#oc: sandor

[thousandbuns]

I set out to spitball about "toxic old man yaoi" dynamic between two of my Iron Warrior OCs based on a random thought I've had earlier today.

I end up doing that and also spitballing a partial rewrite/adjustment to the backstory of their whole warband to more accurately justify why a group fixated on "keeping true to the (pre-Heresy) roots" that disdains Chaos and the Warp can still include Heresy-era Astartes (who aren't entombed in a Dreadnought, abusing stasis or made several milennia worth of a time-leap during Warp transit) as late as M41 and accept recruits with hybrid geneseed. All so I can get to a hypothetical scene where an ancient, effectively half-mechanized Apothecary can bark "it's not like I trust you or anything, you Dornian mongrel" to an Imperial Fists successor-turned-Iron Warrior squad sergeant who's currently patiently cleaning out the tubes in his respirator (he's not even Apothecarion-trained, his presence is an oddly specific request from Lord Tasios).

[bloodstained-porcelain-doll]

Heel to her Master, ch. 1 - Sandor Clegane x reader

Read on AO3

Summary: The handmaiden finds him terrifying yet intriguing. The Hound finds her wildly attractive. He stakes his claim. Warnings: Eventual smut, dub con, public humiliation, bdsm, Master/pet dynamic

“A bear there was a bear, a bear… all black and brown and covered in hair!” The patrons at the tavern sang and laughed, clinking their cups of ale. The handmaiden laughed and danced along with the other ladies in the tavern, hooking their arms together and swinging their feet in unison to the song.

“She kicked and wailed the maid so fair but he licked the honey from her hair…” the men continued singing. The handmaid frequented this tavern, enjoying the song and dance with her friends after long days in lady Sansa’s service. 

   The singing suddenly came to an abrupt halt. She raised her head to see why the men had stopped. A large form came through the door, casting a dim aura over the tavern. Chatter died down, cups of ale were set down on the tables and all eyes shifted to the big man. The dark eyes of the Hound landed on the handmaiden. She held his gaze for only a second before his scowl had her averting her eyes. Sandor Clegane terrified her.

   Given that she was in the service of lady Sansa, and Sansa was betrothed to Joffrey, she oft found herself close to the Hound. It seemed he always glared holes into her when he looked at her. She could never hold his gaze for more than a few seconds, resorting instead to looking at the floor if she found herself in need of speaking with him. Yet she stole glances when he didn’t notice. When he was occupied with his duties, when he spoke to Joffrey or other members of the Court, or when he fought. That’s when the handmaiden watched him with great fascination.

   She particularly enjoyed when he sneered at other people, and the way he barked to scare others away from him. And she took great pleasure in watching him cut other men down with ease during tourneys. A secret she would take her grave was that the Hound often visited her in her dreams when she was alone in her bed at night. His voice growled commands in her ear, it was she who was on the receiving end of his sneers and his insults. Sometimes he even used his knife to cut her dress off when he wouldn’t bother with the laces. The fantasies always left her wet and panting.

   The Hound’s eyes left her after what felt like an eternity, and he took a seat at one of the tables. A tavern keep quickly arrived with ale for him and his companions. His eyes met the handmaid’s again when he took big gulp of his drink.

   “Girl,” he called. She couldn’t help but shiver at his gruff voice. She looked up, anxiously. “Come here,” he said, leaving no room for question. He was the person in this establishment with the highest rank. Disobeying wouldn’t do. She patted down her dress nervously and set one foot in front of the other until she was standing next to the Hound’s table. She curtsied. The act made him laugh. In her fantasies, sometimes he would laugh at her. When she whimpered as he beat her bottom red with his large hands, he would laugh at her and hit her even harder. She felt her cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

   “How may I be of service?” she asked quietly. The Hound’s companions laughed.

“Look at me, pup,” he ordered. Pup, he called her sometimes. She didn’t know why or how it started. She was too scared to ask him, yet the pet name had the butterflies in her belly doing cartwheels. She inhaled and lifted her head, looking into the Hound’s dark eyes. He looked her up and down, taking note of how her yellow dress clung to her hips, and her chest heaved still from all the dancing. Had he not been the Hound, she would have thought he liked what he saw.

   “Terrified of me, this one,” he said, turning his eyes away and looking back at his companions. “In lady Sansa’s service. Follows her around like a lost puppy looking for her Master.” So that’s where the pet name originated. She averted her eyes again when the Hound talked to his companions, but she yelped as she was suddenly yanked forwards by her wrist. The Hound had it in a tight grip, forcing her to lean forward with her torso over the table.

   “I said look at me,” he growled. With tears in her eyes, she obeyed. Once again his companions laughed at her.

   “Perhaps you should be her Master, Clegane,” one said.

   “She’s a pretty little thing, he would wreck her,” another chimed in. A foul grin spread across the Hound’s lips, and the handmaiden’s lip quivered. In fear, in pain or arousal she wasn’t sure.   “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, quietly this time. She wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure she could say anything, so she just gulped and forced herself to keep looking at him. He released her wrist. “Scram, pup.” She scrambled to her feet and left quickly, deciding that she’d had enough fun at the tavern for tonight.

[ohmy-zabrak]

🌙 Have this part of my wip because we need more silly Hound content 🌙

"Oh, have a cock do you?" The Hound snorts.

"I do, it's massive. Bigger than your's even."

To Bronn and Tyrion's surprise...the Hound giggles. "Let's see it then."

The sound of rustling blankets through the wall.

"No, he's shy," Lady Alice says. "Knock it off, you're scaring him!" She giggles.

The sounds of wrestling.

"There's no cock here-"

Alice yelps but it turns into a moan.

[ilynpilled]

my stuff for @asoiafpalestine

[libraryofneith]

Old Dog, New Tricks Series Masterlist (Sandor Clegane x Female Reader)

Summary: After Sandor Clegane is rescued from the Stranger's door, he is forced to consider a future without violence, without abuse, and without servitude. Can he find a new purpose? Can he help more than he has harmed? And can he share a purpose with anyone else?

Characters/Relationships: Sandor Clegane, OC female character called Kya, Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr, Jon Snow, Tormund Giantsbane, Gendry Waters, Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, Brienne of Tarth, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane x OC female character, Jaime Lannister x Brienne of Tarth Jon Snow x Daenerys Targaryen

Fic Tags/Warnings: whole fic is 18+, minors DNI, cursing, violence and gore, eventual smut, some serious smutage, takes place season 6 onwards, canon divergence, last season what last season?, the only mad queen around here is Cersei Lannister, reader has a name, third person POV, grumpy x sunshine reader, sunshine character x sunshine protector, i am a sucker for the "grumpy old man who's mean to everyone except this one special person to whom he is unbelievable sweet" trope

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

[plasmometer]

my darktide character ref + bonuses

there are a lot of characters who belong to other people but i forgor who belongs to who please take your precious criminals

[thee-kurojo]

guys i have a sweet treat for you .. my lovely black sisters .. if you love sandor clegane and you love a good OC/character .. if you love just utterly jaw dropping mind numbing nerve striking tummy aching smut you’ve ever read (im legit talking like insane shit y’all) and a beautifully wonderfully thoughtout love story please please indulge in this story called Playing Dangerous by Chloemagea

for some fucking reason it won’t let me put the link in here i’m gonna sob, but if you have an ao3 acc, LOCK IN. it’s insane so delicious.

I’m guilty of loving it too fawking much like waaayyyy too much .. the madea pic is literally me in jail with how much i’m rereading the story .. i licherally finished it earlier today .. god it was so intense. I’m a changed person like seriously fuck.

[kawaiigirly21]

So if I just decide to write a really really really late Game of Thrones story about my oc being a highborn lady and basically gaining a harem full of problematic/unproblematic men would that like be ok?

Like if the harem consisted of Tyrion, Jamie, Sandor, Peter and Tywin? Like Dilf season is coming!!

Thoughts? Am I missing anyone?

[vriska-martell]

ASOIAF Next Gen Youngest Children OCs / Scenario One

• Twins Robb Targaryen-Stark, named for his paternal uncle, and Rhaenys Targaryen-Stark, named for her paternal aunt and maternal cousin, the youngest children of Queen Daenerys I Targaryen and King Consort Jon Stark (Snow).

• Madigan Stark-Clegane, the youngest child of Queen in the North Sansa Stark and Consort Sandor Clegane, named for her paternal aunt. (My headcanon name for the Clegane sister, it means “little dog”).

• Alarra Stark-Baratheon, the youngest child of Storm Queen Arya Stark and Storm King Gendry Baratheon (Waters), named for an ancestor of House Stark who served as a lady-in-waiting to Queen Alysanne.

[vrshxw]

Vengeance.

Sandor Clegane x fem!Martell!OC

Fucking a stranger while being held prisoner by the Brotherhood Without Banners wasn't Adora Martell's brightest idea.

warnings: sexual content (piv), slight!irrelevant!bondage

word count: 1.2k

A/N:!this is only the first chapter of my ongoing fanfic on wattpad (vrshxw), so for additional content check it there!

The small ray of sun that glistened through the cracks of the wooden caravan was the only thing that kept her sane. It was a hope, a reminder of the freedom she had and could reclaim.

The time spent locked away was measured by the strained, drunk voices of the Brotherhood, mainly Thoros'. As long as the sun was still shining he was chirping and groaning and humming. A not so foreign want to smash her head against the filthy wood of the caravan crept in again and again until he went to sleep. But even then, the bastard will start moaning and bluffing.

Adora could only wait patiently and enjoy some of the only moments of silence she'll get until the thieves finished their meal. She only ate during supper, enough to survive and be able to sleep without having a growling stomach and the Brotherhood quickly realised that after some failed attempts to shove food up her throat, thinking she'd starve herself.

The small door suddenly opened, pulling her out of thought. A couple of hysterical laughs were loudly audible, as she heard them throwing some other cursed soul in. "We have found you a friend, princess!" The archer's comment brought an even scowl to her figures.

And then, it was dark a quiet again. The new companion was silent as fuck, not even moving from the place in which the thieves put him. Adora cleared her throat, trying to get some reaction out of him. A man it seemed he was, a voluminous man, by the struggle of the Brotherhood to get him in. What kind of man his size let some cunts like them to capture him? She was dying to get the bag off her head and see him. The tight ropes around her and the smelly bag on her head that caused more grease to appear in her hair were the aftermath of a failed attempt of escaping. Damn the archer! If it wasn't for him she'd be far already. But no, he had to fire his arrow right into her already too weakened calf. The wound was long forgotten, one of their pathetic excuse of a healer made sure to add some salve on and bind it with rags. That was several weeks ago, months maybe, she was sure it was healed, however she couldn't test it due to the bindings around her.

She cleared her throat again, louder this time, bored by the man's quiet nature. After some minutes of listening to his even breath that reeked of cheap ale, Adora finally realised that he was unconscious. She huffed loudly, the first sound she let out for some good days.

Was it a couple of hours? Or just mare minutes? The dornish princess couldn't say. The man finally moved, letting out a hoarse groan.

He attempted to move, and only after he tried he realised that there were ropes that bound his whole body tightly.

A bitter voice laughed at him.

His eyes travelled in the dark of the caravan to catch the glimpse of the figure of a woman. Her binds were matching his, however she had a bag over her head, that prevented her from seeing his face.

The man's gaze continued to scan his surroundings, only finding unknown, the small ray of sun on the roof that allowed the smallest amount of light in showing him just that.

"Lost?" The woman's mocking voice stopped his gazing around. It was almost like her stare could burn through the bag on her head, allowing her to see every one of his chaotic moves, that ideed signaled that he was confused.

"Who the fuck are you?" He asked, thankful she couldn't see the look on his face, because if she did she would've seen a perplexed idiot.

He could feel the woman's smirk under her bag. "Someone not very differed from yourself"

The man let out a sound that could be classified as a laugh, even though it was more like a sneer. "I doubt that"

Her nostrils flared "You might be right actually, I could never stink the way you do"

He scoffed at her response, yet finding it quite appealing. He was need of a bath indeed. He could tell the woman also haven't got the chance to bathe in a while, but it was clearly not as bad as in his case.

"You don't know what I'd give for a bath" He grumbled, now paying a precise attention to the smell of his sweat.

"And perhaps a maiden or two to massage your shoulders as you do so, I take it?" She rose a brow inside the dullnes of her bag, her tone obvious, familiar to the nature of men.

"I might make you to do so, you seem quite content with it" He straightened his posture, stretching his tired bones.

She let out a 'hmph', tilting her head. "Well, I am quite entertaining"

The corner of his lip twitched. "Bet you are." For the first time he took his time to check her out and analyse every inch of her.

Feeling his deep stare, she crawled closer to him as fast as she could due to the ropes. She stopped next to him, bringing her chest forward. He somehow twisted is hand in the bindings and made a move to grip her arse.

She let out a faint chuckle, understating he had the same desires-no, desperations as her.

It was plain that neither of them had the chance to fulfil their needs. He took advantage of the fact that she wasn't able to see his face. She might be the only woman who fucked him wiggly, except the older whores that would fuck any man without remorse, but still they were paid whores and she was a willing woman for all he knew.

She ended up in his lap, undoing her breeches as his hands were tied behid his back unable to move, leaving all the word to be done by her.

Both of them groaned feeling her grind against him before succeeding to slip inside her with an even guttural moan. Her shoulders were pressed against his armoured chest, leaning on it to help herself ride him with the lack of balance the ropes around her legs gave her.

Adora found herself letting sounds loud enough for the members of the Brotherhood outside to hear them, the rough slapping of her bottom on him, along with his groans there and there. A faint headache would root at the level of her head from all the noise she was doing, as she felt herself tightening around him, but it was good, not only because she was close to her peak, but because it felt like revenge, like those thieves outside were paying for it with their ears falling off and unsuccessful curses.

And she continued to do so, until she, herself was tired of the vengeful sounds she was making.

read future chapters on wattpad

[ligawolfcosplayandarts]

Even though I don't ship SanSan , this was too good not to draw for SanSan fans who love my cosplays, Oc and art. Also I needed to draw this in general. Because I don't ship certain pairings doesn't mean I shouldn't draw memes of them for those who do.

Also hope the anon who hate asked weeks ago, eat this !!!

Sansa is portrayed adult in this art anyway, and I need to draw more feminine figures.

This also don't need to be meant as ship art, just Sandor being support. Take this pic how you want.

Enjoy peeps, and I adore you all.

I had to do it before someone else does . Here is template.

[thousandbuns]

I just realized that Sándor is most likely not only forklift-certified, but also forklift certification-certified.

He can assess your forklift skills and legally sign your forklift certificate.

Imagine how much leverage this gives you in an Iron Warriors' line company.

[bloodstained-porcelain-doll]

Heel to her Master, ch 6/6 - Sandor Clegane x Reader

Read on AO3

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5

Summary: The handmaiden finds him terrifying yet intriguing. The Hound finds her wildly attractive. He stakes his claim. Warnings: Eventual smut, dub con, public humiliation, bdsm, Master/pet dynamic

The Hound picked her up off his lap and stood them both up. The pet smoothed down her dress as if it would help her look anything but ravenous and whorish. Her hair was a mess, her dress wet and her skin flushed pink and slick with sweat.

   “If you’ll excuse us, we’ll be leaving. The things I’ll do to her aren’t fit for the likes of you to see,” the Hound said and finished the last of his ale. His companions all said goodbye, whistled and yelled lewd comments as they walked. The Hound stopped after only a few steps though, looking down at his pet. “You’ll be crawling, of course,” he said. The girl stopped and stared at him.

   “You can’t be serious,” she whispered.

   “Unless you’d rather I bend you over the bar and whip you until you cry.” With another big gulp she did as she was told, lowering herself onto her knees. “Good girl… heel,” the Hound said, a smug smirk on his face as he walked again, watching as his pet crawled after him, red in the face. She was furious with him that he’d use his power over her like this, but at the same time she couldn’t wait to find out what things he would do to her in private. If he was this unhinged in public… She shuddered.

   People pointed and laughed as she followed her Master on all fours, but she kept her eyes on the ground and kept on going. When they approached the door, the Hound leaned down and grabbed a fistful of her hair, using it as a leash to guide her forwards and out. She winced in pain when he finally pulled her up, allowing her to walk on two feet again.

   “You’re a menace,” she panted when he released her and the cold night air blew the hair out of her face. The Hound chuckled.

   “Look who suddenly plucked up the courage to speak. Don’t pretend you didn’t love every second of what I did to you in there. I saw it on you. I tasted it on you.” The handmaiden scowled at the Hound. He closed the gap between them and grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. “Don’t believe me?” he asked and hunched down to place a rough kiss on her lips. Shocked, she found herself kissing back, tasting her own arousal on him. Then he was leading her away from the tavern, back into the Red Keep. He held her by the arm, tugging and yanking at her when she failed to perfectly match his pace.

   “Where are you taking me?” she asked when they walked through areas unknown to her.

   “Wherever I want. And whenever I want, from now on.” He ripped open a door and pushed her inside unceremoniously. She stumbled and fell to the floor with a gasp. “Pathetic little girl,” the Hound scolded. The pet felt herself blush again, her wildest fantasies coming alive. In her dreams she always imagined herself on the receiving end of his insults. It made her even hotter now that it was real. She crawled backwards when he shut the door and stalked towards her, in that moment truly feeling like he was the Hound and she was his prey.

   She leapt just as he reached forward, but he was surprisingly quick and agile for such a big man, and he caught her by her ankle, pulling her back towards him. She threw her hand up to hit him but he grabbed it with ease and she couldn’t help the smile on her lips.

   “You want to fight me, is that it?” he asked. His eyes glistened mischievously as he observed her. She nodded eagerly. Another one of her wildest fantasies. She already knew she was helpless against him, but she wanted to really feel it, experience it. “Go ahead and try then, pup.” His voice was dark and laced with lust, sending hot shivers down her spine.

   She pulled her wrist back in an attempt to flee, but she could barely move it. She shoved at him with her other arm, trying to twist away from him and his steel grip. He didn’t even look fazed when she hit him, so she used her legs and tried to kick him but it only resulted in her being tossed around and flipped onto her stomach, the cold floor meeting her cheek as he pressed her face down into it, climbing on top of her.

   “You don’t stand a fucking chance against me, welp,” he growled and bit down on her neck, hard. She shrieked in pain and clawed at the floor, at his shoulders, at anything she could reach. “You’re mine now, whether you like it or not.” Oh, she liked it, she liked it a lot. Wetness pooled between her legs when the Hound reached down and tore off her smallclothes, ripping the fabric off her body. Once more his big fingers found her cunt and pressed into her. She moaned and relaxed, letting herself rest on the floor while he curled his fingers against her pleasure spot over and over again.

   “Giving up already, are you? I knew you were pathetic and helpless from the moment I laid eyes on you. I knew one day I would take you just like this, your face pressed into my floor while I help myself to your perfect little body.” His voice was rough and she moaned at his words, grinding her hips to feel more of him. His floor. This was his chamber, she realised.

   He rocked his hips against her, dragging his hard cock across her bared bottom before he pulled his fingers out of her and landed a harsh blow on it. She cried out in pain and then she was being dragged by her hair again. She huffed indignantly when the Hound threw her on his bed. Glancing up at him and seeing him standing there in his full glory, armour still on, with a wolfish grin on his face med her feel weak, she realised there was nothing she wouldn’t let him do to her. Fuck the threat of the Lannisters, the only motivation she needed to obey was his commands.

   “Let’s hope you’re not too fond of this dress,” he growled, grabbing her by the neckline of it. With a ritsch, the ale soaked gown was torn in two pieces and she was left in only her shift. The Hound ripped that open too, leaving her bare and exposed to him. The cool air stiffened her nipples much his pleasure. Then she found herself on her knees before him once more. This time he unlaced his breeches. The pet’s eyes widened when his huge cock sprung free,  but she didn’t have much time to gawk at it before he was pushing it into her mouth.

   He gave her no time or warning before he thrust himself deeper, down her throat, grunting in pleasure as she gagged on him. Her hands instinctively came up to his thighs, holding onto them as she focused on relaxing, letting him fuck her throat. Her spit coated his cock as he rammed it in and out, taking her breath away. Soon enough she was beating at his thighs, gagging and choking for dear life. He pulled out and she gasped, taking in air again.

   The look on his face was what motivated her to open her mouth again though, letting him repeat his ministrations until she was sure her throat bled. He shoved his cock into the back of her throat, then grabbed her hair and forced her head down, keeping her still. She struggled to take him, flailing her arms, hitting his thighs and kicking her feet until he finally let her go and she took a big gasping breath once more. She was no virgin, but no one had ever treated her like this before. When the Hound was satisfied with fucking her throat he pulled out one last time, a string of spit hanging between the pet’s mouth and his cock. Her face, neck and chest were wet from all the saliva.

   “Such a good little pup. Seems you’re not completely useless after all.” He slapped her cheek hard, making her whimper. “On the bed. All fours,” he commanded. She hurried to obey, eager to please and eager to feel him inside her finally. He landed a sharp blow on each of her butt cheeks before he climbed onto the bed behind her. He shoved her head down into the mattress and lined himself up with her dripping wet pussy.

   She felt like she was being split in half when he thrust his giant cock into her. It felt delicious and she moaned loudly, making the Hound chuckle from behind her.

   “You like that, do you? Having your sweet little cunt pounded by your new Master,” he asked, ramming into her over and over. She had to steady herself with her hands to handle his brute force. She moaned a small agreement. “Use your words, stupid girl.”

   “Yes - ohh - Master! I like when you - pound me - ahh, please…” she rambled, her words blending in with her loud moans. The Hound spanked her again and again and again, making her cry out louder with each hit. She was sure her behind would be purple in the morning. He fisted his hand into her hair and yanked her head backwards.

   “Open your mouth,” he ordered. She obeyed and to her shock, he leaned down and spat right into her open mouth. She was even more shocked at how much she liked it. A blush spread on her cheeks as she swallowed it and breathed out a “thank you, Master”. The Hound chuckled and smacked her ass again before pushing her face down once more and continuing his rough pounding. The heat began coiling up inside her like it had at the inn earlier. Her moans grew louder and louder until all she could do was whimper.

   “Be a good little girl and cum for your Master,” the Hound growled in her ear, and her body obeyed him, exploding in a powerful orgasm that shook her entire body and left her clawing and biting at the sheets beneath her. The Hound her her still by her hips while she rode out her orgasm, her body going limp when she calmed down. With a chuckle, he pulled out and whipped her around onto her back.

   “You didn’t think I was done with you, did you?” he asked, entering her again, hitting even deeper from this angle. The pet threw her arms around him, wrapping one hand in his hair and the other around his neck for support. Her fear had disappeared sometime during the night, and now all she wanted was for him to never stop taking her, claiming her like this.

   “Master…” she whimpered, lifting her legs and wrapping them around his hips.

   “Yes, you’re being such a good pup, taking your Master’s cock in that little cunt. So fucking wet and welcoming for me. How long have you been waiting for me to claim you? To put you in your place just like this?” His words were sweet poison, lulling her towards that edge again along with his cock thrusting against her pleasure spot over and over.

   “For so long, Master… I’ve wanted you for as - ahh - as long as I can remember,” she moaned, shutting her eyes and digging her nails into his skin. “Please… Bite me again.” She didn’t have to plead, the Hound leaned in and bit her neck, marking her as his own, and she came for him again. This time he followed, pinning her down by her wrists as he snapped his hips against hers and spilled himself inside her with loud satisfied groans. She let out a few more breathy moans while he rocked his hips into her, gently this time. Then he pulled out and laid down next to her.

   They both lay there in silence panting for a good while before either of them spoke. She was first, turning her head to look into his eyes.   “I think I might enjoy being your pet…” she said with a small smile playing on her lips. Surprisingly, the Hound returned the smile.   “And I already enjoy being your Master.”

[ohmy-zabrak]

Cursed Sandor Clegane Headcanon:

If you suck his tiddies he makes the most ✨pathetic ✨ noise and then he deflects from how into he was by snapping at you

[prismatica-the-strange]

Soft Cruelty | Yours to Hold

After crossing paths in various towns and villages, things come to a head when a tavern brawl breaks out ...or Sandor and Aläea are properly introduced.

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of sex, smut, piv, strangers to lovers, one night stand to romantic partners, blood, violence, angst, death, pov shifts (kind of. All 3rd person).

Not proofread.

There is a lot of sex in this, which isn't what I'm best at, but it's very much their characters.

Word Count: 6.8k

Yours to Hold by Skillet | Someone to Say - Reprise Bryce Dessner | Ruin The Amazing Devil | The Trip The Woods Tea Co. | Dividers by @saradika-graphics

He shouldn't be as surprised as he is when he enters the tavern and hears a newly familiar voice. It's like the gods are mocking him by repeatedly forcing them so close together. He's sure she's sick of seeing his wretched face.

He catches a glimpse of her as he takes a seat closer to the wall, the same dark blue veil obscuring everything below her eyes.

The pretty girl who hides her face.

It's an interesting gimmick, he'll give her that, but with the way she sings, he doesn't think she needs it.

As if to prove his point, the sweetest note pours from her throat, melding in perfect harmony with the voice of the man she's dueting this night. The sound makes his skin erupt with goosebumps and he sighs into his ale.

The song eventually fades into a faster tempo and various drunken patrons start to sway to the new song, some even teetering to their feet to attempt dancing.

He considers leaving, not wanting to be jostled by unsteady elbows and drunken bodies as he tries to eat.

That thought leaves his mind when he looks back up at the band and his eyes lock with hers. He chokes slightly on his drink as she looks away, ducking her head in an almost shy manner.

Aläea doesn't mean to stare, and she feels her cheeks warm when she's caught doing so, quickly looking away from him.

She'd seen him in other towns as she made her way.

Did he follow her?

She shakes the thought from her mind.

He has rather handsome eyes.

That thought nearly makes her laugh.

She'd found him unabashedly staring at her near a week ago as she sang. He' been drunk, but she can't deny how the way he looked at her made her feel.

It's obvious by the scars on his face and his scratched and dented armor that this was a man hardened by the world. Yet the softness and awe in his eyes that night made her heart flutter.

But tonight. Tonight he's not drunk, and the way he stares is cold and almost scrutinizing, and it makes other parts of her flutter in ways she knows she should be ashamed of.

She wonders if he'd take her if she propositioned him. She grins to herself beneath her veil at the thought. It's been a long while since she's had a good fuck and she's not shocked that it's a large, detached stranger that stirs her.

He turns back to his food after his eyes catch hers again, those mysterious blue eyes of hers.

He goes stiff when he feels a delicate touch on his shoulder, gone just as quickly as it had appeared. He whips around just in time to see those same blue eyes glance over at him as she steps past, another pleasant melody on her lips.

Oh the things he would do to make that voice sing for him as he splits her open with his cock.

His hand clenches into a fist when she drapes herself across another man's shoulder.

She laughs as the song comes to an end, a beautiful sound that makes an unfamiliar heat blossom in his chest.

"Aw, come back here, sweetheart," The man sneers, grabbing her hips when she tries to stand again.

"Hands off, dear," She tuts politely as she tries to pull away.

"Don't be like that."

The squeak that comes out of her when she's tugged into the man's lap makes Sandor's jaw clench.

"Let's take this off."

"Wait-"

As soon as the veil is torn from her, she hides her face against his neck, not letting anyone see her scars.

"That's right, girl," He chuckles, "You're a little sl- Fuck!"

He shoves her away when she sinks her teeth into his throat, but she doesn't let him.

"Get her off me!" He cries and tow of his friends grab her shoulders and rip her away, throwing her to the floor.

Her hair covers her face, but it's easy to see the blood dripping from her chin.

"You little cunt!"

A stool scrapes on the wooden floor and a hand stops his from coming down across her cheek.

"Leave the lady be."

She looks up through her hair at the source of the gruff voice and her heart stutters.

"What's it to you, mutt?" The man huffs, "She your whore or somethin?"

That earns him a punch to the face and a severely broken nose.

"Leave her be, or else I'll shatter the rest of your worthless skull under my boot."

His voice is softer when he turns to her, offering her his hand, "Are you alright, girl?"

"I-" He can see her wide eyes behind her hair and is about to retract his arm when she carefully takes it. She keeps her head ducked down as she stands and makes no move to brush back her hair, "Thank you, ser."

He thinks she can't stand to look at him, but what he can't see is glowing heat in her cheeks and the shy smile on her lips.

She gasps when he bends down and gathers her discarded veil, handing it to her as he awkwardly clears his throat.

She shakes it out and holds the fabric to her face, flicking her hair from her face.

Her eyes shine as she looks up at him and he's suddenly thankful for the warm lighting.

He nods and turns back to his seat.

She hesitates before stepping back towards the stage, stumbling when one of the man's drunken friends slaps her ass.

She's about to wheel around at him when she suddenly feels the looming presence of Sandor Clegane behind her. His back is to her, and he lifts the man off the floor by the front of his shirt, snarling in his face before tossing him onto a nearby table.

"Fuckin cunt."

Drunken chaos erupts around them as a fight breaks out.

She rises to her toes, leaning her weight on his shoulder, pulling him down just enough to whisper through the fabric of her veil, "Come with me."

He eyes her curiously when her hand trails down his arm to take his, following like a shadow, weaving through the fight and up the stairs in the back.

He'd taken his gloves off to eat and shoved them in his belt. Her hand is so soft in his and he hates the emptiness he feels when she lets go to unlock her door at the far end of the hall.

She steps in first, turning behind the door so she can close it behind him.

He's so distracted by her that he doesn't notice the large mass of fur and muscle on the bed until it huffs at him.

"Seven hells!" He shoves her behind him and reaches for the hilt of his sword, freezing when she giggles and places her hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright," He can hear the smile in her voice as she steps around him. He watches her, hand still poised for his weapon when the beast steps off the bed, shaking its mane as she kneels in front of it, "Hello, my love. Keeping my bed warm for me?"

She runs her hands through its dark mane, petting it as though it were some common housecat, and his brow furrows.

"Give us some privacy, will you?"

With that, she stands and turns her back to him, rummaging through a bag on the bedside table.

The lion strides up to him, still standing in the doorway, and lets out a low growl.

"Feydrid!" She snaps over her shoulder. Her face turns just enough to show her silhouette behind her hair, he can make out the basic shapes of her nose and lips before she turns away again.

The beast huffs again and pushes past Sandor's legs, lazing just outside the door.

"You have a fucking lion?"

"Yes," She chuckles, turning back to him, her hands undoing the ties of her vest, "Are you going to shut the door or...?"

He immediately does as she says and starts pulling off his armor.

She's wearing a new veil, this one a rosy pink that matches her skirt.

"So then, pretty songbird, what's your name?"

She shrugs as she lets her vest fall to the ground, "Do we really need names?"

He contemplates it for a moment as she quickly removes the rest of her clothes, save for her veil, and he feels his cock twitch in his pants at the sight of her, "No."

She lays back on the bed, biting her bottom lip beneath the cloth as she watches him undress for her, but she frowns when he only lowers his pants enough to free his cock.

"You're not fucking me like that," She scoffs and he raises his brow, "You either fuck me the way God brought you into this world, or you won't fuck me at all... take your damn shirt off."

The playful lilt in her voice makes him bite back grin and he pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him.

She places her hand on his chest when he crawls over her, kicking his boots and pants off as he does.

"You are," Her eyes dart down and she groans at the sight of his manhood, "A very large man."

He chuckles at her statement and runs his very large hands down her sides. She's fatter than any of the twigs he'd seen at court in King's Landing, but he loves it, gives him more to squeeze.

"Fuck," His calloused fingertips swipe through her folds and they're completely soaked, "I've not even touched you yet, girl."

She sighs when he rubs her clit, her hips bucking against him, and he uses his free hand to hold her down.

She squirms when he sinks two fingers into her, gasping out a breathy fuck.

It's been so long since anyone has touched her like this that she reaches her peak e2mbarrassingly fast.

"F-fuck, don't stop!" She whines, hands finding purchase on his shoulder and the back of his neck.

"That's it, girl," He mutters, "Come undone for me."

She does. She cums with a shuddering cry, her nails digging into his skin.

"Pretty girl's got a tight cunt," He teases, rubbing his thumb against her clit to make her squirm again, "Gotta be careful or I'll break her with my fat cock."

"Please," She cries, tugging him closer to- fucking scars. If she didn't have to hide them she'd be be chewing on his lower lip by now.

"Pretty girl wants me to break her," He chuckles darkly, taking note of the way she clenches around his fingers at the pet name.

He finally pulls away, fisting his cock with his slick-covered fingers before lining himself up with her entrance.

They both groan as he pushes inside her. She is tight, so fucking tight around him.

"Gods, girl," he moans, his giant hand pushing her thigh up as he sinks deeper.

By the time he bottoms out, they're both out of breath, and she's clinging to him like he's the only thing grounding her.

Her nails rake across his skin when he starts to fuck her.

Every thrust draws little gasps and whimpers from her, and the closer she gets to that edge again the tighter her arms wrap around him.

Her back arches and she trembles against him when he plows her into a second orgasm. He slows just enough for her to catch her breath, his forehead falling to her shoulder as he does.

"Turn over," She rasps, barely loud enough for him to hear.

"What was that, pretty girl?" He asks, pulling back to look in her eyes.

"Turn," She pushes his shoulder until he starts to roll for her, her legs landing on either side of his hips, "Over."

Her chest is still heaving as her hair cascades around her face and shoulders.

Fuck that fucking veil.

He knows it's hiding the most beautiful smile he'd ever see, and he wants to rip the damn thing off.

Her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head when she sinks back down on him. She thought she felt full before, but sitting on his cock like this... she can feel him in her stomach.

His hands are rough when he grabs her hips, his thumbs running small circles against her skin.

Goosebumps spread across her as his hands trail up to cup her breasts. Her soft, soft breasts, heavy and plush in his calloused hands.

She arches into his touch, whining when his thumb brushes her nipple.

"Such a pretty thing," He coos, "Makes me wonder why she hides her face-"

Her hand catches his wrist when he reaches for the blush-colored veil, those pretty blue eyes locking with his wearily.

"I have my reasons," She whispers.

He licks his lips and nods, letting her move his hand back to her tit.

The awkward tension is shattered when she rolls her hips and he instinctively squeezes her breast tightly.

"Fuck!" His voice strained and gravelly and it makes her pussy clench.

She lurches forward, nails digging into his hairy chest, when he thrusts up into her.

His hands move back to her to her hips, helping her bounce on his cock and making her moan.

"Pretty thing," He rambles, trying to hold back his orgasm until she comes undone again. His fingers find her clit again and he starts to rub it furiously, "Such a pretty thing."

"Oh fuck- fuck!"

"Gods, woman!" He groans when her cunt flutters and clamps down around him again.

He tenses when she collapses against his chest, the top of her head grazing the scars on his face, but the feel of her tits pressed to his heaving chest is enough to distract him.

She lets out a strangled cry when he starts fucking her again, her legs trembling as he chases his own high.

He's so fucking close when he feels something soft against his neck.

Her veil is pushed up and her lips leave an opened mouth kiss against his throat.

That's all it takes to push him over the edge

With a heavy groan he stills and falls heavy on the bed.

The room is quiet without the slapping of skin and the groaning of the bedframe, the only noise left is their heavy breathing.

"Gods, girl," He huffs, "You know how to tire a man out."

She laughs at that and he can feel her smile against his skin.

They spend the next five or so minutes like that as they catch their breath. Her fingers play with the hair on his chest and their sweaty skin sticks together.

He slides her off him as gently as he can and starts pulling on his clothes again.

She shifts, resting her chin on her arm as she fixes her veil and watches him with tired eyes.

"Let Feydrid in, will you?" She mumbles and he does, once he's got his armor back on.

He watches the great beast lumber up onto the bed and lay next to her, bumping its head with hers as she snuggles against its fur.

And that's the last he thinks he'll ever see of her.

It's more than a month until they cross paths again in the most unlikely way. A random night in some random town he happened to be leading his horse through, looking for a place to sleep.

"Aläea Argon..."

"I told you it was her!"

"Your brother's been lookin' for ye. Got a nice reward for who'er brings you back to Agatha."

"My brother can kiss my ass!"

That voice. He stops in his tracks.

There's the sound of someone being slapped, "Watch your tongue, girl!"

"You hit like a bitch!"

He follows the sound of their argument around the back of the local tavern where he sees her held against the wall by two men while another grips her face, blocking most of her from his view.

"There a problem here?" He interrupts, gripping the hilt of his sword.

"Mind your fuckin own!" The one in front of her spits. When he doesn't move to leave, the man turns to him, his hand still squeezing her bare cheeks, "Are you thick or somethin'? I said-"

"I heard what you said," Sandor growls, "But I don't think the lady wants to be stuck here with you yapping cunts."

The man scowls and lets her go and draws his sword as he steps toward him.

Sandor's eyes dart over to the girl, looking for bruises or any other excuse to turn this fucker into a bloody paste, but they freeze on her lips, parted slightly, and once mangled, the scars like claw marks have barely healed, but they're still as beautiful as the rest of her.

"You're a large man," Her assaulter comments, "But that only makes you slo-"

He bashes the man in the face with his fist, knocking him out immediately before drawing his own sword.

The other two let her go and reach for their weapons, but she grabs the hilt of one of their swords and kicks him forward, toward her savior, pulling the blade as he goes.

Sandor quickly dispatches the man and watches her disarm the other, shoving him to his knees as she holds the sword to his throat. The action causes his pants to tighten.

"You can tell my brother," She leans in close to whisper against his ear so only he can hear, "I may not have my army, my fancy toys, or my armor... But the Lioness still has her fangs... and I will cut down any man he sends my way... Including him."

She pulls away and kicks him back into the mud.

"Run," She hisses.

They both watch him scramble to his feet, slipping in the mud and dung as he scurries away.

It's quiet for a moment before she lets out a huff of humorless laughter, "You seem to be my hero... again."

He grunts and sheathes his sword, "What're you doing out here so late?"

"I just got paid-"

"You shouldn't be out by yourself at night."

"I'm a big girl," She shrugs, "I would've managed."

"Sure you would."

She grins up at him mischievously and the air is knocked from his lungs. He's never had the best imagination, but he doesn't think even any poet or artist could have pictured or described a more beautiful smile.

"The tavern keeper wasn't very welcoming to my traveling companion," She explains, "I'm staying in a cottage outside of town, that's why I'm out here."

"Telling strangers where you're staying."

She barks out a laugh, "Strangers. Is that what we are?"

"I've led you into my bed," She narrows her eyes and cocks his head, "I'd say we're at least acquaintances."

He lowers his gaze, to hide a small smile of his own, his eyes scouring the ground for the veil he knows she was wearing before she was attacked.

"You're standing on it," She says and he looks to his feet, the pink cloth sticking to the bottom of his boot, caked in mud, "Leave it. I can make another."

"Do you," He coughs awkwardly, "... Would you..."

Her brows furrow but then she realizes what he means to say, just too proud to actually say it.

"Do you have a place to stay tonight?" She asks, saving him from his own clumsy tongue.

With wide eyes, he slowly shakes his head.

"I have more than enough room, if you'd like to..."

He'd never turn down a free bed to sleep in that's dry and warm, or the prospect of getting to bed her again, and he nods.

She lifts her hood as he leads her back to the road, keeping her head low to hide her scars.

"Up you get," He takes her waist in his hands before she can question it and effortlessly lifts her onto his horse, climbing up behind her. She points the direction and they start on their way.

Once they're a fair distance from town, she lowers her hood again and sweeps her hair over her shoulder.

The night is quiet and dark around them, but the moonlight is just bright enough to guide their way.

They ride in silence for a time, until he asks, "Your beast give those scars?"

She stiffens at his question and raises her chin slightly.

"No," She breathes, "My brother did."

That catches him off guard, but he doesn't say anything else.

The little cottage is dark when they get there, not that he expected the windows to be lit. He dismounts first then holds his arms out for her.

Her hands slide up his arms, resting them on his shoulders as he takes hold of her waist again to lower her to the ground.

As soon as he turns around he's greeted by Feydrid, who sniffs him once or twice then turns back to the door as it opens, disinterested in him.

He follows them, standing just inside the doorway while she lights a few candles.

His head cocks to the side, watching her light a fire in the small stone hearth.

It's not a large place, but there's a bedroom, a small kitchen, and a bath in the far corner.

"Are ya gonna stand there all night, or do you plan on coming inside?" She smiles over her shoulder, and he suddenly feels like he's suffocating in his armor.

The door closes behind him as he ventures further in and he's not exactly sure what to do with himself. So he stands there, watching her flit around the tiny kitchen and the lion stretch out beside the fire.

"You can sit if you want," She says, "It shouldn't take long."

He nods and sits at the small dining table, but he's not sure which he's more hungry for, the stew she's reheating over the fire or to ravage her against one of these damned walls.

She looks like she wants to say something when he rolls his stiff shoulder and his armor clinks.

"What is it?" He sighs.

She shrugs and shakes her head slightly, "Just doesn't look very comfortable."

"And what would you know about wearing armor, pretty girl?" He asks and she scoffs.

"I've slept in full plate armor, and this doesn't look much more comfortable."

His brow furrows, "Why would you be wearing full plate armor?"

"I-" She turns as if to tell him exactly why she would be wearing full plate when she realizes what she's doing and freezes, "I... I-it doesn't matter."

Her answer doesn't instill confidence but he's either too hungry or too horny to care, she's right, his armor was incredibly uncomfortable and he plans on taking it off later anyway.

He manages to get it off just as she sets two bowls and two cups on the table with a bottle of wine.

He's never been a graceful eater and tonight is no different. The stew is ten times better than any he's ever gotten at any inn or tavern, and it's been so long since his last hot meal, he can't help himself.

"My cooking's not that good," She teases.

"Better than anything I've ever had."

Her blush is one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen, even as she hides it behind her drink.

"You're sweet," She mumbles and he nearly chokes.

She jumps when he slams down his spoon and stands, his chair scraping against the floor.

"What are you-"

He manhandles her out of her seat and hefts her over his shoulder, heading toward the bedroom, "I'm going to fuck you within an inch of your life, girl."

She hits the bed with a shrill giggle, her hands pulling him with her by the shirt.

"Pretty girl," He hums, his hands pulling at her clothes, "Pretty girl, pretty voice, pretty name."

She freezes beneath him, "You know my name?"

"Aye, I heard one of those fuckers from earlier say it," He nods, "And fuck me if it's not as pretty as the rest of ye."

Her lips part slightly and she goes all doe-eyed and pink-faced.

"Don't look at me like that," He mumbles, looking away from her face.

Softness like that wasn't meant for him.

He stiffens when her hand cups his chin, tilting his face back to hers, surprising him with a light kiss to his lips.

"Fuck."

His arm slips beneath her back and he pulls her to his chest, growling against her lips.

They haven't even undressed yet, and this is already the most intimate moment they've shared.

He nearly drowns in her eyes when he pulls away but manages to cover his awe by tugging her hips to his and pushing up her skirt.

"Yer cunts pretty too," He grins, slipping his hand into her underthings to cup it, "'Specially when I'm the one that gets to fuck it."

She gasps at the sudden contact and grabs onto his arm. Her mouth hangs open as his fingers circle her clit and he can't help himself.

His free hand hooks beneath her chin and he swipes his thumb across her trembling bottom lip.

She's going to ignite if he looks at her any harder with those warm brown eyes.

She whines and squeezes his biceps when he sinks two monstrously large fingers inside her. The hand on her chin slips down to her chest and starts pulling on the ties of her dress. He grunts when they don't come undone and she moves to help.

Their fingers bump and hinder each other, but they somehow manage. He tugs both layers down to let out her tits, groping the left one before leaning down and mouthing at the space between them.

He mutters something against her skin she can't understand, but then his fingers curl inside her cunt, and her back arches into him, crying out at the feeling.

"Y-you're teasing!" She manages between breaths.

"Don't have the patience to tease," He argues, moving to suckle and bite at her breast, making her whine again.

To punctuate his point he tears her underwear down her legs before trusting his fingers faster into her cunt, ripping a scream from her throat.

She throws her head back and moans, "Fu-fuck!"

She cums hard and he finger fucks her through it until she's writhing and pushing his hand away.

He pulls a handful of orgasms from her that night, six by his count, between his fingers and cock.

By the time they finish, they're both breathless and exhausted. So much so, he doesn't even bother with moving away and lets her curl into his side as they both fall asleep.

He wakes near midday, sore, and alone in a bed that isn't his.

With a tired groan he pushes himself to his feet, his back popping. He pulls on his pants as he wanders into the house proper, running his hand down his face.

He tears a chunk from the loaf of bread on the table, chewing it as he takes in his surroundings.

A scream from outside makes him pause, he drops his food, grabs his sword from beside the door, and storms out with her name on his lips.

"Aläea?" He calls, not sure why he feels so worried and protective over her. He rounds the side of the cottage and freezes at the sight.

He watches as she wraps her arms around the Lion's neck, it's paws do the same around her middle as she pushes him over.

Her playful laugh soothes his sudden rise in anxiety.

The lion pounces on her, pinning her to the ground.

"Gah!" She cries in an over exaggerated way, "To be finished so soon by such a ferocious beast!"

After a few moments of her playing dead he paws at her then nudges her with his snout, jumping back when she pops up with a roar.

Sandor watches her play with this deadly animal like a child might play with their dog, he finds it somehow endearing.

She catches the briefest glimpse of him as he turns to go back inside, but is quickly distracted by the weight of a fully grown lion on her shoulders.

They come in not long after, and she beelines for a box above the fireplace.

"Leaving so soon?" She asks over her shoulder when she sees him putting his armor back on.

He grunts in response, glancing over at her and his hands still, "You're bleeding."

"Huh?" She looks up at him as though she didn't hear him clearly, pausing as she wraps a white bandage around her upper arm, "Oh! Yes, Feydrid and I... played a little too hard."

"That thing could kill you and you play with it like a housecat."

"Oh, he didn't mean to," She assures him, tying off the bandage, "He just forgets he's so much bigger than me sometimes."

As if trying to convey an apology the lion rubs his face against her stomach and she scratches the top of his head.

"You don't have to go, y'know," The smile she gives him is mischievous yet sincere.

"I'm not a pleasant house guest," He sneers.

"I don't mind," He looks at her with a raised brow and she timidly takes hold of his arm, "It didn't seem to matter when you were warming my bed this morning."

"I wasn't warming your damn bed," He argues, snatching his hand away.

"No," She bites her bottom lip playfully, "Of course not."

He watches as she all but glides over to the counter, softly humming the melody of a dirty song as she wipes it down.

He gets as far as the door before he huffs and turns around.

"You must be some sort of fucking demon," He grumbles, moving behind her, "A sex demon that lures men to their death with promises of bedding them."

"Ah, so you've heard of my other victims?" She laughs.

The edge of the counter digs into her hips, when he cages her against it, but she relishes the feeling.

He mutters to himself as he goes to start taking off his armor again.

"Leave it."

His hands still at her voice and she grins over her shoulder at him.

"Been a long time since I fucked a man in his armor."

It takes some doing, but after pushing her skirts up and a little adjusting, he's rutting into her from behind. One hand pushes her down against the surface and the other pulls her ass snug against him as he fucks her.

If she was some kind of succubus, poised to kill him at any moment, he could think of no sweeter way to go.

The clinking and jingling of metal of plate and chain mail fills the cottage. She doesn't fight his heavy hand between her should blades until she starts getting close, then she pushes back and wriggles helplessly beneath him, whining like a whore.

It doesn't take long after she cums for him to spend his load, his fingers leaving bruises where he grips her.

"You best be careful or I'll end up keeping this sweet cunt for myself."

She moans at his words, pushing her ass back against him.

"Don't do that," He groans, yanking her up and pressing her back to his chest, "Don't sound so pleased for me to keep you, girl."

His studded leather is rough against her bare shoulders as he lifts her leg for better access. She cries out when he starts fucking her again, her other foot leaving the floor with every thrust.

"F-fu-fu-fuc-fuuuck!"

Her head falls back against his shoulder, her mouth hanging open.

She looks so fucking beautiful coming undone for him. For him alone. He has no idea what he did for the gods to bless him like this.

For the next two weeks or so they fall into an easy routine with each other.

They wake up, they fuck, they eat, they go about their days, they eat, they fuck again, they sleep, and the next day they do it all over again.

He wonders one morning as she lay there, still asleep against his chest, if this is what it would have been like if he'd ever gotten married. If he'd ever been given that opportunity.

Wonders if the woman he'd have married would have been so beautiful, and soft, and stubborn as her. If she'd look up at him with the same sweet eyes or with contempt from being shackled to him.

He wonders if he's lingered here with her for too long. If the warm feeling in his chest whenever he's with her will ever fade now, or if he'll be left with the stinging burn of it for the rest of his miserable life.

Whatever the case, he can't help but admire her peaceful breathing beside him.

His fingers trail down her arm, tracing fading scars and imperfections, the early morning sun making her look more enchanting than ever.

Then the moment ends.

She whimpers in her sleep before her arms thrash.

"No!" She continues to thrash and cry in his hold as he tries to wake her.

"Damn it, girl! It's just me!" He roars when she scratches at his face.

The sudden abrasive shout is enough to rouse her and she looks up at him with big, wet eyes.

"Sandor?" Her voice is so small.

"You're alright," he sighs, releasing his grip on her shoulders, "What in the Seven hells was that?"

"I..." Her lip trembles even though she tries to hide it, "It was just a bad dream."

She flinches when he reaches to brush her hair from her eyes and he tries not to show that it hurts him.

"I'm sorry," She breathes, "I just... it felt like I was back there."

He settles back against the pillows, pulling her close as his hand rubs her back, "Sounds more like a bad memory to me, pretty girl."

She won't look at him and worries he may be overstepping something when he says, "Do you want to tell me about it?"

He doesn't know why he offers to put himself in that position. He's no hero or a shoulder to cry on. Just a man- just a killer, looking for a place to eat and sleep and fuck for a while.

But somehow her hands have reached into his chest to grasp his unfeeling heart.

He doesn't think she'll say anything more, but she does.

"I was ten when it happened," Her voice is no more than a whisper, but in tye quiet of the morning he can hear everything, "They came in the night. I don't know how they got into the castle but they were quick. Before anyone knew what was happening they'd slain my father.

"My siblings and I were rushed back to our rooms under heavy guard, but they got through. Three of them held me down as another tore at my nightdress and I-" She clenches her fist against his chest as her voice breaks, "I know what would have happened if Alphonse hadn't rushed in and took them by surprise. Those few moments before felt like an eternity... an eternity I still relive sometimes..."

They lay there for a while more in silence before he slide out from her hold, mumbling something about them needing food for the night.

She watches him dress in the same quiet, as though she knew what was about to happen. But how could she? Even he didn't know what he was about to do.

Instead of walking towards the village or into the woods to find them some kind of supper for the evening, he mounts his horse and rides off.

Once he starts he doesn't stop, not until he is a few towns over and nearly a week has passed, but by the gods he doesn't know why.

Her admissions had come as quite a shock to him and it was so much for him to process. Her near-rape wasn't what his mind had issue comprehending, though the idea any man would lay his hands on her with such intent made his blood boil.

It was more the other confessions, the ones she had barely spoken into being... 'the castle,' 'my father was slain,' 'My siblings and I were taken back to our rooms and left under heavy guard.'

He'd known she was of noble blood, that much was obvious, he thought perhaps she was the third born of a wealthy lord in some far-off country, but no. She was a princess, and from what he knew of princesses, those born and raised as such, they were sweet, beautiful, and kind creatures, and Aläea was all that and more.

He sits on the edge of his bed at the inn and runs his hand down his face as he goes over it in his head.

The way she'd kissed him, the confession of affection and feeling she'd given him. After all he's done, the people he's killed, the oath he'd broken, he simply doesn't deserve it.

Her heart breaks when she finds him half dead and broken.

The witch had been right.

She waves over her companions and rushes to his side, falling to her knees beside him.

"Sandor?" She touches is face, tilting it to look at her, but he doesn't respond.

He wakes with a start and reaches for his knife, but his body screams in reply.

He feels like he's been ripped open.

The sky is dark and nearly starless past the clouds. He feels hands on his body and the warmth of a fire nearby.

"Get the fuck off me!" He groans, trying to sit up.

"Hold him!" A voice snaps, "If I don't set this right he could lose the whole leg!"

Two of the hands move to his shoulders and shove him back on the ground.

His head feels like it's full of cotton, but even through the haze he knows exactly who he's suddenly looking up at.

She says something he doesn't hear and someone helps her shove a leather strip in his mouth. He doesn't get a chance to question it before a sharp and sudden pain engulfs his leg and and growls loudly into the leather.

"... for the pain?" Her voice washes over him like a balm for his mind and his hand fumbles around for hers.

"We don't have anymore milk of the poppy, but I'll be quick, I promise."

Gods be good, he thinks as he gazes up at her, his cloudy vision making halos of light around her, She's not a princess, she's an angel.

He's so out of it and focused he doesn't see a fourth set of hands pulling a blade from this fire.

All he sees is her, the way she's holding his hand, the way she's softly kissing his head before-

His head pounds as he forces his eyes open.

He doesn't know this bed, doesn't know this ceiling.

The last thing he remembers is getting his ass kicked by that Tarth bitch and the Arya girl leaving him to die.

He turns his head, wincing when he chuckles. He does know that damned lion and the girl curled up against it.

The words home sparks in his mind but he doesn't let it stay.

She's not his home.

He tries to sit but a pained noise forces its way from him instead, causing her to stir.

When she looks up at him with those pretty blue eyes all sleepy and worried he had to remind himself.

She's not his home.

"You're awake."

He grunts in response, still trying to sit on his own.

"Let me help you-"

"Don't want your damn help!" He snarls at her, "You should have left me to die."

He half expects her to pout and sniffle or cower away from him. But instead her face hardens and she cuffs the back of his head, catching him off guard.

"Hell of a way to thank someone for saving your fucking life!" She snaps, "Do you have any idea how worried I was when I found you like that?!"

She's not home.

"Did I ask you and your cunt friends to save me?!"

She can't be home.

"So I should have left you there to rot?"

"Yes!"

He can't let her be home.

"Well, what if I want you to be alive?!"

Everything goes silent beside their heavy breathing.

Fuck.

His shoulder aches when he reaches out and snags her skirt, pulling her down against his lips.

Pain erupts in his chest when she lands on him, but he ignores it, letting himself get lost in her kiss.

He's finally home.

[libraryofneith]

Old Dog, New Tricks - Chapter 2

Summary: Sandor finally wakes up.

Her eyes. There was something familiar about those eyes… But before he could figure out what it was, she was gone.

Sandor Clegane woke amidst a tired haze of pain. His body felt like it weighed fifty stone and was sinking beneath an ocean of dizziness and exhaustion. He felt like he was drifting in and out of consciousness but how long he slept between those brief moments he couldn’t say. This time was different though, he was still in pain but his head felt a little clearer. He refused to sink back into another pain induced coma. This time he was going to find out where the fuck he was and who the fuck had brought him here.

He gave a long, low groan and suddenly he noticed a small girl appear at his bedside. Her eyes. There was something familiar about those eyes… But before he could figure out what it was, she was gone. Shit, maybe he’d dreamed her. Wait no, she appeared a moment later accompanied by a smiley but scruffy looking man. The seven-pointed star that hung around his neck would suggest that he was a septon but he looked too good humoured for that. What the fuck is going on?

He tried to speak but all he could manage was whispery, wordless rasp. Then the girl was leaning over him, holding a bowl of water. He gulped it down eagerly. He doubted these people would nurse him back to health if they meant to kill him later ands gods but it felt good. He tilted his head back gasping for air, some of the water spilling down his chest.

“You’re up I see. Good, we weren’t sure you were going to open your eyes again.”

Sandor shot him a glare and tried to get up, but as soon as he moved his head started swimming and he felt a small pair of hands force him down. He looked up: they belonged to the girl. He’d just been overpowered by a little girl, shit! What had he come to? He managed to rasp out two little words:

“Wh-who? Where?”

“Peace brother, we mean you no harm. I’m Septon Ray and this here is Kya. She’s been at your bedside nursing you since we brought you here, she was even with me when I found you.”

So that’s why she looked so familiar. She’d been the one he saw each time he nearly woke up. The one he could feel offering him water and mopping his brow. He looked to her and tried to say something but his head kept throbbing and wouldn’t let him think of anything to say. She just stared back at him, eyes surveying him curiously. She said nothing. She stepped aside as this Septon Ray moved to stand over him.

“Might I ask your name brother?”

His name. He couldn’t tell them, there was a bounty on his head. If they knew they had the infamous Hound in their midst then they would not hesitate to cut off his head and send it to King’s Landing in a pretty pink bow. He tried to think of a fake name but his head still protested furiously when he tried to think, causing him to cry out in pain. The Septon backed off quickly.

“Alright, no need for names just yet. You’ve probably had enough people for one day, time for some rest. Kya give him some milk of the poppy.”

Kya nodded wordlessly and when she brought a small bottle to his lips he did not protest. Once he’d had his fill he lay back and let the milk cloud his mind and carry him off into a dreamless sleep.