deep water. You looked like a memory come to life. And gods, you were perfect.
Jaime stood at the end of the hall, stiff and irritable beneath layers of polished gold. He looked like a knight carved from sunlight—handsome, proud, and visibly annoyed by the fanfare. But when the horns sounded and the guests rose, when the great oak doors creaked open, and you stepped into the light of the throne room—
Even he went still.
You walked slowly, unbothered by the weight of every eye in the hall. Your gown was a vibrant blue, soft but rich in color, stitched with fine silver thread. It hugged your form, dipping low across your chest where a silver trout gleamed at the center of your bodice. You moved with the quiet confidence of someone who knew they were beautiful, but carried it like a secret rather than a weapon.
You paused when you saw him—your betrothed.
Your eyes met his across the distance. He was taller than you remembered. Sharper. Golden. He looked nothing like the boy you once glimpsed from afar.
“His eyes are… sorta kind,” you murmured to the maiden at your side.
“He’s the Kingslayer,” she whispered with a smirk. “And more handsome than I imagined.”
“He looks… bright,” you said softly, as if the word surprised you.
“Well, he’s your husband now,” she teased.
Jaime stepped forward as you neared, every movement rehearsed, mechanical. He reached for your hand, but before his fingers could graze yours, you laughed—low and warm, barely above a whisper, and yet it echoed in his ears.
“No need to be so formal, Ser Jaime,” you said, your voice sweet as summer wine. “You don’t need to kiss my hand.”
He faltered, blinking at you like you’d struck him. Something in your softness stunned him. You weren’t cold. You weren’t haughty. You weren’t what he feared.
You smiled at him—genuine and quiet.
And for the first time that morning, he didn’t know what to say.
“You grew,” Jaime said, eyes trailing over you with quiet disbelief, like he still expected the child from long ago to emerge beneath the silk and ceremony.
You tilted your head, grinning. “Well, I’m not the sniveling girl you saw clinging to Edmure’s leg at your sister’s wedding.”
You giggled then, the sound light and sweet. “Cersei looked beautiful that day.”
He smiled at the memory, despite himself. He remembered you now—the way you’d peeked out from behind your brother’s cloak, wide-eyed and wary, flinching every time the crowd roared too loud. A little thing in pale blue, red hair in tangled ribbons, constantly twisting your fingers. Barely old enough to speak in full sentences.
“And what were you so afraid of?” Jaime asked, amusement tugging at his lips.
You leaned closer, your breath brushing his shoulder, smiling too brightly—too kindly—for a girl about to marry a man the realm called Kingslayer.
“In truth?” you whispered. “Your steed. That damned horse of yours.”
He blinked. “My horse?”
A bark of laughter escaped him, far louder than he meant. Heads turned. The hall fell quiet. Cersei’s eyes narrowed from the dais. But you only beamed up at him, utterly unbothered.
“Gods, yes,” you said with a playful grimace. “A creature that large, able to kill me simply by twitching wrong? That is no friend of mine. I’ve never learned to ride. I don’t wish to. I’m quite sure they hate me as much as I hate them.”
“You hate horses,” Jaime said, still grinning, voice lowered now. “You’re marrying a knight and you hate horses.”
You laughed again, musical and unbothered. “I adore fish. Small, harmless, until they’re not. I grew up beside the river, not in a stable. A trout is a far nobler beast, in my opinion.”
He looked at you—really looked—and something in his chest shifted.
Because this wasn’t the marriage he expected.
You weren’t trembling. You weren’t bitter. You were soft and bright and quietly strange in a way that unsettled him and gods help him, he was starting to like it.
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Jaime said with a short nod, offering his arm.
You placed your hand there softly, your fingers light against the hard muscle beneath his crimson sleeve. He began walking, slow and measured, the two of you moving through the corridor toward the sept, steps echoing beneath vaulted stone.
“The wedding,” he murmured after a moment, his voice quieter than before, “as you so adamantly requested, has now become a documented contract—signed, sealed, and quite literally paraded before the realm.”
You turned your face slightly toward him, your smile warm, but edged with mischief. “Well yes, I assumed your disdain at being plucked from the Kingsguard would sour any desire to celebrate being tethered to the trout girl.”
You said it lightly, teasing, but your voice never lost its softness. “Edmure told me—very firmly—not to mention cloaks, kings, or guards. I fear if I so much as say the word ‘oath,’ he’ll emerge from the stone itself to strangle me.”
That pulled the smallest laugh from Jaime, short and genuine.
“I’m a big boy,” he said. “I don’t need you to temper my mood.”
You smiled gently, eyes forward now. “I know. But still… it’s alright to grieve. To mourn what you’ve lost. I don’t fault you for that. I wouldn’t even blame you if you chose to walk away—if you rejected all of this. I wouldn’t be angry.”
The words hung between you for a moment, too tender, too real.
Jaime’s jaw shifted. He looked down at you, not with pity or coldness, but something quieter. Something harder to name.
“I would never dishonor you,” he said simply.
And in that vow, however soft, was the first crack in the armor he wore far beneath his gold.
“Ahhh! My little trout girl!” Robert’s voice boomed across the hall, slurred and far too loud for the closeness of the space. He barreled forward, flushed from drink and grinning like a man half his age, and before Jaime could so much as blink, the king had snatched you from his side.
You squealed with laughter, caught off guard by the sheer force of the man’s affection. “Robbie!” you gasped, eyes bright, arms barely catching around his barrel chest.
He hugged you tight, swaying slightly, then leaned back to grin at you as if you were some long-lost treasure he’d only just remembered. “Beautiful trout! Gods, look at you. Go on—go! Jon’s been begging to see you. Poor lad’s near chewed my ear off. You know how he gets.”
You looked past the king’s shoulder and saw Jon Arryn seated in the corner of the hall, watching you with a warm, expectant gaze. You nodded quickly, touched by the thought. As you moved to pull away, your eyes found Jaime’s again across the crowd—his smile small, real, and caught half behind his hand.
Robert clapped Jaime hard on the back—twice. The kind of blow that rattled armor.
“You married a good one,” Robert said, voice thick with wine and sentiment. “I thought for certain she’d be a Stark, you know. Madly in love with Benjen. Gods, he loved her too. Quiet boy, but fierce where it counted. I remember her first kiss to him—”
“I rather don’t care,” Jaime cut in, tone cool but even. “She’s my wife now. Whatever came before me is her own. Just as I had a life before her.”
Robert blinked, then let out a loud, wheezing chuckle. “Aye. Fair enough, fair enough.” He smacked Jaime’s back again, even harder this time, before staggering off toward another cask.
Jaime stood still for a moment, watching you slip through the crowd toward Jon Arryn. Your laughter trailed behind you, soft and clear.
And yet… Robert’s words lingered like smoke in Jaime’s chest. “The North has a way of bringing up old feelings.”
Now you both stood in the center of the hall, the contract signed, the rites spoken, the knots tied. A simple union, formalized before the realm with only the faintest brush of ceremony—no silken bedding speeches, no wild fanfare, no drunken debauchery. Just you and Jaime, side by side beneath the vaulted ceiling of the Red Keep, the air heavy with roses and smoke, the murmurs of lords and ladies still echoing along the stone.
You were now Lady Lannister.
A soft tune played from the minstrels’ corner, delicate and low, and he led you into the first dance with hesitant fingers resting at your waist. You moved like water—effortless, light. You smelled of wildflowers and river reeds warmed by sunlight, of quiet summer mornings along the banks of the Trident. You didn’t cling to him or press too close. Your hand at the nape of his neck was soft, steady—nothing like Cersei’s sharpened claws and possessive touch. It unsettled him, that gentleness. How it made him ache.
“You’d make a fine Lord Tully,” you said, eyes sparkling. “A golden-haired fisherman. A beard would suit you, I think. And longer hair to shield you from the summer sun.”
He snorted—an inelegant, surprised sound. “A Tully?” he repeated with a smirk.
You grinned up at him, spinning just slightly beneath his arm. “A quiet life. Far from court. Far from lions and crowns and whispered plots. It’s what most girls dream of when they marry, you know. Not power. Peace.”
Your words were sweet, light—but they landed heavy.
He looked down at you, your face tilted toward his, your smile still resting there like it belonged. You weren’t scheming. You weren’t pretending. You meant it.
And for one strange moment, Jaime found himself picturing it. A river keep. A slower life. Your hand still in his.
“And what do you dream of?” he asked, his voice low.
Your smile turned wistful, eyes drifting past his shoulder. “I think I’m still figuring that out.”
The music lingered soft around you, the low hum of harp strings wrapping gently through the air as you turned beneath Jaime’s hand, laughing quietly at something only the two of you could hear. He was smiling—truly smiling—for the first time that night, the corners of his mouth soft and unguarded, as if, for once, he had stopped bracing for the weight of expectation.
Then she came.
Cersei moved through the hall like a storm cloaked in silk—green velvet clinging to every curve, golden hair piled high, eyes glittering with something colder than envy. She stopped just beside you, her hand gliding over Jaime’s arm with practiced familiarity.
“May I steal my brother for a moment?” she asked sweetly, her smile anything but.
You didn’t flinch. You turned to her, your face open and kind, too kind for someone so clearly being challenged.
“Of course, my Queen,” you said gently, bowing your head with grace honed from years at Riverrun. Before stepping back, you gave Jaime’s hand the smallest squeeze—a silent farewell, and perhaps, a warning.
You disappeared into the crowd, and the space between them collapsed like a trap sprung shut.
“Only one day,” Cersei hissed, stepping in close, her breath hot against his cheek, “and you’ve already forgotten you were in my cunt.”
Jaime stiffened, color rising to his face. “Stop,” he said low. “No one’s forgotten.”
Her hand slid across his chest, possessive, venomous. “Your hand was on her back, lower and lower. Her fingers at your neck like she already knows what makes you weak. And tonight, you’ll bed her, won’t you?”
Her voice cracked with restrained fury.
“Will you think of me?” she asked, voice quieter now. “When she breathes your name? When her legs wrap around you? When she gasps and you have to pretend she feels like home?”
Jaime closed his eyes for just a moment. And in the smallest, most broken whisper, he said “Of course. Of course I will.”
But even as he spoke it, he turned to look back through the crowd, trying to find the river girl in blue.
And he hated himself for how much he already missed your hand.
───── ♛ ─── ⚔️ Lannister ⚔️ ───── ♛ ────
The fire burned low in the hearth, its golden light casting soft shadows across the stone walls of the wedding chamber. The room smelled of sandalwood and rose oil, and the silence that stretched between you both was fragile—heavy with unspoken thoughts, sharpened by expectation.
Jaime moved first.
His lips found yours with no warning, mouth hot and desperate, hands framing your face as if he feared you might vanish. It wasn’t graceful—wasn’t elegant. It was hungry, wild with need. He kissed you like a man drowning, like he needed your mouth to breathe.
“Jaime—Jaime,” you gasped between kisses, your palms pressing gently against his chest, breath caught somewhere between surprise and laughter.
He stilled, forehead brushing yours, panting.
“Wait,” you said softly, your lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “Let’s go slow. We have all our lives to be quick and hungry.”
Your fingers moved with care, tugging at the laces of his shirt, easing the fabric back from his shoulders until his skin was bare beneath the firelight. “Unless,” you said with a crooked smile, “you’re ready to get this over with?”
“No,” he said at once, voice rough. “No—gods, no.” He looked away, jaw flexing like he didn’t trust himself to say more.
You stepped back, wordless, and let your gown fall from your shoulders.
The silk pooled at your feet with a whisper, and the chill of the chamber kissed your skin. You stood bare before him, chest rising slowly, heart thudding, but you did not hide. There was something reverent in your stillness. Something brave.
“I am a maiden,” you said, voice soft as dusk. “And I wish my first time to be slow. Gentle. And full of love.” You paused, meeting his eyes. “Even if it is only for one night, Ser Jaime.”
Your smile was the kind that wrecked men—gentle, sure, and aching. Jaime stared at you like he’d never seen something so painfully real. And then, with trembling hands, he reached for you—not as a conqueror, but as a man humbled.
“Then slow,” he whispered, brushing your hair back. “And gentle. And like love.”
He kissed you slow, the back of your legs meet the bed. Teasingly, you crawled back, your eyes low full of want. He grabbed your ankle, yanking towards him. “Let me taste you, River girl.” You bit your lip, nodding too eagerly.
His mouth was hot, reverent, and far too patient.
He kissed the inside of your thigh first—once, then again, slower the second time, his stubble scraping softly against your skin. His hands kept you open, gentle but firm, and he watched you with something unreadable in his eyes. Like awe. Like hunger smothered beneath restraint. When he lowered himself fully, breath ghosting over your most delicate place, you barely had time to brace before his mouth found you.
He kissed your clit like it was his, like he’d done it before in dreams and now meant to do it right—slowly. His tongue dragged across you, lazy and deliberate, not searching for the peak but drawing it out, warming you with long, wet strokes that made your thighs tremble around his head.
You gasped, spine arching off the mattress.
“Gods—” the word spilled from your lips in a breathless cry, hands flying to his hair, fingers twisting tight in those golden strands. “Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop.”
That made him groan—deeply—the sound sending a pulse through your whole body. He pressed his mouth harder against you, tongue flattening, circling, teasing the sensitive pearl with slow, worshipful flicks that had your hips lifting, grinding softly, needing more.
He didn’t give you more. Not yet.
He licked you through every twitch and gasp, lips dragging over the slick heat of you, soft and wet and sloppy, so soaked from his tongue alone that he had to drag his hand down and part you again, groaning when he felt how much you gave him.
“You taste like summer,” he murmured against you, voice thick, drunk on you. “Sweet river girl.”
Then he went back to it—louder now, messier. His mouth moved with open hunger, tongue pressing, sucking, flicking faster, then easing back just enough to hear you whine. You were soaked down your thighs, clenching at nothing, thighs quivering, head tossing back on the pillow.
You felt wild beneath him—shaking, panting, begging—but he just held you still, thumbs stroking circles into your hips like he had all night to ruin you slowly.
“Jaime—Jaime, please,” you whispered, your voice cracking, your hand reaching for anything, for him, dragging his name from your throat like a prayer.
And still—he didn’t stop.
His mouth was soaked with you—chin glistening, lips slick, breath ragged as he buried his face deeper between your thighs like he couldn’t get close enough. His tongue moved in filthy, wet strokes now, no longer gentle, no longer teasing. He was feasting on you, devouring every whimper, every twitch, every cry of his name like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
When he sucked hard—right on the clit—you cried out, body jerking like he’d struck some hidden nerve. Your thighs tried to close, to squirm away, but his arms locked you in place. His grip was tight now, possessive, dragging your hips closer to his mouth, forcing you to stay open for every soft, wet suck and every obscene lick he gave you. He was messy with it—his tongue flicking fast and eager, his nose pressed against the soft heat of you, and gods, he was moaning into you now, low and rough and wrecked.
“This your first time coming?” he groaned, voice muffled, lips dragging over your swollen pearl. “On my tongue?”
You nodded frantically, hands pulling at his hair, back arched off the bed, desperate and close and wild.
“Yes! Gods—yes,” you whimpered, your voice barely human.
That did something to him—broke something. He growled low in his throat and sucked again, harder this time, his tongue working you over like he wanted to brand the feeling of him into your body forever. Sloppy, filthy, perfect—his mouth sliding against your soaked folds, his tongue curling up to catch every drop of you like he was starving.
Your body locked up—legs trembling, belly tightening, breath catching in your chest—and when your release hit, it hit like a wave crashing over stone.
You screamed.
Your thighs clamped around his head, hands fisting tight in his hair as your hips bucked, and he didn’t stop. Not for a second. He moaned as you came, mouth still moving, still kissing you through it, drinking you down with feverish, worshipful hunger. He let you ride it, every spasm, every broken cry, until you were limp beneath him—shaking, gasping, soaked and ruined.
He pulled back slowly, face wet, chest heaving.
“Sweet gods,” he whispered, voice hoarse, “I could die with that taste on my tongue.”
You blinked up at him, dazed and wrecked, your body still trembling from the force of it.
Jaime hovered over you, his body taut with restraint, golden hair tousled, lips still wet with your release. His tunic was discarded long ago, leaving him bare to the waist, muscles flexed as he braced himself on either side of you. But it was your movement—slow and sinfully deliberate—that shattered what control he had left.
Your legs curled around his hips, and your body arched, grinding up against the hot, heavy length of him—bare now, pressed against your soaked entrance but not yet inside. The heat of you dragged along him with every slow roll of your hips, and the friction made his breath stutter, made his arms shake.
“Gods,” he hissed through clenched teeth, dropping his head against your shoulder. “What are you doing to me…already ruining me with those sweet whines”
Your hands threaded into his hair, your lips brushing his ear as you rocked again, the tip of him dragging through the slick mess between your thighs. Not quite entering—teasing. Coating him. Driving him mad.
“I want it to feel real,” you whispered, voice trembling. “All of you. All of this.”
He grunted—deep, guttural—the sound scraping from somewhere low in his chest. You rolled again, slower this time, your clit catching just beneath the ridge of him, and his hips jerked like he couldn’t help it.
“Seven hells,” he groaned, breath shuddering against your neck. “I’ve never—”
He cut himself off, teeth gritting.
“Never had someone like this. Needy for me. Wanting me like this.”
Your mouth kissed along his jaw, soft and slow. “I need you, Jaime,” you whispered. “Please.”
He pulled back to look at you then, eyes burning, his hands moving to grip your hips like he was anchoring himself. The tip of him nudged against you, almost there, his breath ragged.
“Say it again,” he said hoarsely. “Say you need me.”
“I need you.”
“Then gods forgive me,” he whispered, and he pushed in—slow, every inch of him pressing through slick heat, stretching you open until he was fully seated inside, thick and deep and shaking above you.
Your gasp tore into his mouth as he kissed you—desperate, messy, teeth catching on lips, both of you groaning as your hips adjusted to each other.
He started to move—long, slow thrusts that dragged against every inch of your trembling walls. His forehead rested against yours, his hands everywhere—cupping your cheek, gripping your waist, brushing your breast, like he couldn’t decide where to worship first.
“You feel like godsdamned heaven,” he groaned. “You were made for me.” He lost himself the moment he sank into you.
There was no grace left in him—not with how warm and soaked you were, how your body welcomed him like it had been waiting for him all along. His first thrust was deep, sloppy, too rough for the tenderness he’d promised, and your gasp shattered between his lips as his hips slammed flush to yours, the sound of it loud and filthy in the quiet of the chamber.
He moaned—loudly—his head dropping to your shoulder, golden hair clinging to his brow as he fought to breathe.
“Fuck—gods, you feel—you feel like sin,” he groaned, grinding deep into your soaked cunt, hips jerking as your walls fluttered around him, wet and eager.
You cried out beneath him, your nails digging into his back, your legs locked high around his waist as you pulled him back in.
He fucked you hard—messy and fast, every thrust sloppy with wet sounds, your slick dripping down onto the sheets beneath you. Your skin slapped together again and again as he pounded into you like he couldn’t stand the thought of ever leaving your body. Sweat slicked between you. His mouth found your throat, your jaw, your breast—kissing, biting, claiming.
“You’ll only have me,” you whispered, voice trembling, your hands cupping his face as he fucked you through another wave of pleasure.
His hand slammed against the headboard, gripping it like a man trying to hold on to reason, while the other arm wrapped tight beneath your thigh, lifting your leg higher against his hip, spreading you wider, deeper. His strokes were brutal now—filthy and fast, wet and relentless, your slick coating his cock, his thighs, the bed beneath you both. The sound of him inside you—flesh slapping flesh, the obscene squelch of every thrust—filled the chamber louder than the fire crackling at your side.
He groaned—loudly—his head dropping low as he watched himself disappear into you again and again, jaw clenched so tight it looked like pain.
He groaned like you’d struck him in the gut, his head snapping up, gold hair sticking to his sweat-drenched brow.
“It’s just you,” he growled. “Only you—gods, my wife—my sweet river girl.”
He bent low, lips finding yours, kissing you hard as he fucked you harder. One hand still braced on the headboard, the other still locked tight around your thigh, holding you in place as he drilled into you with fevered, soaking thrusts. You could hear how wet you were for him—hear it every time his cock slammed back in, thick and heavy, stretching you until your toes curled.
He was trembling now, breath stuttering, voice broken with need.
“So close—so fucking close—gods, tell me you want it—tell me you want me to fill you.”
You nodded fast, clutching at him, gasping against his lips. “I want it—I want you. Give it to me, Jaime—please—please.”
Jaime was shaking above you now—truly shaking, his muscles flexed and locked as he thrust into you with desperate, brutal rhythm, like every inch inside you dragged him closer to the edge of sanity. His hand stayed clenched around the headboard, the wood creaking with each slam of his hips, while the other hand gripped your thigh so tightly your skin ached. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, even as sweat dripped from his temples, even as his jaw tensed like he was in pain from holding back.
“Fuck—fuck, I can’t—” he groaned, his voice breaking into something feral.
“Don’t stop,” you whimpered, back arching, your hands clawing at his waist, at his arms, at anything. “Jaime—please—please give it to me.”
That ruined him.
“Gods,” he gasped, voice raw, wrecked. “You want it? My wife—my sweet, wet little thing—beg me.”
“I’m begging,” you sobbed, your thighs trembling, your body soaked and aching from how deep he was buried. “I want you—I want all of it—please, inside—inside me, Jaime—please—please—”
He slammed into you hard, once, twice, then froze.
And then he broke.
His whole body locked above you, his abs tightening, his teeth bared as the first hot, violent spurt of his release spilled into you. He growled—the sound harsh and stunned—like it hurt to finally let go. His cock jerked inside you, pulse after pulse, pumping you full, soaking you from the inside out as your walls clenched and fluttered around him, milking every last drop of him.
“Fuck—oh fuck—” he choked, trembling through it, voice high, nearly frantic. “So good—so good—I’ve never—never—gods, I can feel it.”
You moaned beneath him, body curling into his, your cunt so sensitive, so wet from everything he gave you that you could feel his seed leak out before he’d even stopped moving.
But he wasn’t done.
He kept thrusting—slow, now—shallow and filthy, pushing his cum deeper inside you, hips still twitching as his body rode the last waves of his climax.
“You wanted this,” he panted, pressing his forehead to yours. “You took it so well—so greedy for it—gods, I don’t want to pull out.”
“Then don’t,” you whispered, your voice soft and ruined. “Stay in me. Fill me again.”
He kissed you—open-mouthed, messy, desperate—and nodded.
“I’ll give you everything,” he whispered against your lips. “Everything.”
───── ♛ ─── ⚔️ Lannister ⚔️ ───── ♛ ────
The night crept in slow and heavy, the fire in the hearth reduced to a bed of glowing coals. Shadows danced faintly across the walls of the wedding chamber, long and soft, curling like tendrils across the stone. The air smelled of sweat and sex and sweet rose oil—the scent of a marriage not only sealed, but consumed.
You lay sprawled atop him, your cheek against his chest, his arm draped around your waist with the lazy weight of a man too exhausted to pretend anymore. His hand rested just above the curve of your hip, fingers twitching now and then, as if even in sleep he refused to let go of you. His other hand was tangled in your hair, thumb stroking absently over your scalp. Jaime’s breath was slow. Deep. Peaceful.
Neither of you stirred when the chamber door cracked open.
Cersei moved like a ghost. Silent. Cloaked in black. She had waited for hours. Waited until the moon was high, until the maester had finished his whispers and returned to the Keep, until the guards had yawned and shifted, their attention dulled by late hour and too much wine. She’d spoken to the maidens, all of them. Each said the same thing.
He never left.
She had demanded truth from the steward. From the servants who passed the chamber door. One claimed she’d heard laughter—low and warm—and then quiet murmurs, like lovers breathing each other in.
Now, here she stood. At the edge of the bed.
Watching.
Your red hair spilled like wine across Jaime’s bare chest, one of your legs curled possessively over his. The covers had fallen to his hips, revealing the flush of his skin, the shine of dried sweat still lingering across his abdomen. The mark of you.
Cersei didn’t blink. Her jaw clenched.
You looked soft in sleep. Disarmed. Not like the clever, smiling thing that had teased him in the hall or bowed so sweetly when she asked to cut in. No. Now you looked his. And worse still—he looked yours.
His arm was wrapped around you like instinct. Not habit. Not performance.
“You fool,” she whispered, so quiet it barely left her lips. “You gave yourself away.”
She didn’t cry. Not yet. She only stared.
Because for all the things she’d feared… nothing had prepared her for this. For the way Jaime held you in his sleep. Like you were peace. Like you were home.
───── ♛ ─── ⚔️ Lannister ⚔️ ───── ♛ ────
You quickened faster than anyone expected.
The court had only just settled into the comfort of your union when whispers began to spread like ivy between pillars. At first, it was idle talk—sidelong glances at your fuller face, murmurs about how often Ser Jaime’s hand rested at the small of your back, the way his eyes trailed you when you left the room. But by the end of the second moon, the whispers grew teeth. By the third, your gowns—once effortlessly elegant—had begun to shift, your corsets laced looser, your silhouette softening in ways no feast could explain. By the fourth moon, it was undeniable: Lady Lannister was with child.
And Cersei Lannister hated you for it.
She hated you with a venom that festered behind her smile, behind every forced curtsy and every cordial greeting. She watched you across the great hall with wine in her hand and acid in her throat. Watched the way Jaime drifted toward you like gravity itself bent for your comfort. Watched how your hands found his without needing to search. How you smiled up at him, and he smiled down. Always down—softly, privately, like no one else was in the room.
She saw the way his hand slipped around your waist as you walked, how his thumb sometimes brushed over the small swell of your belly like he was trying to remember it, trying to feel the child even before it moved. She watched the way he kissed your temple, your cheek, your hair, in moments no one else seemed to notice—but she did. She always noticed.
It wasn’t just the touch. It wasn’t just the tenderness.
It was the quiet. She could live with passion. She knew how to match fire with fire. But what you and Jaime shared was worse—it was peaceful. It was domestic. It was real.
And then came the moment that undid her.
You were seated together, not even touching—just speaking in low voices, Jaime’s golden head bowed slightly toward yours. You laughed gently, tilting your head with that same unbearable grace you carried everywhere.
“Fisherman Tully,” you teased, a whisper she heard clear as bells. “Still no beard. Still no boat. I suppose I’ll have to keep you.”
Jaime’s smile bloomed slow and warm. He reached for you, fingers cupping your face like it was made of something delicate and rare. His thumb stroked your cheekbone, and he leaned forward until your brows nearly touched.
“Gods help me,” he said, “but I would fish for you.” You flushed, glowing like hearthlight.
Cersei flinched. Physically. She felt it—sharp and hot in her chest, like a brand pressed beneath her ribs.
She turned away quickly, biting down on her wine cup so hard her lip bled. The worst part? You weren’t trying. You weren’t flaunting anything. You were simply… loved. Gently, openly, and without need for performance. She had been everything to him once. And now she was nothing more than his sister.
───── ♛ ─── ⚔️ Lannister ⚔️ ───── ♛ ────
It was eight moons into your marriage, and you were round with child—visibly, proudly, undeniably his. Your walk had slowed, your steps heavy with life, but none of that stopped him. Not when you looked at him the way you did. Not when your voice dipped low and teasing, when your fingers brushed his wrist at supper, when you whispered something sweet behind your cup and he smiled like a man undone.
That night, you didn’t make it to the wedding chambers. You barely made it past the corridor.
Cersei had turned a corner in time to see it all—the two of you tangled against the stone wall, just past the curve of the gallery arch, torchlight flickering against golden armor and sapphire silk. Jaime’s hands were on you already—everywhere—gripping beneath your thighs, lifting you as if your swollen belly weighed nothing at all. Your skirts were bunched up around your hips, your legs wrapped tight around his waist, his mouth crushed to yours in a kiss so hungry it bordered on violence.
She froze.
You moaned into his mouth, breathless and soft, and his groan followed—low, guttural, wrecked.
“I couldn’t wait—fuck, I couldn’t wait,” he gasped, pinning you harder against the wall, grinding into you, still fully clothed but undone just enough to thrust deep inside you with wet, obscene sounds that echoed off the stone.
“Jaime—gods, Jaime,” you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders, head thrown back as he buried himself again. “You shouldn’t—someone could see—”
“Let them,” he grunted. “Let them see you like this. Round with my child, moaning for me, taking me like you were made for it.”
Cersei couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Her heart slammed in her chest as she stood in the shadows—watching.
You gasped when he shifted, lifting you higher, your hands flying to his hair as he thrust up into you, messy and deep, the wet sounds between your bodies so lewd, so filthy, it felt like a spell had been cast in the corridor.
“When you have this one,” he groaned against your neck, “my firstborn—you’ll give me another. Gods, I don’t care what it is. Boy, girl—doesn’t matter. Just as long as it’s ours.”
You sobbed softly, legs trembling around his hips.
“You’ll give me three,” he growled. “Four. Fill this keep with little lions that look like you.”
His hand slid to your belly as he fucked you against the stone, reverent and obsessed, his moans growing louder with every thrust, every squeeze of your soaked walls around him. And Cersei—Cersei—stood there hearing it all.
Her fingers shook at her sides. Her mouth opened, but nothing came. Because he already had three children—her children. A son with her jaw. Another with her smile. A daughter named for a dead woman he never even loved.
And he had never said those words to her. Not once.
Not when Joffrey was born. Not when Myrcella wrapped her tiny fingers around his. Not even when Tommen cried in his arms.
“My wife,” he moaned into your mouth. “My sweet river girl.”
Cersei turned away, tears burning, rage swallowing her whole. She needs control, she needed him back.
The next morning came slow and gray, with a hush over the Keep as though the stones themselves were holding their breath.
Cersei waited in the covered walk outside the training yard, where the sun barely touched the stone. She wore no crown, no paint on her lips—only fur draped over her shoulders and her golden hair braided back from her face the way she wore it when she wanted to be disarming. A picture of softness. The illusion of warmth. But there was cold behind her eyes.
She had sent for him before breakfast, a single note with no seal. Jaime had hesitated, standing at the window with the parchment still open in his hand, your body asleep in the bed behind him, belly round beneath furs and sunlight. He didn’t want to leave. But old habits—old loyalties—dragged him from the room.
He found her as she always was when she meant to twist him—silent, poised, patient.
“You look tired,” Cersei said quietly as he approached. Her voice was gentle, too much so. “Is the little trout keeping you up?”
He said nothing at first, just clenched his jaw and stepped into the shadowed arch with her.
“She stirs often,” he said at last. “The child moves a great deal.”
“Hmm,” Cersei hummed, her eyes trailing to his chest, where the collar of his tunic was still crooked from your hands. “That happens in the late moons. They grow restless. Kicking. Turning. Demanding.”
She stepped closer. He didn’t move.
“Has she ever tended a newborn?” she asked, voice light. “Has she seen one gasp for breath with blood still wet between its legs? Or does she think it will arrive sweet and silent, cooing like the doves in her window?”
He glanced at her, a flicker of warning in his eyes. “Why are you saying this?”
Cersei smiled, slow and tired. “Because I remember what it cost to be a mother. You forget. You weren’t there.”
“I wanted to be,” he said.
“And yet you weren’t.”
That silence stretched between them like a blade. She circled him slowly, fingers brushing his arm, his shoulder—touches she used to command him with. He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t lean in.
“You were never made for this, Jaime,” she murmured. “Not for quiet. Not for softness. You are steel. You were born with a sword in your hand and a war in your name.”
He looked away.
“She’ll find out what you are,” Cersei continued, voice like honey and ash. “Not a father. Not a husband. Just a lion with his claws clipped, trying to play house with a girl who dreams of rivers and names her belly love.”
Jaime said nothing. He stared past her. Until her voice lowered, sharper now, closer.
“Will she still smile when she sees what you’ve done? Will she call you Fisherman Tully when the blood runs dry in her sheets and the babe’s cries don’t stop for nights on end? Will she laugh when your patience fails?”
He turned then, something shifting in his face, but before he could speak— A voice echoed down the corridor.
“Oh! My fish!”
Jaime froze. His body turned instinctively toward the sound, and Cersei’s hand slipped from his arm like it had never belonged there at all.
You stood at the far end of the hall, wrapped in a simple cloak, your hair half-braided, loose strands curling around your cheeks. You moved slowly, carefully, but your smile—your smile was bright enough to chase away the fog of her voice.
“I thought you were at Robert’s door,” you said, breathless from the walk. “I missed you, I hate waking up without you.”
You waddled forward with one hand cradling your belly, the other reaching for him. Jaime met you halfway. Without thinking. Without hesitation. His hand slid around your waist, his lips brushed your temple, and his other hand instinctively covered the swell of your stomach like it belonged there.
Cersei watched it all, silent. Stone.
“What’s wrong?” you whispered up at him, your palm resting over his heart.
He exhaled slowly, then smiled—small and broken and true.
“Nothing, my river girl,” he murmured. “Just spoke with my sister. She always knows how to damper a mood.”
You tilted your head and chuckled gently. “That is what siblings are for. Edmure would purposely ruin my mood before my favorite meal.” You giggled.
You pressed your face against his chest, and he kissed the top of your head like he couldn’t bear to let go. Cersei turned then, the hem of her cloak snapping as she walked away—not fast, but hollow.
She had three children by him. She had given him a dynasty in secret. But you? You had his peace.
───── ♛ ─── ⚔️ Lannister ⚔️ ───── ♛ ────
The moons passed faster than anyone could hold them.
Your daughter—Elia Lannister—was born just after dawn on a morning soaked in gold. The air had been warm that day, and the bells had rung not for death, but for life. A bright, shining life. The halls of the Red Keep had swelled with laughter, the scent of lavender still clinging to your skin, Jaime’s joy so radiant that even the oldest servants said they hadn’t seen him smile like that since he was a boy.
She was beautiful from the moment she was placed on your chest. Dark strawberry-blonde hair, soft as down, skin warm and flushed, her little eyes squinting up at the light as if even the world dared not blind her. She was loud, too—cried fiercely when she didn’t like the cold water or the way her father took too long to bundle her. But in your arms, she softened. And in Jaime’s arms, she shined.
He named her himself.
“Elia,” he whispered, holding her so carefully, his hand cradling her entire back. “Elia Lannister.”
You had blinked in surprise, but when you looked at his face—at the guilt and softness and something mournful buried beneath the pride—you said nothing. You only kissed his cheek and said,
“Then Elia she is.”
The first moon after her birth passed in warmth and quiet joy. You healed slowly, the maester pleased with your progress, your appetite returning, your sleep only interrupted by Elia’s whimpers in the night. Jaime was often there, even when he had duties. He’d return to find her in your arms, asleep against your breast, and he’d kneel beside the bed just to press his lips to her hair.
“You’ve made me into something else,” he whispered to you once, late at night, when the fire had burned low. “Something I never thought I could be.”
But peace in the Red Keep never lasted long.
In the second moon, the winds shifted.
Whispers crept through the corridors—nothing certain, nothing official. Then came the messenger ravens from the Vale, then the locked doors, the urgent meetings. Then came the silence.
Jaime was called away more frequently. He never told you much when he returned, only that the King was restless, that Cersei had taken to pacing the halls again at night, that something was coming. And still, you tried to keep your world small. Focused. Your child. Your husband. The sound of Elia’s breathing as she napped on your chest. The smell of pine oil and old wood in the nursery.
Then, near the end of the second moon—
The bells rang again.
But not for life this time.
Not for joy.
They rang for death.
Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, Warden of the East, was dead.
The announcement echoed through the Keep with a force that made the tapestries tremble. You had just laid Elia down in her crib when the thunderous chime struck, and you felt it in your chest before you even heard the words.
Jaime came to you that night with his jaw tight, his eyes unreadable.
He looked older than he had the day before.
“He’s dead,” he said simply.
You sat on the edge of the bed, still in your nightdress, your hair braided loosely down your back. Elia stirred in the cradle, but did not cry.
“So it begins,” you whispered. And it did.
Everything moved quickly after that. Too quickly. Faster than a new mother could bear. Faster than a husband could stand.
Robert demanded a feast. He demanded new banners be sewn. He demanded Ned Stark. The North was to send its wolf to court.
And Jaime? Jaime didn’t leave your side that night. Not once. “The world is spinning,” he said, lying beside you, his hand on your belly where Elia once rested.
───── ♛ ─── ⚔️ Lannister ⚔️ ───── ♛ ────
The corridor outside your chambers had barely gone silent when Jaime threw the door open without knocking. He was seething, jaw clenched, fists tight at his sides from the moment Robert left the council room. His words echoing,
“Congratulations on your babe,” Robert had said, voice booming with false warmth, “even though our congratulations are short-lived. I need you to travel north with me. We leave at the turn of the first moon.”
It wasn’t a request. It was a command. And Jaime had no say in the matter.
By the time he reached your chambers, the wet nurse had taken Elia for her night feeding. You hated the arrangement, loathed the distance, but Jaime had begged you to rest. Promised it would only be for a few nights. Promised he’d be near.
Now, he was.
The door shut hard behind him. Jaime kicked off his boots like a man starved of gentleness and made his way to your bed, where you’d just begun to drift into the first real sleep you’d had in days.
“Jaime?” you stirred softly.
He didn’t answer—not with words. He climbed into bed and reached for you with a need that bordered on desperation, mouth already pressing against yours, hard and fast.
“My fish—” you tried to speak, but he kissed you again, deeper this time. His hands were warm and trembling slightly as they cupped your face.
“I’ve been deprived,” he groaned against your mouth, every word drenched in want. “The maester said you’ve healed. Tell me. Tell me you want me. Tell me I have permission to enter you…to feel you.”
His forehead rested against yours, breaths tangled, golden hair brushing your cheek. There was something unsteady in his voice, like he was trying not to fall apart.
“Of course you do,” you whispered, fingers threading into his hair.
But before the sentence could finish, he kissed you again—hungrier now. Mouth slanted over yours, swallowing every word, every breath. His hands roamed slowly, reverently, like he was rediscovering you inch by inch.
“I need you,” he murmured, voice breaking as his lips traced along your jaw. “Before they take me from this. From you. From the only thing that’s ever felt like home.”
You felt the weight of it then—not just lust, not just need. It was grief for the time you wouldn’t have. Fury that Robert was stealing him away, that duty still dragged him by the throat. And love. Gods, so much love it hurt to breathe through it. “What’s going on Jamie?” You whispered
Your legs tangled beneath the sheets as you pulled him closer.
The breath he let out—gutted, raw—hitched in his throat like it hurt to hold it. Jaime buried his face in your neck, his weight sinking down over you, one hand braced above your head on the carved wood of the bed, the other sliding beneath your thigh to hitch it up around his hip.
He wasn’t patient tonight.
His movements were frantic, but reverent. The kind of aching that only came from nights spent watching, waiting, too afraid to touch you while you healed, while your body ached from the beauty you brought into the world. Now, he had you—cleared by the maester, no longer fragile in the ways that had terrified him.
“Mine,” he whispered into your skin, dragging his mouth down your neck like a man who’d been parched for moons. “You’re mine—gods, tell me—say it.”
Your hand twisted in his hair, pulling gently. “Yours. Always yours.”
That broke something in him.
He groaned so softly it sounded like prayer, hips rolling as he found you again for the first time in weeks. The stretch drew a gasp from your throat, your spine arching under him. He cursed under his breath, forehead pressing to yours as he held still, just for a moment, trembling.
“Gods, you’re still so—” He couldn’t finish the sentence, only whimpered against your lips as your name fell from him like a sin.
You kissed him through it. Softly. Desperately. He tasted like longing, like a man running out of time.
He moved with aching tenderness at first—hips rocking, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing you. Then faster. Messier. His grip on your thigh tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he pushed deeper, overwhelmed by the sounds you made, the way your hand slid down to feel where your bodies joined.
“Don’t—don’t do that,” he breathed, jaw clenched, voice shaking. “I’ll—gods, I’ll lose it.”
You smiled, breathless. “Then lose it. You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
He kissed you again, but this time he broke apart mid-kiss, the rhythm of his hips faltering.
“Say it again,” he gasped, panting into your mouth. “That I’m not going anywhere. That I can stay here. With you. That you love me.”
“I love you,” you said between the thrusts, each one deeper than the last. “I love you, Jaime. I love you—I’ll wait for you, but gods, I wish they didn’t have to take you.”
He moaned so loudly at that, shameless and desperate, his fingers curling into the headboard as he held himself above you. “I’ll give you another,” he gasped, mouth at your ear. “Another child, I swear it—Elia won’t be the only one—”
Fucking gods—” he groaned into your mouth, voice hoarse and broken. “Missed you—missed this—missed you, my sweet girl, my fish—”
You whimpered into him, nails dragging down his back as he pressed you into the mattress, pace already desperate. He couldn’t hold still. Couldn’t think. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your breast, your thigh slung high around his hip as he ground deep, chasing that ache that had haunted him every night he lay alone in his chambers.
“Say it,” he gasped. “Say you missed me. Say you’re mine.”
“I missed you,” you whispered between moans, lips swollen, eyes wet. “I’m yours, Jaime—I’ve always been yours.”
His groan cracked in his throat. He kissed you too hard, too fast, teeth knocking together before he dragged his mouth down to your jaw, your neck, sucking until you gasped and clung to him tighter. Every thrust was sloppy, hungry, his forehead pressed against yours as he rutted into you like a man starving.
“Come with me,” he begged, voice shaking. “To the North—fuck—I’ll take you with me, Elia too, we’ll ride behind Robert—I’ll get a carriage, I’ll—gods, please.”
“Jaime—” you tried, but he didn’t let you finish.
“You hate the wet nurse,” he groaned, dragging his hand between your bodies to thumb at your clit. “And I can’t sleep without you, I—need you.”
You were pulsing around him now, your walls fluttering tight. He felt it, nearly collapsed from it.
“Say yes,” he moaned, losing all rhythm. “Say yes, fuck, please—I’ll keep you warm, I’ll build you a bath from snow and rocks if I have to, just—just don’t stay behind.”
Your lips trembled. “I’m scared to travel with her so young.”
“Then let me carry her. I’ll do it all—fuck, I’ll wear her on my chest like a milkmaid if it means you’ll come. Just don’t—don’t leave me here like this.”
He was close, so close, fucking into you like he could drag the answer from your body. You clung to him, kissed him, moaned his name with every breath.
“Please come,” he whispered, his voice breaking, his mouth crushed to your cheek. “I can’t leave without you.”
That was when you tightened, crying out his name as the pleasure crashed over you—hot and helpless, thighs trembling around his hips as he pushed as deep as he could and spilled into you with a moan that nearly broke you in two.
He didn’t move after. Just held you there, buried inside, shaking from the force of it.
“I’ll ask Robert,” he whispered, breathless. “I’ll beg him if I have to.”
Your hands brushed his hair back. Your legs were around his waist, ankles crossed behind him as he drove into you with rough, trembling thrusts. He was everywhere—breath on your neck, hand fisting the headboard, the other holding your thigh so tight it’d bruise. The bed creaked loud, rhythm uneven, like he’d been denied for years not weeks.
“Say yes,” he groaned again, panting into your shoulder. “Say you’ll come north with me—say it—please gods say it—”
Your fingers threaded through his hair, dragging him closer as your hips tilted up to meet every thrust.
“I—Jaime—” you gasped, words caught on a moan as his cock hit deep, too deep, just the way you liked.
“Say it,” he begged again, voice cracking. “You—you’re mine, not Robert’s court, not this castle—me. Come with me. Let me keep you close—fuck—I can’t breathe without you.”
He was shaking. Desperate. The wet sounds of your bodies filled the room, your slick soaking his cock as he rutted harder, rougher, hips slapping into you with no grace left. Just need.
“I’ll build a tent,” he whispered wildly, biting your jaw. “A whole fucking tower of snow if I have to, just—say you’ll come. I’ll take Elia. I’ll guard you both with my fucking life, I swear it—”
“Yes,” you gasped, eyes fluttering shut. “Yes, I’ll go—Jaime—I’ll go with you—gods, don’t stop—” He groaned like a wounded animal. Everything in him buckled.
“Fuck, fuck, my girl,” he choked, kissing you like he was drowning, thrusts suddenly frantic, pace ruined. “You’ll come with me—you’ll stay with me—say it again—”
“Yes—yes—I said yes!” you sobbed against his lips, legs shaking as he drove you toward the edge.
“That’s it, that’s my good girl—fuck—my wife, my fucking wife—” You fell apart with a cry, pulsing so hard around him he nearly collapsed, fucking through your high with curses and whimpers. He didn’t last another second. “Mine—mine—mine,” he moaned, voice low and broken as he spilled into you with a sob, burying himself as deep as he could go. “You’re coming with me, sweet girl—you’re mine.”
When it was done, he didn’t move. Just lay there shaking, still inside you, whispering your name over and over.
“I’ll tell Robert tomorrow,” he said against your neck. “You’re coming with me. Our daughter too. We ride north… as a family.”
Your thighs still trembled as you curled against him, breath hot against his chest, one hand draped lazily over his heart. His seed still inside you, sticky and warm, a mess neither of you cared to clean yet. His body hadn’t moved far, still draped half over yours like he was afraid you might disappear if he gave you space.
“When do we leave?” you murmured, voice hoarse and soft, edged with the ache of being stretched for the first time in moons.
He sighed, almost guiltily, as he brushed sweat-slick hair from your cheek.
“A moon. Maybe two.” His voice was low, gentle now that the desperation had passed. “Preparing to ride north is no easy feat. Horses, wagons, guards—it’ll take five weeks just to reach Winterfell.”
You shifted under him, heart skipping, and he saw it in your eyes. The flicker of doubt, the ache of new motherhood, the fear of leaving the only home you’ve known—of dragging a baby through snow and dirt and gods-know-what. Your face faltered, just a little.
And he panicked.
“No—my girl,” he said quickly, voice breaking as he cupped your face again, kissed your lips like a promise. “Don’t take it back. Don’t let fear ruin what we just—don’t, please—”
You blinked, but he kept going, nose brushing yours, thumb dragging across your bottom lip.
“It’ll be comfortable. I swear it. I’ll make it so. You won’t lift a finger. I’ll get a nurse for Elia, extra cloaks, furs, a litter if I have to carry you both like queens.” He kissed you again. “You’ll have your own tent, with a fire. With blankets. With me. I’ll keep you warm. I’ll keep you safe.”
“Jaime—”
“No more courts. No more hiding. I want to fall asleep with you every night and wake up to Elia’s cry. I want to sit by a fire and brush your hair. I want to be a father in front of the world and call you mine without shame.”
Your fingers curled against his jaw.
“You’ll hate the cold,” you whispered, smiling faintly.
“I’d eat snow if it meant I could have you beside me.” He kissed your forehead, a different kind of reverent now. “Just… don’t leave me there. Don’t let them take you from me.”
You leaned up, kissing him slow and certain.
“I already said yes, didn’t I?” His eyes shut like that yes was a prayer.
───── ♛ ─── ⚔️ Lannister ⚔️ ───── ♛ ────
The morning air clung soft and cool against the stone corridors, the hush of a castle slowly waking. You stood in the sun-drenched gallery near the window alcove, swaying gently with your babe in your arms—little Elia curled against your chest, drowsy from her morning feed, her fingers clutching your gown with milky satisfaction. You hummed under your breath, a river song your father used to sing on storm-heavy nights.
Your other hand rested low on your belly, already heavy with your second child.
A moon ago, you’d begun to swell again. Three moons after birthing Elia, and the gods had quickened you once more—much to the shock of the midwives and the rage that roiled behind Cersei’s perfect smile. You’d hardly left the birthing bed before Jaime had put another child in you. And it showed.
Your cheeks glowed, your skin dewed with that soft fullness that came with being wanted, kept, loved. Every corner of you was bloomed and softened. Jaime hadn’t stopped touching you since.
Tyrion, leaning on the edge of a carved table, raised his goblet with a smirk. “You know, you’re becoming quite the legend in court. Some say you’re carrying the fourth lion already. Others say you’re a witch who’s bewitched my brother.”
You smiled over Elia’s curls. “Only a fool would believe it took witchcraft. I simply loved him. That was enough.”
Tyrion hummed and toasted your honesty. “And he worships you for it. That’s rarer than magic in this place.”
From the far end of the gallery, Jaime stood listening—half-shadowed, arms crossed, his eyes not on Tyrion but you. The way you leaned into the light. The way your smile bloomed just for his brother. He trusted you, but still, something curled hot and green in his gut.
“Talking to our brother again?” Cersei’s voice cut like a blade. She’d come from the other hall, her steps soft as a snake. “You’ll see her old lover soon enough.”
Jaime didn’t look at her.
“She loved him to death,” Cersei continued, soft, serpentine. “Benjen Stark. The one who took the Black. She cried when he took the oath. I remember—gods, the way she wept.”
He finally turned. “Stop.”
She smiled, too wide. “What? You’ve knocked her up again—twice in one year, Jaime. Shouldn’t you know who you’re breeding with? Or would you rather be surprised if the next one’s born with Northern eyes?”
His jaw clenched. Across the room, your laugh floated up at something Tyrion had said, and Elia cooed.
“You’re vile,” Jaime said low.
“She’s a Tully,” Cersei hissed. “They drown in emotion. You think she’s forgotten him?”
But her words melted away when you looked over your shoulder, catching Jaime’s eye. Your smile was soft, tired, glowing. You mouthed something to him.
“Come”
He was already moving before Cersei even blinked.
He left her there, fuming behind her perfect hair, her hands clenched so tight the knuckles went white. She needed him back, she needed him to see that it was only her.
YAY, YOU'RE BACK TO WRITING FOR ARCANE. How would the arcane characters react (mainly vi, ekko, and jinx because i would marry, marry, and marry them all!!) to a reader who is sooo affectionate and finds every last thing they do so cute they get cuteness aggression and just jump at them like a cuddle bug often? thank you so much!!
A/N: Am I the only one who wants to snuggle into Caitlyn? Ugh, I love her so much.
Powder/Jinx
“Oh! Hey there, sugar! You want to cuddle? Don’t have to ask me twice! I’ll cuddle you so much that you get tired of me! But you’d never get tired of me, right?”
Jinx is a super clingy person, so for you to be as clingy as her it’s like you two are a match made in heaven. There’s barely any time that passes when you two are not touching each other and she lives for your cuddles. It doesn’t matter if you hug her out of nowhere or she sees you about to embrace her, she is stopping everything she is doing and pulling you into the tightest of hugs.
Most of the time if she isn’t causing mayhem in the streets of Zaun or busy with her inventions, she will spend her time just holding you so close and showering your face with the cutest but most childish of kisses. She doesn’t care if it’s in private or public, she will make it known that you two can’t keep your hands off each other. You are her cuddlebug and she is yours and that won’t ever change.
Violet “Vi”
“Woah there, cuddle bug! You’re gonna make me screw up my workout… Oh forget it. How can I say no to you?”
Because Violet is absolutely touch starved, she will never decline your cuddles, even if you take her by surprise a few times with how you hug her so suddenly. She finds it adorable how you fangirl around her and find everything she does to be awesome or cute. Granted she does wish you’d call her hot or sexy, but knows that isn’t really in tune with your personality.
Regardless, she tries to make sure you know how adorable you are, always telling you while you two are cuddled up together how lucky she is to have you and how you are so adorable. Even when you visit her at work, she’ll try to drop everything and have you run into her arms to pick you up. And every time she’s got time off work or is coming back from a job, she’s automatically looking for you so she could hook you in her arms and never let go.
Ekko
“Y/N, haha! You know we gotta keep this private, babe- The kids are gonna pounce on us any second now!”
Does Ekko love hugging you? Absolutely. The warmth of your arms around his body makes him stop everything he’s doing and just hug you while calling you his firelight or firefly. Unless he’s calling you an angel or lovebug, which never fails to make Scar either look at you two in awe or roll their eyes in mock annoyance. Unfortunately, Ekko does try his best to make sure you two don’t get super affectionate around the children, especially when it comes to hugs.
Why? Because as soon as you hug him, the children find this as an invitation to gather around him and have him nearly die under a cuteness overload of a group hug. It’s nice as a once in a while occurrence, but all the time? Maybe not. Outside of the reactions you two garnish and even the teasing of you being the firelight king/queen, Ekko lives for your cuddlebug energy, wanting to be in your arms after a long day’s work. It’s always the best way to end the night…
Caitlyn Kiramman
“And that’s why if I am able to block this end of the road, I’ll- Oh!... Oh come here, sweetheart. If you wanted to cuddle so badly, you could’ve asked.”
Caitlyn has always been someone who was more subtle with her love, pulling you into brief kisses, cupping your cheek and holding you by your waist. She usually leaves the more out there gestures like hugging and cuddling for you to initiate. But when you do? It might be harder for you to get her off of you instead of the other way around. It can be at work, in her home, outside of work or at an event. As soon as she feels your arms wrap around her slender body, she’s stopping for a second to hold you back and kiss your forehead.
She will continue working if you interrupt her during a briefing or in the middle of cracking a case, but the entire time, she will have at least one arm around your body and make sure you are comfortable. Her comrades tease her about it and she’ll scowl a bit, but she doesn’t care. As far as she can tell, she’s extremely lucky to have you as a lover.
Viktor
“Ah! Oh, it is just you, zolotse. Remember, you have to warn me of these cute little hugs of yours.”
At first, Viktor wasn’t used to your physical affection and how you were in awe of everything he did. He actually thought you were mocking him at first or being silly. But after a while, especially when the two of you became a couple, he grew accustomed to your affections. He does get a bit startled when you hug him out of nowhere and he does have moments where you cheering him on does make him a bit bashful, but he enjoys your sweet gestures regardless.
He does find it difficult to be as outgoing with his love for you as you are with him, but he does try his best to make you realize he loves you, especially in the form of quality time and calling you by sweet pet names bound to make you blush. Viktor has a tendency to pass out from working too hard and waking up in your arms. And though he’d never say it out loud, you know based on the way he snuggles into you, he adores it and adores you.
Jayce Talis
“I know what you want and I want it too- So bring it in! I’ve waited all day to be in your arms!”
Because Jayce is always out at work, it’s kind of hard for you two to be around one another all the time. That’s why when he does reunite with you after hours or you two can be together on days off, he’s spending the majority of his free time with you or wrapped around you. He sort of craves for your praise and compliments as much as he craves your cuddles.
Many would compare the councilman to a needy dog wanting his owner’s undivided attention and he definitely gets that through you. Though he may try to act all cool or play coy, everyone knows that you mean so much to him and that he becomes putty around you. Even if they don’t, you’re not afraid to say it aloud. Just make sure Jayce isn’t around or that man will become redder than a beet.
Mel Medarda
“What’s wrong?... I know that look. You want to- Ah! Well looks like you beat me to the punch, darling. How about we take this to the bed, hmm?”
Mel wasn’t really given physical affection when she was younger. She was more someone who preferred verbal affection with words of affirmation. So when it came to you and how affectionate you are, she found herself adapting and loving physical affection as much as telling you how much she loved you.
Your cuddles and sweet gestures are her personal heaven she loves returning to after a long day’s work, especially if she can spend an evening with you platonically in your shared bed. In your arms, she feels she can air out anything that’s bothering her or interests her, especially when you admit how cute it is when she does. Though this kind of intimate affection is delegated to private quarters, anyone can know from the way Mel speaks of you outside of home and at events that you mean so much to her.
Sevika
“Yeah! So then I was like screw you, I can do whatever- Hold on. Uh, Y/N. I thought we agreed to not do this at work?”
Sevika is considered the Right Hand of Zaun, a woman who is feared if not respected by her peers. And she’d like to keep it that way. Which means that while you two are at work, she prefers it if you don’t cuddle her around co-workers and give them something to tease her about. You two can only flirt and kiss and even then, it has to be sexy…
But alone, when both of you are away from the public eye, Sevika is at your beck and call wishing for nothing else but to hear your sweet praises and melt into your arms and touch. Expect her to call you the cutest thing ever and tease you on occasion, but afterwards she’s basically a big needy cat, or as she prefers to be called, a panther. It’s moments like these where you can really consider yourself lucky to see a raw side of Sevika. And it was only preserved for you.
If you got any requests for Arcane or X-Men '97, send them my way!
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