It's My 1 Year Anniversary On Tumblr 🥳

reblog if you need a hug

cute little könig doodle based directly on this

HI I LOVE THE WAY YOU WRITE SANDOR there's not enough Hound love you are doing the seven's work

👉👈 can i humbly request something about Sandor thinking "fuck it" to protection and coming to the idea of pumping reader full of his pups? maybe with a little big cock/tight fit mention sprinkled in? obsessed w his size difference and his commanding presence and how he just takes what he wants i love u im kissing u on the lips xx

THANK YOU 🫂 and i agree !! i think i read every sandor fic on here in one sitting so i just HAD to rectify that at ONCE !! wait did they even have protection in those days? did they like put a sock on it or smth (smooch ilyt)

table of contents; tight fit, big dick, clit stim, size kink, breeding kink (but you’re both as bad as each other)

he’s never loved you as much as he does in this instance.

your hair splayed out over the pillow, your eyes lidded and desirous, lips parted into a pretty little o-shape. you’re a sight for sore eyes, spread beautifully beneath him as you prepare to take him so well.

“it’s been a little while,” he says, softer than his usual tone. he’s been away for some time, accompanying the king’s entourage north. you stayed home with your children. “might hurt a bit, love.”

“oh please, i’ve popped out three cleganes,” you assure him, hands stroking up and down the large expanse of his back. “one after the other, might i add. you planted some beastly babes in me, you know. i think i can manage this one. . .” you reach between your bodies to grip him gently in your palm, squeezing him at the base.

he closes his eyes, hips rutting against you. “woman,” when he opens them again you’re gazing up at him in that same way that dements him with ardor every fucking time. “if you keep that up, i might put another one in there.”

“won’t hear me complaining.” you whisper, lifting your head to close the gap between your faces. your lips scarcely coast over his, then you latch onto his bottom one, sucking it into your mouth before releasing it with a crude pop.

a noise that can only resemble that of a growl crawls from his throat and he bucks into you, the engorged head of his cock splitting you open for him. you both shudder, your back arching until your breasts press against the solid barrels of his chest.

“fuckin hells, woman,” he hisses, tensing above you. “wouldn’t think any babes of mine had come from this cunt.”

you feel so full already, it feels like he impaled you with all of him. “gods— sandor, please. . .”

“hold on— fuck.” he adjusts himself, cockhead throbbing within the puckered rim of your entrance. he peers down to where you’re connected, your pussy stretched like a wailing mouth to accommodate his bulbous tip.

your heels push impatiently against his lower back and he grunts, relying on every ounce of what little self-control he has to not pound you bloody. with a callused thumb, he manipulates your little cluster of nerves with circular motions and sharp flicks. you flutter around him and he feels your walls ease slightly, allowing him to sink a little deeper.

you mewl like a bitch in heat, hands roaming any part of him that you can reach. “i’ve missed you. . .”

“aye? which bit?” he quips, nipping at your neck as he submerges himself by the inch.

your loins burn as they spread for his intrusion, the sting of it increasing as he begins to bottom-out. “all of you.” you manage, slurred and wavering. he hums and lifts a hand to your moaning mouth. “spit for me, love.”

you do, the act of it a little filthy but not at all below you. he fists what remains unenveloped by you, twisting his wrist to coat himself. then with a thick finger he probes at your opening and you gasp, finally able to swallow the rest of him. when he bumps that gummy spot, familiar to both of you, the ache subsides and you melt together.

“fuck, you’re so tight.” he winces, as if pained by the way you cling to him.

“we’re not helped by your size.” you mumble clumsily, as if drunk.

“gonna take us a lot of fucking to fix it.” he tells you, commencing a slow pace. retracting only slightly, leaving most of his length within you, then gradually plunging back in.

you throw your arms around his neck, legs locked around his hips. “oh no. . .”

he smirks at your sarcasm. “might have to get you pregnant.”

you start to roll your hips in time with his, matching his gentle rhythm. “mhm, might be unavoidable.”

“gonna put a litter in here.” he massages your tummy where his cockhead bulges beneath the skin just below your belly button. “fill you with more of my pups. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

you tug him down by his hair. “i’d want nothing more.” and lick your way into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue from when he’d devoured you some hours ago. with a particularly tender thrust, he drives himself against your cervix just right, drawing a delicate yelp from your mouth and straight into his.

Us in 50 years

cat dad könig inspo video <3

🖤about me🖤

@konigofmyheart ‘s 2nd acc

name: daisy

age: 23

pronouns: she/her

I have another sandor thought.....

ok this is kind of based off of your little lion fic—so you're a lannister reader with SUPER long silvery blonde hair and it's basically long enough to wrap around your fist twice (can you see where im going with this) and youve managed to convince your annoying twin joffrey to hand the hound over for a day to 'accompany' her instead of her regular guard

so ur being SUPER annoying and chatty and constantly asking questions so he HAS to answer and u start whining if he doesnt (double ended sword for him really) — so obviously he has to shut you up somehow.......

table of contents; age gap, very light knife play, implied knife kink, blood eating cause that’s a thing now.

“i won’t be in need of your service today, ser.” you say as you open your chamber door.

your bodyguard, who was waiting for you at his usual post, casts you a confused glance through the slit of his helm. “princess?”

“don’t worry, you can wait here and guard my door.” you smile and bat your wispy blonde lashes up at him, caressing the proud gold of his gauntlet with a dainty finger.

“but, princess, i’ve been sworn to protect you—!” he calls after your retreating frame.

“you can protect me by preventing any monsters from sneaking into my chambers and hiding beneath my bed!” you call back as you disappear down the hall and towards the winding stairway.

upon arriving at the throne room, you find yourself encroaching on what seems to be a rather important discussion between your brother, mother and grandfather. the ringing of your kitten heels against the marblestone floor draws their attention, and your brother groans as he sinks back into his cast iron chair.

“what do you want?” he asks, already peeved by your presence and you’ve been in the room barely a minute.

“and why are you alone?” your mother adds, taking note of your shield’s absence.

“my bodyguard has taken ill, darling brother.” you say, sweetly. at his left stands sandor clegane, his hand rested permanently over the hilt of his sword.

joffrey leans forward, fingers drumming impatiently. “ill? what do you mean ill?”

you huff and take to the three large steps until you’re standing before him. “i mean he’s not well. i don’t think i can make it much clearer.”

“why weren’t we made aware? i could have organised a member of the kingsguard to take his place in the meantime.” your grandfather eyes you suspiciously, regarding you with his usual dry, monotone voice.

“a member of my kingsguard? i think not.” joffrey scoffs and plops his chin into the cup of his palm. “i’m sure there are some men i can spare for the day, go on to the barracks and take your pick.” and he waves you off with a dismissive hand.

“absolutely not.” your mother interjects, glaring over at your twin who shoots her the same leering stare in return. “i will not have her wondering around down there unescorted.”

your brother scoffs and rolls his eyes. “oh please, she’s the king’s sister, they wouldn’t dare—”

“the queen regent is quite right, your grace.” tywin interrupts, his hands behind his back and head held high. “i’m sure you can bear to part from ser meryn until the princess’ guard has returned to full health.” your grandfather eyes you again, unconvinced, and you swallow. he’s always seen straight through you. he’s the only one you can’t fool.

joffrey chews at his lip for a moment, then flops back into a lazy, disinterested recline. “as you will. ser meryn, keep my sister in check, and as far away from me as you can.”

“no, i don’t want ser meryn.” you decline, folding your arms. “i’m a little insulted that you’d leave me alone with a man who takes pleasure in beating little girls, if i may say.”

“ser meryn, if you lay a hand on my sister, your head will be the latest addition to my collection.” then joffrey turns back to you. “happy?”

trant nods once, but looks to you with that same repulsive hunger. you shiver. “no.”

your brother looks as though he’s aged ten years since the debate began and he looks at you with a mixture of frustration and boredom. “oh, spare me. i don’t have time for your fretful protests today.”

“i want the hound.” you tell him, jutting your weight onto one leg as you tap your foot. “if you can survive without your dog for a few hours, that is.”

something shifts in his gaze. questioning his capabilities has always worked when it comes to getting what you want from him. a nice bruise to the ego, preferably with an audience, ought to do it.

your grandfather appears amused, maybe even proud, and watches his grandson carefully.

“fine,” your brother agrees after a beat of awkward silence. “but don’t come crying to me when his ugly face haunts your nightmares. dog, see to my bothersome sister and ensure she does not trouble me again today.”

sandor bows his head, then steps from his post without a word, following you as you make your leave.

“best behaviour, princess.” tywin tells you, knowingly.

“of course, dearest grandfather!” you grin at them over your shoulder, triumphant, and top-off your success with a victorious wave.

your brother mumbles something under his breath, earning a sharp word from your mother, and you chuckle to yourself as you approach the large doors.

“where to, princess?” sandor asks, low and unimpressed.

“the gardens,” you beam, twirling to face him. “let’s promenade.”

the sun is unforgiving to your skin as you walk, and you fan yourself with your hand, huffing out a disgruntled breath every so often. “gods, it’s roasting.”

sandor looks you up and down, unimpressed. at least you’re dressed weather-appropriately. he’s practically boiling alive within the confinements of his armour. “perhaps, we should go inside then, princess.”

“oh goodness, no. it’s far too nice outside!” you say with that pouty smile of yours.

“you were just whingeing about being too hot.” he grumbles as he trails behind you, death-staring any passerby who dares to glance in your general direction.

“it’s bearable.” you shrug, wafting your thin silk skirts so they float behind you, the subtle breeze airing them out.

“nothing about this is bearable.” he mutters, catching a glimpse of your bare legs, coated in a sheen of sweat and slightly bronzed. he stops as you pass a tree, and reaches up to snap off a low-hanging branch. “here,” he spins you by your shoulder and offers you a large palm leaf. “will be more effective in cooling you down.”

“oh, so thoughtful!” you take it gratefully and hum as it wafts its own cold current over your face. it blows your golden waves from your sticky flesh, revealing the flushed skin of your neck. he swallows.

“so, i have a question.” you chime once resuming your leisurely stroll. he groans, tugging at the collar of his undershirt. “why do you comb your hair over like that?”

he throws you a sidelong glance, then looks away. “just do.”

you turn around so you’re walking backwards, eyeing him curiously. “but why?”

“i just fuckin’ do,” he barks, catching the attention of a few onlookers. “and watch where you’re going. i can’t have you falling on your arse, or it’ll be my head on a spike.”

you smirk and do as he asks, but allow yourself to fall back so you’re side-by-side. “is it because of your scar?”

he groans, hand tightening around his sword’s hilt. “why would i bother hiding something that everybody knows is there? i don’t give a flying fuck what people think of me.”

“you won’t mind if i do this, then.” you reach up to fix his parting, attempting to brush the hair to the other side. but his hand catches your wrist and gives it a squeeze. “don’t.”

it alarms you slightly, and upon seeing the fear in your eyes, he drops your arm. “keep walking.”

so you do, begrudgingly. but the silence doesn’t settle for long when you think of something else to badger him with. “how did you actually get your scar? because i’ve heard the story, only, it doesn’t seem plausible. how does—”

“—i was licked by kittens.” he deadpans, trying to gauge by the sun’s position in the sky how much longer he must endure you.

you scoff. “nonsense!”

“what can i say, they have rough tongues.” he adds with a sigh, judging he has a fair few hours of your nattering to go.

“so they, what, licked your skin off? like sandpaper?” you challenge him, finding yourself able to behave like a normal person in his company. it’s rejuvenating.

“like sandpaper, princess.” he confirms, stone-faced. small wonder your guard ‘took ill’, he thinks to himself.

“do you miss your home?” you change the subject, marvelling at the various breeds of flower that bloom around you, and inhale their botanical aromas.

he glares daggers into the back of your pretty head. “don’t remember it much, so no.”

you hum, taking the time to lean down and sniff a red rose, not long flourished. you pick the petalled head from its stalk and yelp when a thorn nips your thumb. “ow!” you stuff it into your mouth and frown, your cheeks hollowing as you suckle it.

sandor has to look away when you do, stealing a deep breath through flared nostrils.

“it’s bleeding.” you whine, scrutinising your war wound.

“it’s a scratch,” he grumbles, unable to see what blood you’re even referring to. “a tiny one at that.” wish it was your tongue, he thinks.

you side-eye him. “are you making fun of me?”

“careful, don’t strain yourself.” he quips. “don’t want to upset your wound.”

you scowl at him and whack him with your palm leaf. it scrapes against the steel of his chest plate, scratching it. you remain wordless, placing the rose behind your ear.

his anger starts to slowly simmer, and if not for your status, he would’ve knocked you on your arse. “we should return to the keep before you grow weak from blood-loss.” he says, hoping his sarcasm irks you as much as he intends. “wouldn’t want it to drop off, since it’s attached by a mere thread.”

“i don’t appreciate your tone, ser.” you berate, knowing that addressing him as such would tempt a reaction.

“i’m not a knight.” he tells you, his temper shortening by the second.

“and yet your brother of all people is.” you continue, smirking when he visibly tenses. “oops, struck a nerve. why is that—?”

you squeal when he fists your hair, wrapping it twice around his clenched hand, and tugs you behind one of the hedge walls. “you ask too many questions.” he snarls, leaning down until barely a finger could fit between your faces. “ilyn payne talked too much, too. . .” he unsheathes the knife at his hip and lifts it to your mouth, pressing the point against the plump flesh of your lip. “and now he doesn’t have a tongue.”

the little blade glints in the sun, reflecting off your heaving chest. his eyes dart down to where your cleavage rapidly rises and falls, then back up to your startled eyes.

you look fucking beautiful like this.

“did you just threaten a royal princess?” you ask, the knife’s edge melting against the pillowy surface of your bottom lip.

“aye,” he speaks lowly, knee bending up to settle between your legs. “at knifepoint, no less.”

arousal begins to gather at your virgin cunt, slickening the outer flesh of your slit.

“and i think she likes it.” he whispers, feeling your warmth and wetness against the cloth of his trousers. you start to throb, and he feels that too, dark eyes glazing over as their lids become heavy.

you lift your head, pressing your mouth against the sharp steel. a slow red line trickles down its silver face when its edge breaks the skin, but you don’t wince like you had some moments ago, just hold his stare whilst you grow hotter; and this time it’s not the sun who’s at fault.

he lowers the knife, leaving the blood it drew free to roam down your chin. he catches it with his knuckle, diverting its path over his palm.

“my brother will be very interested to know who did this to me.” you warn him, the desirous aching in your loins muffling the dull twinge of the shallow cut.

with his fingers still tangled in your hair, he forces your face towards his, and you gasp when he licks his way up the red route to your split lip and sucks it between his teeth.

the saltiness of his saliva stings slightly and you moan when his tongue finds its way to yours, wrestling with it. you hitch atop his thigh when the metallic tang of blood spreads across your palate, then he pulls away.

“did what, princess?” he asks, releasing you. “i don’t see anything.”

you gulp down a staggered intake of air and touch your lip gently, then peer down to see that indeed no blood has transferred onto your fingertips.

“i wish to retire to my chambers.” you tell him, meek and still short of breath.

he grins, lopsided. “i bet you do.”

I posted this stuff on my Twitter. It flopped so hard like shit

And to you, my favorite middle aged male character, I bestow upon thee the highest of honors: AGDAB (assigned girl dad at birth)

You show up for your first day at Copyright-Free Magic School. As you're going through orientation, you're informed that all new students get a school-assigned familiar that they are responsible for housing and maintaining. The staff member assures you that your assigned familiar is appropriately chosen and reflects you in some way.

Spin this to find out yours. (Remember, you are responsible for maintaining this familiar in your dorm room.)