Imagines based on characters from the Game of Thrones TV show ♥
- Jon Snow, Robb Stark, Jaime Lannister, Theon Greyjoy, Ramsay Bolton, Tyrion Lannister, Petyr Baelish, Bronn Blackwater, Jorah Mormont, Sandor Clegane, Gendry Baratheon, Oberyn Martell...
This ain't for the best my reputation's never been worse, so you must like me for me we can't make any promises now, can we, babe, but you can make me a drink.
He possessed an undeniable charm, his mastery of the sword rivalled only by his striking, almost divine, handsomeness.
Known far and wide as the infamous kingslayer, our fates were entwined after I was accused of murdering Renly Baratheon, the self-proclaimed king. Brienne's sword hovered menacingly as she confronted me, demanding answers amidst the weight of our tarnished reputations.
"Should I not kill you now?" Brienne's inquiry hung in the air, and I reassured her, my voice steady despite the treasonous accusations. "The death of Renly did not come at my hands."
Unexpectedly, a voice intervened, challenging Brienne's suspicions. "I don't believe she did it," he asserted, his gaze locked onto mine. Though a formidable fighter, I couldn't escape Brienne's scepticism. "You're one to talk, kingslayer," she retorted, her words cutting through the charged atmosphere.
With a nod, Brienne granted me a temporary reprieve, driven by an oath she had sworn, though I felt there was history between the two that ignited such blind trust.
As she sheathed her sword and mounted her horse, gratitude spilt from my lips, and my breath released in relief. "Thank you," I uttered, and he responded, "It's my pleasure," his eyes lingered on me as I felt his scrutiny, assessing my every move and breath.
In his mind, thoughts swirled, captivated not by the accusations but by an undeniable attraction. My presence, demeanour, and words had left an indelible mark, eclipsing the shadow of the allegations. To him, what he had seen, heard, and done before overshadowed the gravity of the accusations against me.
Dive bar on the East Side, where you at? Phone lights up my nightstand in the black come here, you can meet me in the back, dark jeans and your Nikes, look at you oh damn, never seen that colour blue just think of the fun things we could do.
—————
Sometimes I wonder, when you sleep, are you ever dreaming of me? Sometimes when I look into your eyes I pretend you're mine all the damn time.
A week later, as we continued our journey together, the road stretched out before us, and each passing day seemed to deepen the bond forged in the crucible of accusations and survival. The night found us resting by a crackling campfire, its warm glow dancing across our faces, shadows playing on the canvas of the night.
Amidst the quietude, I sensed his gaze lingering on me, and when I looked up, I found his eyes fixed upon my face. The flickering firelight illuminated the lines of his expression, revealing a contemplative intensity. It was then that I decided to address the unspoken observation that had lingered between us.
"You stare a lot," I remarked, a half-smile playing on my lips as I caught his gaze. His eyes, momentarily caught off guard, softened with a hint of amusement, acknowledging the truth in my observation.
A moment of silence hung between us, the crackling flames providing a subtle soundtrack his response was measured yet sincere, "Can't help it."
"Can't help it?" I repeated, the words slipping from my lips in a questioning tone. He responded with a subtle nod, confirming the flirtatious undercurrents that had been weaving through our interactions. "Ser Jaime, you are treading on dangerous waters," I warned, a glint of amusement sparkling in my eyes.
In a hushed tone, he admitted, "I've faced all sorts of dangers, but you seem to be the most captivating." It took just one more lingering look before the distance evaporated, and our lips collided in a rushed frenzy as if we had been deprived of each other for far too long.
My hand instinctively tugged at his hair, his own exploring the contours of my body with a fierce and dominating touch. The flames of the dying campfire cast dancing shadows, bearing silent witness to the passionate act unfolding.
In a matter of minutes, garments were discarded, and the crackling embers served as the only witnesses to the intimacy that unfolded beneath the starlit canvas of the night.
Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you're in my head? Cause I know that it's delicate. Is it cool that I said all that? Is it too soon to do this yet? Cause I know that it's delicate.
♥♥♥
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