⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

fwb!Sandor who began his service to House Lannister around the same time as you. Both of you were forced to grow accustomed to each other's presence seeing how much time Cersei and Joffrey spent together. And it didn't take long for this silent, lecherous agreement between the two of you to bloom.

fwb!Sandor who fucked you in a haze that first time — you had both drank too much during a festival, and while the Lords and Ladies were busy, Sandor dragged you into a quiet hallway, hiked your dress up, bent you over and fucked you raw. His enormous hand was plastered over your mouth as he thrust into you from behind, muffling your screams of pleasure. You'd never been fucked like that in your life and it left your knees weak for days.

fwb!Sandor who just thought he lucked out that night by scoring some pussy without spending a dime. But he couldn't get you out of his head from that day forth. Your soft supple skin, your long auburn hair that he could so easily tug, the way you whimpered as he pushed into you... And now everytime he walked past you in the Red Keep, there was an ache in his groin he couldn't ignore.

fwb!Sandor who catches you staring at him from across the room during dinners and meetings after that one fateful night. At first he thought you were looking at his scars; that's what most people did anyways, and it infuriated him. But he slowly realised there was something else behind those big brown eyes of yours. Something dangerous. Something lustful.

fwb!Sandor who stalked you into your maids quarters one night, bolting the door behind him. He expected you to be scared at first, but you were a defiant little thing, and you pounced on him the second he turned to face you. And from that night onwards, you two couldn't keep your hands off each other.

fwb!Sandor who will find any excuse to bang you. In the stairwell while Cersei and Joffrey are busy with their own affairs. In the servants quarters when you're supposed to be stitching Cersei's dress. In the stables when you're both supposed to be preparing the horses for a ride. The list is endless.

fwb!Sandor who has the most insane size kink with you. All his life Sandor has been mocked for his enormity — a beast amongst men. And while it provides some advantages in his line of work, he’s never felt proud of this 'defect'. But with you. With you, everything changes. He’s watching the way his body engulfs you entirely, the way you’re practically crushed under his weight as he pounds into you, how his one hand can effortlessly fit around your throat, how your legs are stretched so wide whenever you straddle him you’re basically doing the splits. It drives him feral.

fwb!Sandor who treats oral like prayer. He doesn't believe in the gods; but when he goes down on you, hands gripping your thighs, tongue pressed into your slit like he's digging for gold, your juices dripping into his beard... It's the closest he thinks he'll ever come to experiencing divinity.

fwb!Sandor who has always been a simple man with little needs. But ever since the two of you started fucking, something changed inside him. He craved you. He needed you like he needed water. Even more than water, he thinks. He'd gone weeks contently living off mead and ale, but even going days without your cunt drove him mad. If he's ever deprived of you for more than five days, you can bet that he's fisting his cock furiously in bed just thinking of you.

fwb!Sandor who came to your quarters one night with wounds from a recent jousting tourney that the King had forced him to do. He was only there for the sex — it had become a ritual now — but you wouldn't let him onto your bed until you'd tended to his cuts. Sandor, ever the oafish brute, protested and grumbled the entire time. "I don't need any tending to, woman." "Sandor Clegane, you sit still and let me bandage this cut, or so help me god, I will never let you back into my chambers again." That was enough to shut him up.

fwb!Sandor who never lets anyone else touch his face but you. There are times where, after your nightly fuck, Sandor will linger in your bed for a while. You two rarely speak in those moments, but there's a mutual appreciation for each other's company. He doesn't protest when you comb your fingers through his hair, or when you gently touch the scars on his face. It's all very new to him; he's never been comfortable with anyone else feeling his scars — hell, he doesn't even like it when people look at his scars. But it's different with you. He doesn't know why. He doesn't want to know why. And when you lean a little closer and place the gentlest of kisses on that side of his face, Sandor feels a pain in his chest that he's never felt before.

fwb!Sandor who has never been more proud to be called a dog than when it's coming out of your pretty lips. You'd think the man would always be a dominant, controlling barbarian in bed. And he can be —there's no doubt the man loves to wreck you. But when you've had a particularly bad day after Cersei was barking orders at you nonstop, you take it out on him, and god he loves it. "Now be a good dog and kneel for me, Clegane." You swear you've never seen a man get on his knees quicker.

fwb!Sandor who lowkey has a praise kink, he just doesn't know it yet. He's so driven by your validation; He wants to make you feel good and to think of him as your only source of pleasure. He'll kill you if you ever tell anyone, but Sandor is just constantly begging for your approval in bed. "Does that feel good?" "You like that?" "Tell me. Tell me how good my cock fucks."

fwb!Sandor who always stands behind you during ceremonies or feasts. And when the Lords and Ladies start dancing, or get a little too drunk to bother their lingering servants, you’ll slowly step back. Inch by inch you press your body up against him; Linen against steel. Your wandering hands expertly weave themselves past his armour and chainmail until you touch the flesh of his inner thigh. You can always hear the jolt of air that Sandor sucks in everytime you touch him there. It drives you mad to see how weak he is for you.

fwb!Sandor who is forced to shove down his anger whenever Joffrey or Robert makes offhanded remarks sexualising your body or your service. He knows he has no right to feel possessive over you, after all, you are both just servants to the House. But there's a rage that fills him as he watches you try to suppress your shame and embarrassment after every comment. Sandor will grip the handle of his sword so tight his knuckles turn pale. It makes him sick that he can't do anything to protect you.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Ever since he could remember, Islam has always wanted a big family. He'd even admitted in a now viral interview that he wanted seven kids with you. Fast forward half a decade into your marriage, and you'd popped out three beautiful children who would carry on the Makhachev family name: Two boys and a girl.

Sounds like paradise right? That's what Islam thought too. And even though everyone (including Khabib) had warned him about how exhausting having three kids all under the age of five would be, Islam could not be happier.

But there was just one little issue that was proving to be more troublesome than expected… And that was spending time with you.

“Milayshka I’m home!” Islam called out as he dumped his gym bag by the front door, adrenaline still pumping in his veins after that quick sparring session with the team. He shuffled into the open kitchen and found you there cutting up some vegetables for what he assumed would be lunch.

“Hi darling,” you greeted without looking up, eyes still focused on the chopping board as you diced up some carrots.

Suddenly, you felt a pair of strong arms snake their way around your waist, hugging you tightly. Islam pressed a big wet kiss to your cheek before snuggling his face into the crook of your neck, sighing deeply as if he hadn't held you in years.

“I miss you baby,” he cooed, swaying his hips slightly as he pressed you against the countertop. You chuckled in response.

“We literally got up together this morning. I watched you pee like three hours ago.”

“So what? I cannot miss my wife when I go gym?” He whispered from behind you as he kissed you again on the side of your neck. You hummed happily as Islam started pressing his lips all over — your jaw, your earlobes, your shoulder… His calloused hands had conveniently found their way under the waistband of your shorts, caressing the skin at your hips.

“Careful now, the kids are awake,” you chastised quietly, silently not wanting him to stop. It'd been a hot minute since you and Islam had gotten any. Between raising two toddler boys and a newborn girl, you guys simply had no time alone for sex.

“It’s okay, they're upstairs no?” Islam said as he pushed your legs further apart with his feet. He pressed his hips against you and you could feel his hardness poking into your ass. You gasped as his hand worked his way down your pelvis, his fingers resting gingerly atop your entrance, separated only by the thin fabric of your shorts.

“I need you,” he growled primitively as he felt the warmth and desire of your cunt radiating through those cotton shorts. He let out a low moan as his other hand moved up your torso to fondle your breasts.

“PAPA!” The unmistakeable sound of bare feet pattering down the staircase jolted the two of you out of a trance. Islam recoiled back in the blink of an eye, clearing his throat like he had just been caught doing the unimaginable.

“Papa! Sayyid stole my firetruck!” 

“Liar!” Your youngest son retorted, crossing his arms defiantly. You and Islam exchanged tired but amused looks. If the past 5 years have taught you anything about parenting and family planning, it was that raising 2 toddler boys took the patience of a saint. They fought almost every day over who got to play with what, but it was just a shame it had to happen when you two were finally getting back into the rhythm of things… 

And as if the universe needed to send yet another interruption, your newborn daughter suddenly began to wail from her bassinet as she woke up from her midday nap. No words needed to be said between you and Islam. He placed a quick kiss on your cheek before springing into action as he pulled apart your sons from their tussle — seamlessly switching from husband-mode to dad-mode. You smiled to yourself before going to comfort your daughter. 

After a long time wrestling with the boys to put aside their petty beef, you and Islam finally got the whole family to sit down for lunch. Distracted with feeding your newborn her softfoods, as well as making sure your sons ate their vegetables, you had totally forgotten about your brief interaction with Islam earlier. But it was slowly becoming more and more apparent to you that it was still very much on his mind; a subtle grin from across the table, leaning over you as he served soup around, a quick tug at your ponytail as he got up to put the dishes in the sink… It was clear that Islam had some unfinished business with you.

Lunch was concluded in an impressively short time, and as you cleared the table, Islam had whisked the children away into the playroom to entertain themselves. You were about to go upstairs when Islam almost ran into you on the way down. 

“Where are you going?” He asked, almost aghast that you’d be doing anything other than waiting for him back in the dining room. 

You chuckled and placed a cheeky kiss on his lips. “I wanted to take a shower while the kids aren’t bothering us.” 

As you took a step up the stairs, Islam moved to cage you against the stairwell wall. He pressed your back against the wall, arms on either side of you, his face so close to yours that you could feel his breath against your cheek. His torso was firmly glued against yours, and you could feel his groin pushing against the fabric of his gym shorts. 

“But…” he whispered, tracing his fingers delicately up your arm. 

“But what Islam?” You teased, batting your eyelids innocently at him. You swung your arms over his shoulder and kissed his cheek gently. You felt him let out a shaky breath as you massaged his ears. “What does my lovely husband want hmm?”

His grip on your waist only tightened and before you could get another word out, Islam picked you up effortlessly and threw you over his shoulder. You burst out laughing as Islam raced up the stairs with you swinging away on him. He made a beeline straight to your bedroom, making sure to lock the door behind him before slamming you down on the bed. 

“But I want to take a shower!” You giggled as you scrambled away from the edge of the bed towards the headboard. Your half-hearted protests fell on deft ears and Islam climbed onto the bed. Like an animal on all four limbs, he stalked his way towards you, his eyes full of desire and need. He gripped your ankles and yanked you down until you were lying flat on your back and he was directly on top of you. 

“Shower later,” he growled, lowering himself to kiss you, “let me have you first”.

He lavished the taste of your soft lips and hummed delightedly. He gently brought your hands together above your head and grasped both your wrists firmly in place against the mattress. You squirmed in anticipation, aching for his touch, as Islam’s other hand snaked its way down to the waistband of your shorts. 

“Islam I need —” 

Suddenly, there was a loud pounding on the bedroom door that could only be recognised as a child’s insistent banging. “Mama! Are you in there?” 

You and Islam froze in place. You stifled a laugh as Islam closed his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. You could see the gears in his head turning furiously to figure out a way to keep you here in his arms. 

“Mama’s busy!” Islam yelled back at the door. “Go play!” 

There was a beat of silence and Islam took that as a sign to resume his kisses. But as his lips had barely grazed your jaw, there was more banging on the door. The doorknob jiggled incessantly from the other side. 

“Mama! Sayyid and I wanna go to the park! Please!" 

Defeated, Islam let go of your wrists and collapsed on top of you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You couldn’t help but chuckle as your husband let out a most helpless groan. Islam wasn't used to losing, but this was a battle he truly seemed to have no power over.

“I’m gonna send them away,” he mumbled lowly, pouting as he pressed his face to the mattress. You cooed sympathetically and ran your fingers through his short buzzed hair. You pressed a quick kiss to his temple, hoping that it would be some form of consolation, before squeezing your way out from under him. Islam barely moved an inch, just lying there on the bed face down into the mattress like a lifeless mannequin. 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

A - Aftercare: Islam very affectionate after sex, and likes to leave a trail of kisses over your body, humming and whispering sweet words of praise as you come down from your high. He doesn’t like to leave you alone, so usually he’ll just pull you on top of him and hold you until you fall asleep. Sometimes he’ll even pull out his phone so the two of you can watch some Instagram reels together (he’s chronically online let’s be honest) and have a good laugh to wind down from a wild night.

B - Body part: You go insane for his biceps. Everytime he flexes those guns you can literally feel yourself getting soaked. You have a photos album on your phone solely dedicated to mirror selfies that the two of you take where Islam is purposefully flexing his biceps behind you. On you? Islam loves your thighs. He loves putting a hand on your thigh as he drives, loves watching the way they move when you run together, loves kissing them and watching you shiver in delight. He also loves being suffocated by them when you wrap them around his head as he eats you out… but that’s a conversation for another day.

C - Cum: In you, preferably. Finishing in you is just the most divine feeling in the world. Plus he wouldn’t mind having a litter of kids running around soon, so what’s not to like? Islam doesn’t like finishing in your mouth; he feels like it’s too degrading. Whenever you suck him off, he’ll always pull out before he comes and finishes in his hand, or even better, asks to be in you before he’s even close to finishing.

D - Dirty secret: He’s never admitted it, but the few times that you’ve called him “daddy” in a moment of playfulness or tease genuinely arouses him. It plays into his domineering side and he loves the way you say it with such innocence and charm.

E - Experience: Contrary to popular belief, Islam isn’t all that experienced with sex. He’s never had a steady girlfriend before you to practice on, and all his other sexual encounters were meaningless one night stands when he first came to America. But he’s a fast learner, and is always enthusiastic to find new ways to please you.

F - Favourite position: You two get really creative when it comes to fucking. You’ve done it upright against the glass shower door, sideways where he’s fucking you in a headlock (he loved this one), traditional missionary or doggy with your head shoved against the mattress so hard you can barely breathe… He doesn’t really have a favourite — he’s down to do whatever the occasion calls for.

G - Goofy: Islam can be pretty funny during sex. If the vibe isn’t strictly hot and heavy, he likes to be playful and make you laugh. He has always thought that your smile is one of the most beautiful things in the the world, and he’s always trying to find new ways to crack you up (even when that’s during the cracking).

H - Hair: Islam is very carefree with his hair maintenance downstairs. He lets it grow out totally, sometimes to the point where you have to remind him to trim it, at which he will just shave everything completely and start afresh with a bald shaft. In his words, shaving down there is not on his priority list because who else sees it but his lovely wife?

I - Intimacy: He’s such a romantic. To him, sex is an opportunity to worship and adore you and your body. It’s the most intimate thing a couple can engage in. He’s always touching you, kissing you, showering you with compliments and encouragement as you fuck. Outside of the bedroom, even in front of his team, he makes sure everyone knows you're his. A subtle hand on your waist, a lingering reassuring gaze…

J - Jack off: Because of his line of work, he’s away from you a lot, and sometimes he just can’t control the urge. He’s always thinking about you and moans your name as he finishes. He never asks for nudes but he will stare at this one particularly scandalous picture of you in nothing but a thong that he keeps hidden in his phone.

K - Kinks: We all know this man has a breeding kink. He wants seven kids and is prepared to do all the dirty work to knock you up. But Islam also has a thing for some light BDSM. You’d introduced him to the world of choking (during sex of course; this man is very familiar with choking outside of the bedroom), spanking, hair-pulling… And it totally changed the game for him.

L - Locations: Islam is lowkey into public sex. You've only done it once — in the arena toilet right after his first title shot. He was so full of adrenaline and ecstasy that the moment he saw you backstage he knew he needed you then and there. He knows it's super risky but he’s secretly been itching to try it again.

M - Motivation: His turn-ons aren’t immediate. Usually it’s the build up of things that eventually gets to him. He’s particularly aroused when you take charge of situations and show your more dominant personality. Something about you scolding Usman for making a scene, or barking at Amru to put his phone away at the dinner table; he can’t help but feel a tinge of arousal.

N - NO: Islam isn’t really into dirty talk, not just because he finds it slightly awkward and embarrassing, but also because he thinks it’s wrong that he should be calling you such horrible names and insults. Outside of the bedroom, Islam would never dare disrespect or degrade you, so why should that change in the bedroom? The spanking and choking is the flip side to his otherwise impenetrable morals — it’s what you want, and after all, isn’t it his job to please his woman?

O - Oral: Surprisingly, Islam isn’t the biggest fan of blowjobs. He thinks it’s dirty and doesn’t like seeing you on your knees taking him. When you’re in the mood for it, he doesn’t object, but because you know he’d much rather just be in you, you don’t initiate it often. He does however, enjoy eating you out. He likes you on your back for it and relishes in your taste and smell. He’ll lick his face and fingers clean after you finish and leave kisses down your thighs.

P - Pace: Islam is a pretty versatile man when it comes to his pace. Depending on the vibe he's ready to go heavy and fast to get the job done, or take it slow and steady so you can really stay in the moment. When he gets flustered, especially after a really taxing training day or an exhausting media day, he's both fast and rough (which you secretly love but won't tell him).

Q - Quickie: Yup. Anytime is game time if you're down. Islam always fucks raw so there's no fuss about being “prepared” or whatever. If you're ovulating and you need that, Islam is more than happy to give it to you.

R - Risks: As mentioned, Islam isn't totally against the idea of some risky public sex. Something about the thrill of it all kind of turns him on. He once subtly suggested having a quickie up in the secluded mountains of Dagestan, to which you vehemently rejected because who knows what kinds of bugs or pervs were lurking in the bushes up there. He'll try suggesting it again in a month…

S - Stamina: Boy does this man have a crazy libido. You guys could have just finished fucking, 20 minutes later if he catches a glimpse of your rear end as you enter the shower for a clean-up, the man is bricked up again.

T - Toys: You own a vibrator which you guys occasionally incorporate into your sex routine. You had to teach Islam how to use one on you and he was totally mesmerised by the reaction you had when he pressed it against your clit out of the blue. Safe to say he keeps the vibrator in reach on the days where he wants to push your body to the limits and overstimulate you.

U - Unfair: Both of you are equally as naughty when it comes to teasing, especially in public. Islam is the kind of husband to give you a slap on the ass when no one is looking, and then look away pretending it wasn't him (as if anyone else would ever dare touch you like that). You also like to ride your high heel up the side of his inner calf when you guys are at a fancy restaurant just to watch him squirm as he tries to order his dinner. This back and forth will continue for the rest of the night before he puts you in your place back home.

V - Volume: Islam is very vocal in bed. Not only is he coaxing you through everything — telling you how good your pussy feels, how he loves your breasts, how he wants you to spread your legs wider for him — he also isn't ashamed to moan a lot. He wants you to know how good you make him feel, so he just lets go and becomes a whining mess when he's in you.

W - Wild card: He’s really into thigh-riding. The first time you tried it was on accident; You were sitting on his thigh trying to fix his tie for a gala event you both were attending. Naturally, your dress rode up and it was only a thin layer of your panty separating you from his leg. The slow rocks of your hips aroused you and Islam caught on very quickly, grabbing your hips and encouraging you to get off on it. He loved the warmth of you on his leg, your pleads as you gripped his neck, the insane idea of getting you to climax without even taking off a single layer of clothing.

X - X-Ray: Girthy. Very girthy. And he is constantly reminding you of it, telling you how a much of a good girl you are for taking him in full.

Y - Yearning: Islam needs you 24/7. Not even in a sexual way — the man just wants to be with you at all times. You bring a sense of peace and stability in his ever-changing life. He's guilty of being a clingy pout — always sulking and whining whenever you can’t join him on trips, or even when you leave the house to go grocery shopping without him. Whenever you're not home when he comes back from the gym he’ll spam you with the same texts everytime: “Where are you, darling?” “You are not home? Where are you?” “Send location. I will go to you. I have car.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Islam Makhachev

The "I just found your friend on Hinge" trend

You two are on the couch at home having designated social media doomscrolling time. Your legs are lying lazily atop of his as he mindlessly rubs circles on your thigh with one hand, the other holding his phone. You sneakily line up your camera hit record on TikTok

"Oh my god. I just found Amru on Hinge!" You pretend to look shocked at your phone screen. Islam doesn't even budge, too engrossed with whatever wrestling reel he's watching. "Hinge? What's that?" "You know, the dating app. I can't believe he's on there!"

Islam now looks up from his phone. But it has yet to register in his brain as he stares off into the distance, thinking hard about Amru. "I mean... He is single... But why a dating app? He is handsome, no? Why does he not just.."

He finally snaps his head towards you, brows furrowed and lips downturned in a scowl. "Wait! Why are you on a dating app!"

You burst out laughing as Islam lunges over to grab your phone, only to realise that you had been filming him the entire time. He tuts disapprovingly and tosses your phone aside, giving you an exhausted but amused smirk.

"That is not funny," he says, feigning offence as he pouts. "I knew Amru would never go on a dating app..."

Khabib Nurmagomedov

The "This is my current boyfriend" trend

You and Khabib had just come home from a shopping spree — it was Khabib's treat after being away for training camp. After every shopping spree, it was mandatory that you did a haul for your private TikTok account (which Khabib had grown used to and actually actively participates in).

You two sit on the floor in between your living room couch and the coffee table so you could prop your phone up and film the two of you. Khabib gets comfortable, adjusting all the shopping bags in front of you for easy access before spreading his arm out casually across the couch cushions as you hit record.

"Hi guys! Welcome to another haul! So today, my current boyfriend and I went to the mall at —" Khabib immediately flinched and reels his body back from you in horror.

"What did you say?" You pause, trying to hold in your laughter. "What? I said we went to the mall today." "No, before that. What did you call me?"

You're practically biting down on your lip now trying to contain your giggles, and that just gives the whole prank away. The look of utter shock on Khabib's face starts morphing into a look of amusement.

In the blink of an eye, Khabib jumps at you and wraps his arms around your shoulders. He basically has you in a rear naked choke as he smothers one side of your face with slobbery kisses. "Stop!" You yell out, laughing so hard your ribs are starting to hurt. "I need to film my haul!" "Current boyfriend. Don't ever say this bullshit again."

Usman Nurmagomedov

The "Pretending he forgot about date night" trend

Usman had just gotten home from a midday training session, and as you hear the familiar sounds of his footsteps walking towards your bedroom, you quickly hit record on your phone.

"Hi baby — Oh! Are you going out?" You're sitting at your vanity in front of your phone with a beauty blender in hand, pausing your concealer application to look at Usman through the vanity mirror. Fully committing to the bit, you let your shoulders sag as a disappointed pout appears on your face. "You forgot?"

Immediately, Usman's face drops. You can see the gears in his head turning furiously trying to remember what it is that you're talking about. To no avail. So you double down. "Usman, I can't believe you forgot about this. I've been talking about date night for weeks now!"

You feel almost bad as Usman sputters helplessly trying to find the right words. "Baby! I — I promise you... It's not that I forgot! I just... Wait...." He whips out his phone and scrolls through his calendar app, only to find today blank with no reminders. Now Usman knows for a fact he always, without fail, marks down date nights in his calendar solely to avoid moments like this. And when he looks up from his phone, he spots your phone screen recording and his mouth hangs open.

"Are you pranking me?" You can't help but laugh as Usman throws his hands in the air, absolutely defeated. "You are horrible! I nearly died there!"

Umar Nurmagomedov

The "Asking if you can order fries at a restaurant" trend

You and Umar were out at a burger chain restaurant for date night. You two were sat across each other in the booths looking at the menu when Umar raises his hand to get the attention of the waiter. You smile subtly and set up your camera at the edge of the table.

"Hello. Can I get a beef double cheeseburger with Coke Zero?" The waiter, a young teenage girl, nods diligently as she jots down Umar's order on her notepad. Umar looks up at you expectantly, a genuine and loving smile on his face.

"Hi. I'll have the chicken burger with ranch sauce please, and..." You look up at Umar, faking a look of concern on your face. "Babe, am I allowed to have the fries today?"

Umar's jaw drops open in dismay. He looks frantically between you and the waiter. "What? Of course! I swear I've never — When have I..." He starts to gesture wildly at you, eyes wide and panicked. The waiter, who obviously knew about this trend, covers her mouth with her notepad and stifles a laugh before nodding and walking away to the kitchen.

"Babe!" Umar whisper-yells at you as you erupt in laughter. "You can't do that! I let you eat fries all the time!" You start tearing up with laughter, unable to even answer him. Umar simply rolls his eyes. He isn't angry more so than he is entertained by your antics.

"You know what?" Umar raised his hand and catches the waiter's attention again. "What're you doing?" "I'm ordering you two portions of fries since you wanna be funny now."

Khamzat Chimaev

The "Saying I want to go home" trend

You're over at Khamzat's apartment all tangled up in his bedsheets. Khamzat's sitting at his desk across the bedroom. He had just bought the new UFC video game and he was playing it on his PC for the past two hours while you doom scrolled on his bed. You angled your phone at him and pressed record before faking a big yawn.

"I think I'm gonna go home." Khamzat, who had his headphones covering only one ear, abruptly paused his game and turns to you. "What?"

"I said I think I'm gonna go home now." Khamzat immediately takes off his headphones and walks over to you, his eyes full of worry. "What. No no no, don't." He pleads softly as he climbs onto the bed to lie on top of you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

"I'm sorry. Did I take too long on the game? I stop now. We can go sleep now." He mumbles, hugging you tightly. You stifle a laugh as you turn the camera to film him — it's such a rarity to capture this soft side of your boyfriend. "Yeah? You wanna cuddle now? My little baby..." you ask with an exaggerated baby voice.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

For better or for worse, Sandor Clegane was not a gentle person. His temper had propelled his career as a guard, no doubt, but there were times when he wished he hadn’t been born such a hothead. Since taking you as a wife, Sandor had been getting much better at handling and regulating his anger. With many hours poured into helping him open up, Sandor was slowly starting to learn how to communicate first and sulk later. But sometimes, when your fights got heated, his anger would slip through the cracks. 

In the early days of your relationship, the topic of your fights were always about his line of work. As much as you tried to hide it from him, Sandor always knew that you despised his service to the boy-king. Because of this, Sandor often chose to lie to you about certain parts of his job, and that just infuriated you even more, fuelling your disdain for the kingsgaurd. When the pent up frustration and agitation came bubbling to the surface, you and Sandor never held back; profanities were exchanged, dishes were hurled across the room, doors were slammed… It always got messy.

Sandor would come home with blood stains on his armour and linens, and brush it off as if it were no worry. “It’s not my blood, if that’ll stop you from harping on,” he’d say gruffly as he shrugged off his soiled clothes. “Gods Sandor. How can you do this? And for the Lannisters of all people!” you’d reply, a harrowing sense of shame rising in your chest as the idea of your husband hurting another human being — deserved or not — crept into your mind. Sandor would bark back and the rest of the week would be spent in an endless back-and-forth war.

Although lately, your fights have slowly started to center around Sandor’s jealousy. You and Sandor had married young, and you were once hailed for your beauty as a bride. You possessed an astounding charm and elegance that men, including and especially Sandor, could not help but be captivated by. And he loved you for your beauty. But you would be a fool to say that your marriage had not been the talk of the town for a cruelly long time. Who could have imagined a girl so young and so enamouring as yourself would bed a man so horrifying and grotesque as The Hound? 

At first, Sandor had barely paid those whispering rumours any mind. He was one of the most feared guards in the realm, why should he pay any attention to the gossip of lesser handmaidens and old housewives? Sandor was assured enough by the ferociousness of your love and devotion as a wife that no one could sway his opinion of your loyalty. But with age came change; the stumble in his gait, the softening of his jaw, the scars and flaking skin from his wounds. And while you seemed to stay as radiant as you were on the day of your wedding, Sandor had slowly become lost in his own insecurities. And so now, the whispers of doubt and creeping looks from other men felt like a living threat; a threat that Sandor could do little to fend off. 

“You’re acting a fool, Sandor,” you said with gritted teeth, hands on your hips, too angry to sit beside your husband at the dining table. Sandor only scoffed and shoved another piece of chicken into his mouth. 

“I’m only a fool because you’ve fucking made me one. To think my wife is going around town laughing with the butcher’s son like some common fucking wench while I work to put food on the table like a fucking cuck.” 

You threw your hands up in disbelief, outraged that Sandor would ever throw these accusations at you. “Right. And my husband is such a fucking saint is he? Just doing the Lannisters bidding like a right fucking—” 

“Like what?” Sandor growled, rising from his seat. A beat of silence passed between the two of you, only the sounds of your heavy breathing and the crack of the fireplace could be heard. Sandor towered over you, and for a split second, you were almost afraid that he would strike you. But he only grunted and brushed past you to the front door. 

“Ungrateful whore,” he muttered, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear. 

You snapped your head towards him. Your eyes burned with anger and betrayal. “Say that again and you will never hear from me again, Sandor Clegane,” you spat. Sandor looked at you then, just as furious as before, but he would not repeat his words. With a slam of the door behind him, he had left the house. You would go to bed alone that night, sobbing into your straw pillow until your lungs hurt and you felt like heaving. 

Reconciling after a fight was almost always the hardest part. Sandor’s first instinct after every fight was to ignore the immeasurable tension and agony that passed between you two. Deny, deny, deny. You would wake up the next morning, eyes swollen, nose congested, and stumble into the common area only to find Sandor donning his guardsmen clothes ready for the day. When you fail to greet him with a lover’s embrace, Sandor would upturn his lips and shrug. “What’s with the mood huh?” 

You only glance at him with eyes like daggers. “You called me an ungrateful whore last night, Sandor. Don’t be daft.” 

Sandor shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “I would never say something like that. Not to you,” he said, almost like it was one big joke to him. But you didn't laugh, and your silence was somehow more piercing than if you had lashed out at him. 

You could see the gears in Sandor’s head turning as he scrambled for the right words to say. “Seven Hells woman, you're killing me here. So what, you're just gonna ignore me the rest of our lives? Am I to live out my days as if I took the Black and never married?” His voice got louder with every word. Desperate. But not desperate enough to apologise. You knew his pride would never allow it. Was this the man I truly married?

“Is that what you want?” You asked in the softest voice. 

Sandor was at a loss for words. You knew your question had crossed a line. Fight for me, you pleaded in your mind, tears welling up in your eyes once more. Fight for us. But Sandor’s pride would not allow him to apologise. At least not yet. Alas, the brave and valiant Hound could do no more than mumble something incoherent before disappearing out the front door, leaving you alone in a miserable silence. Your chest was heavy with exhaustion and it took every ounce of strength in you not to break down. 

For the rest of the day, you busied yourself with menial tasks in an attempt to distract yourself. But you could not think of anything other than your husband. Oh, how you missed him. When things were good, Sandor could be the most devoted and loving husband in all the Seven Kingdoms. You often pitied the old housewives in the village who lamented about their burdensome husbands. Sandor had never demanded anything of you, never laid a hand on you, never took you for granted. So then how was it that it had come to this? That he had walked out of the house with no hesitation when you challenged the foundation of your marriage? Was his silence his twisted way of giving up? All these wretched thoughts raced through your mind from dawn till dusk.

You thought Sandor would not come home that evening. He did that sometimes — after a big fight he’d disappear for a day or two, Gods knew where he went — but tonight he returned to you. Your back was against the front door as you stirred a skinned chicken inside a pot of boiling broth for dinner. The familiar jingle of wind chimes outside your front door stirred your attention as Sandor entered. As he crouched slightly to fit through the door of your cottage, you spotted the bundle of wildflowers in his hand. They were crooked from too tight a grip on its stems, but they were beautiful nonetheless. Blue and yellow and white like the colours of a noble house’s banner. 

Sandor didn't say a word as he crossed the room and placed the flowers on the dining table. There was a pause. You reached out to touch the flowers. They were as fresh as plucked flowers could be, still damp from the night’s drizzle. 

“They’re beautiful,” you mumbled, breaking the silence and offering a tired smile to him. 

Sandor inhaled deeply and clasped his two hands in front of him before he began to speak. “From the day I met you, the last thing I have ever wanted was to leave you. That is a thought that has simply never crossed my mind. I would call you ridiculous for ever suggesting so this morning, but perhaps… Perhaps I have ridiculed myself.” He took another deep breath before continuing. “You are my everything. My light, my life, I mean, fuck, you drive me insane, woman. I don’t even know why you married me; Sometimes I think the Gods have only allowed me one fortune in life and that’s you.” He began wringing his hands together, but his eyes had never left yours from the beginning. “So when some poor fucker comes whispering in my ear that you’ve warmed up to some other man, I think to myself; What if that’s it? What if she’s finally seeing her worth and realising that I’m just some sick fuck clinging onto her like dead meat? I just… I can’t… I can’t lose you…”

Your eyes stung with tears. But they were not tears of sorrow any longer. 

“Sandor…” You rushed to throw your arms around him, embracing his warm body like you had a million times before. Sandor’s body immediately relaxed as he wrapped his big strong arms around your torso, lifting you off the ground with ease. The weight on his chest had disappeared as soon as he felt the warmth of your cheek to his. 

With Sandor carrying you in his arms, you cupped his face with your hands, both thumbs soothing the rough skin on his cheeks. “Sandor Clegane, you stupid, stupid man. How could I ever love anyone else but you? I would die before I let you leave me, and you would have to pry the name Clegane from my cold, rotting corpse before I part from what is mine. I love you.” 

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

fwb!Park who had been harbouring a keen interest in you for some time. It wasn't exactly a crush (or at least that’s what he tells himself), but more of a budding curiosity. You’d been an OR nurse in his orthopaedic department for almost a year and Park couldn't help but feel oddly drawn to your side — so he hovered. He watched the way you worked with a level of attention only meant for you and lingered longer than he should when you talked to patients post-op. It's all he could do without crossing workplace boundaries... At the time at least...

fwb!Park who wasn't as subtle with his little obsession than he thought he was. It was hard for you to even pretend to be oblivious of the pair of eyes burning into the back of your head as you briefed your patient about their procedure, or the way Park always stood so close to you during consults and prep time that your arms touched and it drove you nuts.

fwb!Park who offered you a ride home once from PTMC when it was pouring outside. You were a little quick to accept his offer, which only amused the Shark even more. And when you invited him up to your apartment that night, Park knew that he had struck gold. The elevator up to your flat was packed with people coming home from a long day’s work, and as more people squeezed into the tiny metal box, your back was basically pressed up against Park’s front. Your hand kept brushing against his inner thigh. Accidentally, of course. And when the elevator jerked slightly, Park instinctively reached out to grab your waist. His large calloused hands were firmly gripped around you, his thumb moving in small but noticeable circles, tracing your flesh. That was the moment you knew you were done for. 

fwb!Park who, the moment you two stepped into your apartment, had slammed the door closed behind him and pushed you up against the empty wall. You instantly grabbed the back of his neck, yanking him down and kissed him hungrily. The man devoured you like he'd been starved of your touch for years. His hands were shoved up under your shirt and groping you all over. It was sensational — the way he touched you and muttered your name between each kiss, his erection pressing so hard against his pants and leaving a stain of pre-cum at his crotch.

fwb!Park who fucked you so good that first night. You guys did it against the wall, your legs wrapped around him as he supported your entire weight with one arm; You guys did it again against your dining table. He had you gripping the edges of the table, legs spread apart as he held your hips firmly and thrust into you from behind; And you guys did it again on your living room couch, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he stretched your cunt out for the third time that night. And that was just the beginning.

fwb!Park who would find any excuse to fuck you at work. He'd send you on pointless errands to the supply room just to get you alone in there and bend you over against the counter. He'd drop a text telling you to meet him in the handicap toilet, and when you locked the door behind you, he was on his knees, telling you to drop your pants and stand over him so he could eat you out right there. Everything about it was wrong and undignified and lustful. But it only made you want him more.

fwb!Park who, since the start of your little arrangement, started specifically requesting for your assistance during all his operations. This was a novel move by the Shark, who typically didn’t even like nurses getting in his way during an operation. Your charge nurse thinks he has it out for you, but little does she know that Park just uses this as an excuse to have you by his side at all times. It gets to the point where if you’re assisting another surgeon when Park needs you, he gets visibly agitated, and best believe everyone is walking on eggshells for the rest of the day. 

fwb!Park who, after every operation you assist him in, will pull you aside and give you a rundown review of your performance. He doesn’t do this to any other nurse. Not even to his own interns or medical students. Just you. He'll pull you into a secluded hallway or an empty supply store and stand abnormally close to you, two fingers lifting up your chin so you can look into his eyes properly. "Don't ever talk back to me like that again in the OR, or do I have to teach that pretty little mouth of yours another lesson huh?"

fwb!Park who is absolutely a biter in bed. The idea of marking you as his all over your beautiful body just drives him mad. And he takes his time with it too. He traces your soft flesh with his steady, practiced fingers, deliberating which parts of your body have yet to be mapped by his mouth before sinking his teeth deep into your skin until tears pool in your eyes.

fwb!Park who also definitely has a size kink with you. Just the way your body is totally engulfed beneath him makes him feral. He relishes the way his massive hands can fit so easily around your throat, or the way you're practically doing the splits when you ride him. And when you pass by him casually in the OR and he has to tilt his head down just to look at you, he's immediately reminded of how easy it would be to just throw you over his shoulder like a ragdoll and demolish you in the room next door. But he can't. And now he's hard with no opportunity for release any time soon (here comes grumpy Park!).

fwb!Park who is an incredibly attentive partner. He prides himself in being attuned to your needs and is always striving to provide for you. Need an extra towel to clean up? He's already gone off to the linen closet to get one. Need a glass of water to hydrate? He already preempted this and has a standby cup waiting on the nightstand. "You know, I'm a bit hungry after all that." "Hmm? Oh yeah. I already ordered two pizzas before we started. Should be here soon."

fwb!Park who made you break the no-staying-over rule of your arrangement just three weeks in. After making you come twice, he pulls you onto his chest, twirling your hair between his fingers as you catch your breath. It's quiet in a way that feels comfortable and domestic. When you move to get up, Park just rolls over on top of you, totally crushing you under his weight. You squirm to free yourself, but you're no match for a man of his size. "I need to go," you say as your face is smushed between his bicep and the mattress. "You can try," he says, smirking as he buries his face into your hair. You didn't try.

fwb!Park who is usually a very dominant man, and he definitely can be, but those rare times that you're the one ordering him around like your personal plaything — demanding him to strip and beg for you on his knees, or telling him to shut up as you ride his cock to completion — let's just say Park has never come this close to experiencing religious divinity. He also loves it when you tell him how good you feel. The more vocal you are in bed, the more enthusiastic Park gets. "Is it good princess? Does my cock feel good in you? Huh? Tell me. Use your words."

fwb!Park who downloads a period tracker on his phone so he can track your cycles. At first you think it's because he wants to avoid fucking during your ovulation phases, but then a box of chocolate and a tub of ice cream get delivered to your apartment the day you enter your luteal phase, and then a bouquet of flowers on the first day of your bleeding. It melts your heart.