GOT ➨ Game of Thrones One Shots

{S1} Bronn x Reader | Too Good To Ignore

A/N: on reflection I've realised that a lot of the time when describing reader outfits in GoT one-shots I have defaulted to dresses unless it's been specifically a masc request, but a few years of growth and I realise that is not very slay of me so I'm trying to be a lil bit more non-descript unless it's very specifically a Fem/Masc request. If you're willing, let me know what you think of the way I describe reader outfit/hair/frame etc! Feedback is very much appreciated <3

KEY: Y/T = Your title. Aka, Lord/Lady.

Sometimes being a mercenary meant good pay for a simple job- sometimes, it meant shit pay for the shittiest jobs around. Nonetheless, it was the only life you'd ever known and it often paid well enough to finance a fine feather bed beneath you after a night spent drinking caskets of dornish wine till your mouth was dry and red, and your head buzzed and thumped so much you could forget the guilt that the job wrought upon you.

You didn't care particularly for the jobs you were given- after working now for half your life in the trade you were picky about some contracts, sure. Your work was fine and carefully planned out, so it came for a good price- you couldn't give a rat's arse if a person had a damn good reason for not being able to afford your prices, you didn't do charity work. A life digging yourself out of the shit-piles of flea-bottom had taught you the importance of looking after #1, and you convinced yourself nightly you deserved every pile of gold that came your way and nobody else could take the good life you built from yourself away.

You were renowned for being agile with a blade and quick-firing with a bow in hand, but the thing you were known for the most was your slyer work. You may as well be a contracted spy the amount of recon and stealing you were paid to do at this point- and the little scrap of conscience in you was quite glad of it too. Less butchering innocent men in the trade of thievery, so long as you didn't get caught.

The job you received on the day of King Robert's tournament was of this nature- you had been hired by a contractor you had never worked for before but had been given high regard by many of your other employers to steal some papers from the tent of a Tyrell Knight who would be jousting later that day, and present the evidence to whomever it would anger the most- a chaotic job for sure, and a rather cryptic one since you were given no clue as to what about these papers was so scandalous that it would cause mayhem, nor whom it would cause such mayhem for.

In fact, you almost refused- but the pre-payment was twice the amount you normally got for a job, so when you left the nook under the bridge you met the contractor at and swung back your hood, shaking out your silky H/C hair, you told yourself the number one rule that had kept you alive for so long in this line of work: Don't ask, just do.

It wasn't hard for you to wander about the tents without notice- years of earning had afforded you many disguises of plain sight, so you didn't even need to be a good liar to slowly gander about the Tyrell's tents. In typical Highgarden fashion you donned a beautiful emerald green and gold-laced outfit, which was not only threadbare thin and short sleeved but also had sharp cut-outs in the shoulders that reached alluringly towards your chest. The clothes fluttered lightly in the wind and fit your frame gracefully as you passed noble after noble, and you became the object of desire for many lords and ladies, stable-hands and handmaidens as you floated passed.

It made you want to gag more than gutting a pig would.

Despite the rich silks that made up your outfit, you still amended it for subtle practicality- a black leather corset with golden flowers stitched in looked like a wonderful contrast to the pretty cloth that surrounded it, but acted as a steadfast bit of armour should you need it. The Riding boots complemented the corset but were really a light-footed and practical shoe to dodge, weave, sneak around and escape pursuit in- the flowing sage shawl that hung from your back concealed a double sheath that sat beneath it, guarding valyrian steel daggers that had seen you through since they day you bought them years ago.