Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Sansa, you know how you owe me a favour?”

Sansa lowered her book and peered at Arya. “I thought we agreed I’d make you a new dress in return for you cooking all the dinners last week. Not some unspecified favour.”

Arya leaned back on the couch with a sigh and cupped both hands around her mug of tea. “Never mind the dress. I’ve changed the deal.”

Sansa let the book, a sizeable history of Stormlands fashion design, flop down the rest of the way onto her lap. “You don’t get to change the deal afterwards, Arya, that’s not how deals work.”

“This will be easier than dicking around making me a dress,” Arya said, shrugging expressively.

“I like making you clothes,” Sansa objected. “My petite range has been amazingly popular, and it was all inspired by you.”

Sansa’s clothing boutique, Small Wolf Tall Wolf, specialised in less common clothing sizes, providing flattering garments for people who had trouble buying items off the rack in mainstream stores. Everyone else in the family worked for the Stark family sustainable forestry business, but equitable fashion had always been a passion for Sansa.

Arya waved her hand, almost sloshing tea over the rim of the mug. “And I eternally thank you for providing jeans I don’t have to get shortened before I can wear them. But this is important, we need a priest.”

Sansa blinked. “Arya I’m a seamstress, not a Septa.”

“No San, there’s a bunch of us from work wanting to group up to play that new massive multiplayer online game, World of Westeros. We need a healer for our levelling group, our, ah, team if you will. We had Lommy lined up because he usually games with us but he’s decided to take up bird watching instead.”

The changed nature of their bargain still occupied Sansa’s focus. Making a dress seemed a fair exchange for a week of dinners. Just the two Stark sisters lived in their Winter town apartment, unless Arya’s boyfriend Gendry stayed the night, so they usually divided the chores up equally.

“You know I’m not really a computer person,” she hedged.

“You loved playing Dream Daddy,” Arya said indignantly. “You cried when the Daddies got married at the end.”

“That was a lovely game,” said Sansa, misty eyed with the memories of the adorable Daddies. Forming relationships with other single Dads. Living their best lives with their cute kids. She shook herself, then frowned at Arya. “But I’ve never played games with other people, unless you count that one when we were kids where we ran peoples lives and you deleted the swimming pool ladder so they drowned. I’ll be terrible at it. Would my computer even run it?”

Arya made a dismissive gesture. “Gendry can upgrade it for you, he’s the hardware guru in our IT department. He’s already done Sandor’s home computer and that piece of crap runs like a charm now. We all got sick of the big guy glitching out in everything we played together.”

Sandor. That name sounded familiar.

Sansa snapped her fingers as she remembered.

She had a vivid recollection of getting berated by a huge, hairy, scarred man last time she visited Arya at work. His striking presence had transfixed her.

“Isn’t Sandor that mean security man?” Sansa didn’t bring up her recollection of his appearance. He couldn’t help his scars. Being mean was far worse.

“He’s not m…” Arya paused and scrunched up her nose. “Okay yes he’s a dick. Sandor’s alright though, once you get to know him.”

Sansa frowned. “He told me off for staring at him, but I wasn’t.” She felt her cheeks flush red with embarrassment. “I was looking at the cut of his shirt. A, um, big strong man like that needs a more fitting cut. Maybe some cunningly placed darts. Then I thought if I ever did a man’s clothing line, I’d like to cater for gentlemen like him.”

“Gentleman isn’t the word I’d use to describe Sandor but okay.” Arya snorted. “He probably doesn’t even remember you. He hates basically everyone. Getting shitty at people is a daily thing. He’s the company’s best security person though, and Dad likes him. Fuck, even I like the cranky bastard.”

Sansa was dubious, but she let it slide. “Who else is in the group?”

“Hot Pie is our other regular gamer.”

“Well Hot Pie is nice,” said Sansa, relieved. “I can talk to him. He always gives the best baking tips.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “You’ll be fine, it’ll be fun. I’ll get you set up with some coms.”

“Coms?”

“Communication equipment. Typing is too slow so we usually game with voice chat.”

Sansa had a vision of the group in their respective homes, surrounded by old fashioned CB radio equipment. “Oh like truckers use?”

Arya blinked and looked at her askance. “Sure Sansa, like truckers use. From fifty years ago. Before the internet.”

Sansa nodded and made a mental note to look up the appropriate lingo to fit in with the group.

The idea was starting to grow on her.

***

Sansa adjusted her headset, still disconcerted by the microphone positioned in front of her mouth. “I need eight mangy wolf pelts,” she enunciated carefully. “I repeat, eight mangy wolf pelts. Over.”

“Sansa you can go ahead and kill those wolves,” said Arya’s voice over the headphones. “I’m on the other side of the Frozen North zone right now waiting for Hot Pie and Gendry to pull finger and join us online.”

“Um, roger that,” said Sansa. She squinted at the screen. Her game character was tall, slender and had purple hair and pointed ears. The person looked out of place standing in a snow-covered field, surrounded by snow-covered trees, wearing a light summer dress. As Sansa watched, her character, Alayne, did a little animated jiggle, causing her breasts to bounce merrily. Sansa winced. She had spent a long time getting her elven woman to look perfect in the character creation screen. Having her creation getting too… flagrantly bosomy was somewhat off putting. 

A chime sounded in Sansa’s ear. An electronic woman’s voice said, “a new player has joined the channel. Please welcome…” there was a pause and a gruff man’s voice said, “fuck off I’m not giving you my name fake bastard cunt,” and the woman’s voice finished “…to the channel.”

“Sandor, you grumpy shit,” said Arya’s voice. “Welcome to the game.”

“Aye,” grunted Sandor.

It was strange hearing him so close in her ear.

A little shiver ran down Sansa’s spine when she remembered the sheer physicality of his presence. Sandor had been unpleasant, but he had certainly made an impression.

She was a professional, Sansa reminded herself. It was her job to notice people and think about dressing them. To consider their body shapes and how clothing could work for them.

“Maybe you could join Sansa? Her toon hasn’t moved in the past five minutes, eh Sansy?”

“What? How do you know?” said Sansa, startled out of her reverie, “I mean, ten four over that. Or ten five? I don’t know.” Her character jiggled again, and Sansa cautiously pressed the W key to make Alayne walk forward towards a snowy hill. The terrain did look like the far North, which it was supposed to be based on. The entire game had been modelled on the real lands of Westeros, but changed just enough to create a fantasy atmosphere. Each of the Seven Kingdoms had their own zone, with different difficulty levels of monsters and quests for their characters to adventure in. “There, see, I’m playing. I’m walking. This is fine. Just walking.”

Arya sighed audibly. “Just collect some pelts Sansa.”

A notification flashed up on her screen:

<Hound has joined the party>

A short, red headed character that Sansa recognised from the character creation screen as a ‘dwarf’, ran over to her.

Sansa wasn’t sure why they had such odd choices for races. Elves, dwarves. Gnomes. Orcs and Trolls. All ‘classic fantasy races’ according to Arya. Why not Children of the Forest, or giants or Deep Ones? At least those were real.

“Girl,” said Sandor over her headphones. “Arya’s sister. I’ve got the same quests as you.”

“How do you know that? Um. I’m Sansa by the way. Hi Sandor,” said Sansa. She huffed at the screen. She could do this. She promised Arya she’d play this game, so play she would. “Roger that on the mangy pelts. Over.”

Sandor muttered something that his microphone picked up as “seven hells,” though that seemed to Sansa to be a little extreme for just gathering mangy pelts.

She didn’t particularly want earn a rebuke over the coms so she moved her character towards Sandor’s, figuring he would know what he was doing more than her if he’d done this sort of thing in other, similar, games.

Hound suddenly took off towards some wolves wandering around minding their own business nearby.

Sansa moved her mouse pointer so she could better see their surroundings. The scenery really was very pretty, made even more picturesque by the charming woodland creatures frolicking around. A squirrel sat eating a nut at the base of a tree, birds chirped in the background and the ambient music of the game swelled into a crescendo reminiscent of wholesome outdoors and fresh air.

Sansa smiled. She could get used to this.

Sandor’s dwarf pulled an enormous axe out and swung at a little wolf. It gave a tragic whimper and fell to the ground, dead.

Hound knelt beside the sad corpse, apparently checking the body for something.

Alayne cheerfully jiggled her bosoms as Sansa stared at the screen in horror, her mouth dropping open.

“Mangy pelt on that one,” said Sandor. His character stood up and ran off towards the next wolf, axe in hand.

The birds chirped sorrowfully. The chittering of the squirrel sounded like a rebuke.

“Do we have to kill them?” whispered Sansa. “Isn’t there another way to play? I’m supposed to be here to share my magical energy and heal people, not to do wolf murder. Um, over.”

There was a lengthy pause.

A low muttering came over the coms, then “You’re making the frozen North safer,” said Sandor abruptly.

Sansa remained unconvinced. “By collecting mangy pelts?”

“The quest description says the wolves have been attacking local children,” said Sandor. “By clearing the excess population, you are keeping children safe. They are all stuck inside that fucking building where we picked up these quests. They want to be able to go outside.”

Arya made a choking noise, but that explanation did make Sansa feel better.

“Go on Sans,” said Arya. “Unleash that holy smite spell.”

Sansa examined her spell bar as something else occurred to her. “Roger that, but why would I need to smite something? What gods do I follow that they feel they need to smite things? I would rather heal. Over.”

“You just need to grind to get XP. Then you can level your toon and we can do dungeons.”

Arya sounded like she spoke a foreign language, but Sansa had already gathered from some pre-game study that her character would get more experienced the more she played and would gain access to different abilities and skills. She was vague about dungeons, but according to Arya they were special adventures you needed to be in a group to do. A group with a dedicated and competent healer. Her.

“Isn’t this an RP server?” asked Sandor. “So we should probably cook up some kind of justification for our adventuring group.”

“Shit,” said Arya. “I keep forgetting about that. Fucking Hot Pie picked this one. I wanted to go player versus player and kill some noobs.”

“What’s an RP server? Over.” Sansa was starting to feel more lost. RP, player versus player, noobs. A whole lingo existed that she didn’t understand. She was only just getting a handle on their coms-speak.

“It means if someone asks your character to go into a private room of an Inn with them, don’t.” Arya sounded amused, for some reason. “RP means role-play.”

Sandor snorted. “I heard there was an underground tram between the ‘Winterfall’ and ‘Queen’s Landing’ zones where most of the online fucking takes place.”

Sansa gasped. “What kind of game is this?”

Killing animals and online… intimacy. Sansa was no stranger to sex, though her ex Harry had said she was a prude and sex was currently something of a sore point, but she couldn’t imagine how it would work in a game.

“You’ll be fine Sansaroony. Just stick with one of our group and no one will bother you.” Arya’s voice sounded matter of fact. “My toon is male, so no one hassles me. Gendry is taken, obviously, Hot Pie is ace, and Sandor is…. whatever the fuck Sandor is. We’re a group of friendship and safety.”

The chime sounded in Sansa’s ear again whilst she processed all the new information.

She could do this.

“A new player has joined the channel. Please welcome…” this time the voice was more familiar, “Hot Pie is a perfectly valid name, why do I have to deal with this every time?” and the electronic voice concluded, “to the channel.”

“Hey folks,” said Hot Pie’s cheerful voice. “How are we all today?”

Sandor grunted something that might have been a greeting.

“I’m killing yetis waiting for you and my ridiculously slow boyfriend,” said Arya. “While our healer and tank have moral debates about killing fake animals and cybering.”

“Hey Hot Pie,” said Sansa. “I’m helping to humanely cull wolves, and not visiting Inns with strange men. Over.”

“Well good for you, Sans,” said Hot Pie. “Those pelts will save the world.”

“Less talk, more playing Sansa,” said Arya. “Then you can catch up to us.”

“Over here,” said Sandor.

Sansa’s character looked around. A short distance away Hound was standing surrounded by corpses. Alayne jogged over to join him.

“That’s a big ten-four,” said Sansa, remembering she should try to be professional on the coms so the others could understand her. “Are those troll things? Over.”

Sandor hummed an affirmative. “Aye, according to the quest log they are trying to stage a military coup of this region, so we need to keep the area stable for the locals who just want to live in peace.”

“I see, that seems reasonable. Over.”

“Loot those corpses,” Sandor said before running off towards another group of enemies.

There was a dress in the items she picked up that her character could wear. It seemed to be the only good thing amongst items labelled as ‘trash’. Things like broken teeth, more pelts and ragged clothing. Why would the troll-people be carrying trash around?

Sansa carefully clicked on the dress to equip it on her character.

The dress had odd cut out sections exposing large swathes of her character’s torso. The ‘fabric’ appeared a dull puce in colour, which clashed with her hair, but she felt most upset about the cut. A revealing garment wasn’t a bad thing, as such, but the way it had been designed and constructed was simply implausible without extensive boning for structure and tape to stick it to the body.

She was offended on behalf of her fake online person being given such shoddy workmanship to wear. Even though it was made of pixels and not fabric.

“Well that will never do,” Sansa muttered to herself, using her mouse pointer to drag her previous garment back onto Alayne.

Her previous dress, or technically ‘robe’ according to the item description, looked pleasingly tasteful, with cream fabric with red detailing, off the shoulder and flattering. She nodded at the screen and followed Sandor.

Several piles of troll corpses later, Sandor’s dwarf stopped.

“You had an upgrade drop,” Sandor said over her headset. “Why aren’t you wearing it?”

“Oh no, it was ugly and implausible,” Sansa replied.

“It was ugly,” said Sandor flatly. “And implausible? How the fuck?”

“Yes, the cut was unflattering and unsound, and Alayne doesn’t suit that shade of puce at all. This dress I started with it much nicer. Look at the detailing on the bodice.”

Alayne obligingly chose that moment to jiggle her breasts. Sansa sighed.

“It’s that stats that are important,” interjected Arya, with a long-suffering air. “Who gives a shit what your character looks like? You’re being shallow.”

“It’s not shallow to want a character that looks nice,” said Sansa.

“Sansa does have a point,” said Hot Pie. “If you have a particular character concept in mind.”

Sansa wasn’t sure what Hot Pie meant by character concept, but she knew what she liked and shoddy workmanship was not it.

“Besides, all the wolves and trolls and things are hitting Sandor, not me,” Sansa pointed out instead. “I don’t need to have better statistics. Over.”

Sandor’s sigh gusted through his microphone. “You should still equip it.”

Sansa scowled at her screen. “But it’s ugly.”

“The stats are better.”

“It’s still ugly.”

“Look at my character, girl, I look fucking ridiculous, but these legs have a plus one to my stamina.”

Sansa zoomed her camera in to examine Hound. He certainly did appear different to when they started playing. He had chainmail shorts on instead of long trousers, exposing his lumpy knees.

“Chainmail shorts,” she whispered. “That’s a crime against nature.”

“I’m pretty sure whatever fucked up way these trolls reproduce is the crime against nature, but yes the chainmail shorts are fucking ugly and I’m wearing them, anyway.”

Sansa frowned at the myriad of corpses slain by Sandor and had a sudden and uncomfortable feeling about troll babies. She shook herself. It wasn’t real.

She followed Sandor, trying out the new instant cast healing spell character now had access to.

“Clothing is important,” she said as she trotted behind him. “When people are dressed in flattering garments, they feel good about themselves. It gives them confidence and self esteem. Over.”

Sandor snorted. “Some people are irremediably ugly, girl. Can’t dress up a piece of shit and make it look like anything other than a piece of shit.”

Sansa’s heart broke a little because she suspected he was talking about himself.

She also wasn’t sure what to say to a man she hardly knew about something so personal.

She looked at their characters on the screen and gasped.

A very large and impressive troll was sneaking up behind Sandor.

“Oh, oh. Ten thirty-three, Big Daddy  is in the building,” said Sansa, panicking at the thought Sandor’s character might suddenly get hurt on her watch. “Um, Papa Bear has come into the house. Over.”

Sandor sounded mystified. “What the fuck?”

“Are you okay, Sansa?” said Hot Pie, his voice genuinely concerned.

Arya laughed. “I’m sorry, did you call Sandor Daddy? Because you might need a private channel for that.”

“Shut up Arya,” squeaked Sansa. “I’m trying to say there is a huge troll thing behind him.”

“Shit,” said Sandor, whirling around to confront the creature with his axe. “Die fucker.”

The creature attacking Sandor had a little plate above its head with its given name on it, rather than a generic one saying the type of creature. Apparently that meant it was a ‘mini-boss’ and was more difficult to dispatch than everything else around the area. It seemed more awful killing something that had a name, but Sansa diligently healed Sandor with her magic as he hacked away at it.

Sansa’s whole being focused on the little green bar above Hound’s head that indicated his health. Her job was to keep it full as the huge troll attacked him. She continually clicked on each of the healing spells Alayne could use, one that quickly healed a certain amount of health points and one that restored points over a period of time.

The troll snarled and snapped as Hound valiantly battled it with his axe. Sansa poured her magic into the warrior, determined to aid him as best she could to defeat their foe.

Sansa was concentrating so hard on the most efficient way to time her heals of Sandor that she hardly noticed the electronic voice saying “A new player has joined the channel. Please welcome…”

She jumped as Gendry’s voice suddenly sounded in her ear. “Fucks sake, Arya, I need to disable this name function on the coms server. It’s lame.”

“…to the channel.”

“Good of you to finally join us,” said Arya.

“Aye, yes, hello everyone.”

With a loud groan the creature Sandor fought slumped to the ground, slain, and Sandor’s warrior stood proud, whole and unscathed from the encounter, thanks to Sansa.

“AHH WE DID IT!” yelled Sansa. The rush of excitement when the creature fell was unexpected. They’d worked together to defeat a terrible enemy. Sansa’s heart raced, her breath shallow and fast.

A startled silence overtook the coms.

“Our healer and tank have been bonding,” said Arya.

“I… see…” replied Gendry.

“She’s not fucking bad at it,” said Sandor grudgingly. He cleared his throat. “We’ve almost caught up in levels. We’ll be able to leave this zone and join those other cunts now.”

“Don’t call me a cunt, you cunt,” said Arya indignantly.

“Play nicely children,” said Hot Pie.

Sansa looked around the area that she and Sandor had just been traversing. “Do we get to come back? I like it here. Over.”

Sandor huffed a laugh, which sounded odd through his microphone. “You didn’t like it when we were collecting pelts.”

“That was before I got into the story,” replied Sansa loftily. “And I realised that this was fun. Anyway, it seems a shame just to leave everyone here to manage without us. What if the wolves start attacking children again? Over.”

“You can skin yetis in this next bit,” said Arya.

Sansa made a face at the screen. “That sounds awful.”

“They are evil yetis,” said Gendry soothingly.

“Oh are they planning on a political upheaval like the trolls?”

“Worse,” said Sandor, “they are plotting an attack on the nearest city.”

“Okay, let’s keep levelling.”

Chapter Text

With a small flutter of an emotion she was hesitant to examine too closely, Sansa noticed that Sandor was stationed at the boom gates leading into the Stark Forestry compound.

“Let’s see some ID,” Sandor growled without looking up when she walked up to the pedestrian window.

None of the security people had ever asked her for ID at the gate before. “Oh no, I only have pants,” Sansa blurted. “My bag is back at work.”

Sansa held up her bundle of Hot Pie’s checkered chef trousers, which now sported a generous expandable waistline.

Sandor looked up quickly, the unscarred side of his face flushing pink for some reason. “Stark girl,” he said. “It’s fine, you don’t need ID.”

Sandor’s shirt pulled tight across his biceps and Sansa had the sudden and profound desire to remove it from him and adjust it professionally.

She eyed him whilst trying not to appear like she was eyeing him.

“Will you be playing this weekend?” Sansa asked with forced nonchalance. The thought of spending more time online with her friends was oddly exciting. They had plans to travel to the area around Queen’s Landing in the game. The zone was allegedly thickly forested and beautiful, and Sansa couldn’t wait to see it.

Sandor leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, which short-circuited the part of Sansa’s brain trying to not stare at how tight his shirt was. “Aye,” he replied. “You?”

“Yes. I’m looking forward to getting some healing practice.” Sansa’s fingers twitched with the urge to measure Sandor.

“You’re a natural fucking healer,” he said. “Better than that Lommy cunt we had in other games.”

“I wonder how his bird watching is going.”

“Hopefully well enough that he doesn’t join us online.”

A car pulled up to the boom gate on the other side.

“Well I’ll let you get on with your work,” said Sansa, not wanting Sandor to get in trouble for talking on the job. “See you online.”

Sandor nodded and raised a hand as Sansa scurried away.

Her breathing was shallow as she walked towards the cluster of buildings that constituted the Stark Forestry headquarters. It was so odd seeing someone in real life after spending time online talking to them. It was certainly easier to talk to Sandor online without having to get distracted by the cut of his shirt.

She was still thinking about Sandor’s arms when she almost collided with someone in the entryway to the building that housed the staff rooms and cafeteria, where Hot Pie worked.

Sansa looked up.

Her heart fell.

Stark Forestry Head of Marketing, and Sansa’s ex-boyfriend, Harry Hardyng, stepped back from where he had caught her upper arms.

Ever since he had looked at her and said, with utmost gentle honesty, that she was bad at sex and they therefore had to break up, Sansa had avoided him. She often visited Stark Forestry, but Arya usually hacked Harry’s work computer when Sansa was due to visit and caused enough havoc with his documents to keep him busy and out of Sansa’s way.

Sansa reluctantly pasted a smile on her face and looked up at her ex. Harry was as golden-haired and conventionally beautiful as usual. All dimples, blue eyes and a vanilla sort of appeal. Though the more she stared, the more she noticed his face utterly lacked character compared to Sandor’s. His arms were nothing to write home about. She had no desire to measure any part of him.

He had not even been a very good boyfriend, she realised now that she was faced with him in person.

Lackluster sex aside, he had never wanted to talk about anything other than himself. They had no interests in common. He’d been her first proper boyfriend and she was in no hurry to obtain another one after that experience. Frankly, she’d been relieved that he ended the relationship before she could, because at least then she got the excitement of being the injured party in the dumping.

Harry flashed his perfect teeth in a smile. “Sansa, how enchanting to see you.”

Sansa was not enchanted. “Hello Harry.”

He looked her up and down, lingering on her breasts which were safely ensconced in a serviceable, royal blue cashmere sweater. “You look great. What are you up to these days?”

Sansa bared her teeth in reply, assuming Harry would be oblivious enough to interpret it as a smile. “Not much, you know, work. And I’m playing an online game with friends.”

Harry brightened. “World of Westeros?”

Sansa blinked in surprise that he had even heard of it. He usually like to boast about his prowess in first-person shooting games, not role-playing games. “Oh. Yes. That one. I’m a priest.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “An avatar of virtue and purity, that certainly tracks, eh Sans.”

Sansa stared blandly back at Harry, determined not to react to his jabbing. She wondered what a holy smite would look like if cast at his head. “Indeed,” she said.

“Well I’m a priest too,” said Harry, flashing his orthodontically approved grin, “of course I’m a shadow priest for maximum damage. A true bad boy, a swashbuckling mountebank of a priest.” He did what looked like a casting magic spells animation from the game at her and said in a deep voice, “FACE MELTING.”

Sansa had no idea at all what he meant by either his words or his actions. She mentally filed it away to ask Arya later, whilst nodding politely.

Sansa covertly examined Harry as she did so, trying to recall the appeal. Sometimes, after she would resort to bringing herself to a mediocre orgasm during sex, he would make her a cup of tea in bed as she rested in a pallid afterglow. That had been nice. She liked tea.

He seemed to expect a reply, so she said, “those wolves won’t know what hit them, Harry.”

Harry smiled again. “Look me up online if you want a good time, for old times sake. ‘Knightofthevale’, all one word.”

Harry’s assistant, Cissy, came rushing over. Even knowing that she and Harry had maintained an off and on intimate relationship for years, Sansa couldn’t help but admire Cissy’s ability to jog in stilettos.

“Well, important business calls. I’m sure you need to run along to your little clothes shop.” Harry made finger guns and turned to walk in step with Cissy.

Sansa clutched Hot Pie’s trousers tighter and imagined a holy smite spell aimed at the middle of Harry’s back.

***

On the first morning of the weekend, Sansa found herself in the lush temperate forest beside the bustling online metropolis of Queen’s Landing.

“Why are there so many flowers here?” she asked Sandor. They were the first of their group on for the morning, though Arya had yelled through Sansa’s door that she would join after having a shower.

“You can pick them,” replied Sandor, whose character was still in the city, doing business at something called the Auction House. “There are plants to collect in all the zones.”

The Queenswood forest was a low-level area, so Sansa was safe to wander alone without worrying about getting attacked by wildlife or bandits. She wouldn’t need to melt anyone’s face, which apparently was what people called it when priests did damage spells instead of healing. She had access now to a damage spell named ‘Mind Flay’ which just seemed extremely unethical and Sansa refused to have it on her toolbar of spells. Instead she put the ‘Renew’ healing spell on there twice, which was much friendlier.

Sansa squinted at the flower. It looked somewhat like a blue Winterfell rose. “I can pick flowers in the game for a job?”

“Aye, it’s a standard game mechanic. You turn them into potions.”

“Or I could just pick them?”

“And sell them, aye.”

“Or just… pick them?” Sansa swivelled the camera around the lovely flower and smiled at it.

Sandor’s microphone went staticky in the way Sansa had learned meant he was sighing. For some reason he did that a lot. “And what,” he said, “stare at them in your inventory?

“I might role-play as a florist. Everyone keeps saying we should role-play more.”

Arya and Gendry had taken that idea too much to heart because the other day Sansa had found what looked like a ninja costume and an old-fashioned blacksmithing apron flung on the floor beside the couch. Along with a pair of boxer shorts and a G-string.

Sansa shuddered. At least they hadn’t asked her to make them the costumes.

“You could sell stacks of plants in the Auction House.” Sandor’s voice interrupted her regrettable train of thought. “Make a fuckton of gold.”

“I’ve seen the Auction House building,” replied Sansa, shoving the thought of the costumes away in the vault in the back of her mind where the memory of her parents naked together in the pantry that one time also lived, “but I wasn’t sure how it works.”

“You post your item for sale and players either bid on it or buy it outright. It’s literally an auction like those sites online.”

Sansa considered this. If her character made some virtual gold, she could buy things. She didn’t know what things, but the idea sounded good. “What do you do when you spend so long at the Auction House? You can’t have collected that much to sell.”

“I wait until some dumb cunt posts something for well under market value and I buy it and resell for a tidy profit.”

That seemed incredibly complicated for a game that had largely consisted, thus far, of culling wolves and mending wounds through the power of magic. “How do you know about the market value?”

“Gendry wrote a mod. I run it, do the legwork and we split the profits.”

“Okay, that seems reasonable.” Sansa knew about ‘mods’, because every time Gendry came for dinner at the moment, he talked about the modification programmes he was coding for the game. He claimed he would write one that allowed her to heal for maximum efficiency, which seemed surplus to current requirements but he’d been so thrilled with the idea Sansa had agreed to test it once it was written.

A chime sounded in Sansa’s ear.

Gendry had removed the nice artificial lady who used to announce on the coms that players had come online, and now they just got a generic chime noise. It was disappointing, she’d practiced for ages saying “Sansa” in her nicest, friendliest voice for the coms lady.

“Hey what’s up bitches,” said Arya’s voice.

“Morning you little shit,” rumbled Sandor.

“You’re in the next room to me, Arya. We saw each other ten minutes ago.”

“Well roger that, that’s a big twenty-three nineteen from me, little bird. Over.”

“Shut up Arya.” Sansa smiled despite herself. It had turned out people were now allowed to talk normally over the coms. Arya had, however, found Sansa’s list of CB radio lingo and enjoyed teasing her with it.

“Where are you, Sansy?”

A notification flashed up on Sansa’s screen saying ‘Nymerian has joined the party’.

“I’m now looking for someone called a trainer,” replied Sansa.

After some searching, she found a character from ancient House Gardner who, if given a small sum of coin, would allow her to pick flowers. It seemed a little harsh to have to pay to collect them, but she went ahead and did it.

Alayne was collecting gillyflowers and Valyrian-leaf when a large, blond, shirtless human male paladin appeared in front of her and started dancing.

“Hello Arya,” Sansa said blandly, in the same way she had dealt with Harry.

“Look at my magnificent abs,” said Arya. Her character grabbed his crotch and thrust it several times at Sansa’s character.

Alayne jiggled her breasts in response, something that Sansa succeeded at ignoring most of the time now. “Your, um, toon is certainly muscular. But why are you shirtless?”

“If you could play as a huge shirtless blond man, wouldn’t you?”

“Well no because I could have, but I chose to make my lady elf. Who wears clothes.”

“Hey, Little Miss Lasttogetthejoke, it’s funny. Funnier than if I ran around with my tits out.”

Alayne had recently had a gear upgrade, a dress that had good enough statistics to please the party and practical enough construction to please Sansa. It covered all of her body to a tasteful degree too.

She turned away from the still thrusting Nymerian and ran towards some more flowers.

She spotted a small building through the trees and moved to investigate.

A variety of virtual cats surrounded the cabin, all frolicking in the grass, chasing bugs and yawning.

The sight enchanted Sansa. Genuinely enchanted, not pretending-to-be-civil-to-your-ex enchanted.

“Look Arya, there is a lady here in a cabin with a bunch of cats.”

Nymerian ran over to join her. “Those will be non-combat pets.”

“Well done, you found the common cat vendor,” said Sandor. “Now try getting the rare white kitten from some orphan who spawns here in the city. Hard as fuck to catch the kid, but the cat sells for a fuckload of gold.”

“Good one Sandor,” said Arya, sounding wry. “You regularly purchase a kitten from an orphan for a pittance then resell the kitten for a huge profit, whilst the orphan presumably goes off to starve for another day.”

“Aye that’s about right.”

Sansa frowned, temporarily ignoring the ethics of purchasing cheap kittens from virtual orphans. “So, my character can get a virtual pet?”

“I think there are pet battles and shit you can do with them but let’s not fucking over complicate things,” Sandor replied.

Arya hummed. “It follows you around. You can get better pets than that. Hot Pie has a tiny special edition Targaryen dragon pet. I want the clockwork yeti.”

Sansa was overwhelmed with how cute the cats were. “They are so lovely,” she said in hushed tones. “There’s a calico cat, and a silver tabby as well. Oh my gods and an orange one.” The little ginger cat pounced on an imaginary bug and Sansa made a high-pitched noise in the back of her throat. “I want the orange tabby.”

“No one ever wants the ginger one,” said Sandor. “They sell for less at the Auction House than you can buy them from the vendor.”

Sansa touched her hair instinctively. It was still as relentlessly ginger as it always was.

She felt a kinship with the little orange cat no one else wanted as a pet.

The cats sat down and delicately licked its paw.

She made the high-pitched noise again.

“What the fuck, are you okay Sans?” asked Arya.

Sansa purchased the cat from the lady in the cabin for a sum that was a sizeable chunk of the coin her character had accumulated. She would definitely need to sell the flowers she’d picked.

She clicked on the cat carrier in her inventory and the orange cat appeared behind her. She moved Alayne a few steps and the cat trotted obediently behind her.

“I shall name her Princess,” Sansa said proudly.

“You can’t fucking name your non-combat pet, Sansa,” said Arya in long-suffering tones.

“Well I’m role-playing that her name is Princess,” replied Sansa loftily.

“She has you there,” said Sandor.

Sansa clicked on her quest log as Princess sat at her feet. “Oh gods I need to do a quest in the Riverrun Tram.” She paused and wrinkled her nose. “Our Mum is from Riverrun.”

Arya made a disgusted noise. “Ugh I already did that one. Maybe Hound will go with you?

Sandor sighed gustily. Sansa hoped his microphone covering was not absorbent. “Aye, I’ll go with you. Meet me outside the Auction House, girl.”

Arya’s paladin ran off to dance shirtless with people in the small town that existed in the forest and Sansa ran back to Queen’s Landing.

Hound the dwarf warrior was waiting for her on the Auction House steps. He stood beside a low-level human character with very fancy looking gear.

“Look at this fucking twink,” growled Sandor. “All BoE epic gear. Fucker must have bought some in-game gold.”

Sansa frowned as she tried to parse what Sandor had said.

“Twinks are low level characters in a game who are given help and gear from a high-level character,” said Arya, apparently anticipating Sansa’s query.

“BoE means Bind on Equip,” said Sandor, clearly having the same thought. “Cunts that have good gear drop from monsters can resell it if they don’t use it themselves. Even bigger cunts who pay real money for in-game gold can use it to buy a full set of the best gear.”

Sansa gasped. “Wait, so people pay real money for gold on the game?”

“Not legally,” replied Arya. “Only if you want to risk getting banned.”

“That…” Sansa scrunched up her nose. “That seems excessive, for clothes that aren’t actually real.”

“I’m sure some people use their gold to buy non-combat pets as well. The rare Black Tabby cat is worth a fuckton.” Sandor sounded wistful.

Sansa smiled at her orange cat and noted the new terms in the notebook she kept by her computer.

“We need to head through the tram between Queen’s Landing and Winterfall,” Sandor said, his character suddenly darting away from the Auction House steps and towards the district where the entry to the tram was housed, “and the quest is at the Winterfall end. You need to do a delivery.

Sansa and Princess followed him with some trepidation. “Is it safe?”

“You’ll be with me.”

“Shit,” said Arya suddenly. “Gendry wants me to come over for a booty call.”

Knowledge of the costumes she found threatened to reappear and Sansa shoved it back down. “Arya, that’s way too much information.”

Arya just laughed. “Later suckers.”

It was just her and Sandor again. Sansa had a nervous flutter of excitement in her tummy.

Sansa followed Sandor down the ramp into the tram, moving deeper into the series of tunnels it was constructed of.

“Stick with me,” he instructed.

There was no danger of Sansa and Princess wandering off alone. She was profoundly wary of the unknown eldritch dangers that might lurk in the tramway. Visions of mighty tentacles and faceless, nameless horrors assaulted her imagination.

No one had ever been clear with her what the danger was down here.

Virtual water ran down the dank stone walls of the tram. Rats skittered around and there was an ominous rumbling of far off steampunk machinery that powered the tramway.

They moved together, deeper into the bowels of the tram tunnels.

Sansa jumped at every clang of machinery and vermin scream.

Her eyes wide, she looked down every dark tunnel, expecting death to come swiftly and without pity.

“What the fuck?” murmured Sandor.

Sansa moved her mouse to pan her view around and gasped at the sight.

Two elves, wearing only the skimpy underwear that all characters came with, were kneeling in front of each other at the tram station. The female elf did the default breast jiggle.

“Fucks sake,” said Sandor. “Well here you go, you get to experience the full fucking horror of the tram.”

As Alayne and Hound moved closer, the conversation the characters were having became publicly visible in Sansa’s chat window.

Widowswail groans softly, biting your neck oh so gently, her breath hard against your manly gullet. “Oh…”

“Widowswail?” said Sandor. “That’s a cunt name.”

Sansa was both perplexed and intrigued.

Apparently this was a different kind of eldritch horror than what she’d been picturing.

Knightofthevale smiles and his fingers move in a circular motion. “Sounds like someone is enjoying herself.”

“Seven Hells, Knightofthevale is even more of a cunt name.”

Sansa gasped, recognition dawning. “Sandor, that’s Harry Hardyng. My ex. I ran into him this morning at the company.”

Princess did a yawn and luxurious stretch, oblivious to the unfolding scene.

Widowswail moves her hips experimentally against your hand, emitting a low wimper. “Maybe…”

Knightofthevale smirks and lets a long finger slip inside you, at the same time he leans forward and kisses you deeply, his tongue battling yours for dominance.

Sandor made a disgusted noise. “Didn’t he dump you?”

“I… yes. Technically, he dumped me.”

“What a fuckwit.”

Sansa eyed the mostly naked elves, who were apparently unaware they had an audience. “He said I should look him up in the game if I wanted a good time for old times sake. I guess this must have been what he meant. This is… not my idea of a good time.”

Widowswail’s gasp and girly giggle is muffled by your kiss, and her nails dig slightly into your arm. “That’s not playing fair, lover.”

Knightofthevale grins and swirls his fingers around your delicate tissue, then pulls them away coated with your moist and dripping wetness.

Widowswail, overcome with desire, boldly grasps Knightofthevale’s turgid phallus in her womanly hand.

Knightofthevale emits a manly moan, thrusting his hips towards Widowswail’s tiny hand.

Sandor sighed heavily. Again. “Right. I’m going to fucking sort this.”

“Sandor?” Sansa heard typing through Sandor’s microphone. She looked back at the chat window.

Hound reveals his head from the shadows and begins to unzip his pantaloons.

“Oh my,” said Sansa, covering her mouth with her hand.

Sandor made a noise that sounded suspiciously like it wanted to be a laugh.

The typing continued.

Hound removes his Dwarven Missile Launcher and begins to stroke the barrel ever so slowly.

Hound lets out a quiet gasp as the Missile Launcher expands in his hand.

Sansa laughed at that. “Sandor you are terrible.”

Widowswail growls menacingly at Hound.

Knightofthevale snarls “good Ser it is time for you to leave this place.”

“Well, looks like we’ve been caught,” said Sandor dryly.

Sansa grinned at the screen. “Hey there is no ‘we’. You’re the one with the ‘missile launcher’.”

Sandor snorted. “May as well make the most of this fuckery. They want some role-play, I’ll give them some fucking role-play.”

Hound gropes Knightofthevale.

Hound compares his Missile Launcher to Knightofthevale’s. Hound wins.

Hound joins the queue to experience Knightofthevale’s sticky fingers.

Hound offers Knightofthevale a moist towelette.

Sansa howled with laughter. “Sandor that’s awful. Harry will be so upset.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t be publicly cyber-fucking then. Besides, he’ll never know it was us who found him out.”

Hound says “AYE, TAKE ME MANLY THRUSTS.”

Hound says “DO NOT RUN AWAY WIDOWSCUNT AND CUNTOFTHEVALE. THE MIGHTY HOUND IS HERE TO SERVICE YOU.”

Tears of mirth were running down Sansa’s face. “Oh my gods Sandor, this is the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Sandor laughed then, raspy and delightful. “Harry’s a useless cunt. You are far too good for the likes of him.”

Widowswail smiles with gentle regret. “Maybe we should finish this another time…”

Widowswail smiles at Knightofthevale. “I’ll get back to you. Take the hidden path back to Queen’s Landing.”

Knightofthevale howls in outrage, beating his manly chest with his fists in rage.

Sansa took a shaky breath, trying to calm her giggle fits. “Might be a good idea to get on the tram and leave Harry and his friend in peace.”

“Aye, I’ll put my missile launcher away.”

Sansa started giggling again.

They, with Princess trotting behind, boarded the tram that travelled between cities, leaving the outraged Knightofthevale and Widowswail behind them.

“Fuck me the RP server brings out some weirdos,” said Sandor as they entered the city.

“I’d have thought that was something they’d do on private chat.” Sansa had recently learned about being able to use the different chat settings, from broadcasting messages to a party, to her guild, to the zone in general or to an individual person.

“Aye, they were probably getting off on doing it publicly.” Sandor paused. “So why was Harry stupid enough to dump you?”

Sansa considered a generic response, but the trip into the tram had made her feel comfortable to admit the awkward truth. “He said I was bad at... you know.”

“What, cooking?”

Sansa huffed. “Sandor that’s sexist. No, um, intimate relations.”

There was a loaded pause.

“He told you that you were bad at fucking,” said Sandor flatly.

Sansa sighed. “Yes.”

“Not possible.” Sandor’s voice was definitive.

Sansa frowned at the screen. The characters walked the streets of Winterfall, Princess happily trotting behind them. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re sexy as fuck,” said Sandor in a low voice. “Even if you just lay there like a dead fish, fucking you would still be enjoyable.”

There was a lot to unpack about that statement.

Sansa settled on, “Thanks?” whilst she tried to work out how she felt.

‘Dead fish’ aside, she was leaning towards a heady combination of confused and aroused.

“I’m not coming on to you,” he muttered.

“What?” Sansa blurted.

“This isn’t a come on, it’s just the fucking truth.”

Arousal was winning.

“Well what if I wanted it to be a come on?” Sansa blurted, before she could overthink what she was saying.

Sandor’s microphone made the staticky noise again. “Are you fucking blind, girl?”

Sansa frowned. “Of course not.”

Sandor harrumphed. “You’re too fucking good for the likes of me.”

Sansa had no idea how to respond to that statement. “Would you do anything like that?” she asked finally, to distract Sandor from any awkwardness.

“Publicly cyberfuck in the Riverrun Tram? No.”

“No, I meant in private.” Sansa squirmed in her seat. “That sort of talk.”

“If I want a wank, I’ll just have a wank.”

Sansa felt she should be scandalised hearing about a man’s masturbatory habits, but Sandor was always so honest, she could not bring herself to be shocked.

“I see. I can see the appeal though.” Sansa cleared her throat. “It would be easier than doing it in real life and risking disappointment.”

Sandor hummed. “Harry Fucking Hardyng is full of shit. He’s a fucking idiot and you shouldn’t believe what he said.”

“I don’t, not really.” Sansa did have her doubts, but she didn’t want to admit that. “I was probably going to break up with him anyway, he just got in first.”

“Fucking someone can be disappointing. That’s just part of life.”

Sansa nodded, though Sandor couldn’t see her. “With the right person it probably isn’t constantly bad though. People seem to think it’s really good and fun.”

“Well I wouldn’t know.” Sandor sounded resigned.

“Me either,” Sansa admitted softly.

There was a significant silence on the coms.

The chime indicated that someone else had joined the coms channel.

“Hello everyone,” said Hot Pie, cheerfully.

They greeted him in turn, then another silence fell.

“So, Sandor. Have you considered getting your shirts tailored to your body?” blurted Sansa.

Chapter Text

Sansa smiled as Sandor uneasily eyed the display of glittering butterfly hair clips beside the till.

“Mostly I do women’s clothes, because there was an obvious need for garments catering for the needs of women outside of the usual range that stores stock. Not just made larger or smaller, but designed to be flattering and to fit correctly for someone’s body shape.” Sansa removed her measuring kit from its spot under the counter and waved it at Sandor. “But I’d like to have a line of men’s clothes too. Keep a rack or two in stock, rather than just doing alterations. So really, you are doing me a favour by getting some practice in.”

“Aye, Hot Pie was pleased with his Fat Pants.” Sandor took one clip off the display as he spoke, squinting at it.

“I don’t like the word ‘fat’,” said Sansa reproachfully. “‘Fuller figured’ is much nicer. All bodies are beautiful, and all people deserve to look their best.”

Sandor snorted. “Saving the world, one elasticated waistline at a time?”

“Everyday fashion should be both comfortable and stylish,” replied Sansa primly, before she realised Sandor was teasing her. She smiled at him then. “Shall we begin?”

The delicate metallic pink wings of the butterfly clip Sandor was holding quivered dramatically. He carefully replaced it back in the display. “Aye. What do you want me to do?”

“Come back into my workshop.” Sansa hurried over and turned the sign on the door to ‘closed’ and locked it, just to be safe. “I need to take your measurements for the custom shirt.”

Sandor cleared his throat, but followed her as she walked through the fringe of beads hanging from the archway that marked the transition from shop floor to her workshop. “Do you need me to get my kit off?” he asked carefully.

Sansa halted mid stride, captured by the mental image of Sandor stripping naked and letting her take measurements all over. “No,” she squeaked, then cleared her own throat. “You can stay dressed,” she said more normally. “Shirt and pants are fine, if you could take your jacket off. I just need to feel you if that’s okay.”

Sandor blinked several times before removing his security guard jacket. “Feel me?”

Sansa took the jacket off him, her hands feeling oddly clumsy. It was warm from his body heat. She hung it from one of her clothing racks as she spoke. “Just your chest and waist and such. So I can aim my measurements. I like to check before I touch people, it can be a sensitive thing for some clients.”

“You can feel me,” he said, sounding a touch strangled.

Sansa opened her tailors kit, selecting her favourite measuring tape. She could feel Sandor watching her, the atmosphere in her workshop seeming to thicken. Her heart raced and she was sure her cheeks were pink.

“Alright.” Sansa stood in front of him, tapping the measuring tape on her palm. She licked her lips, then glanced up at Sandor’s face.

He was watching her mouth, the unscarred side of his face flushing as pink as she suspected hers was.

“Neck first,” she said, her voice husky. She stood on tiptoes to loop the tape measure around his neck, carefully noting down the first measurement with one hand and keeping the loop in place with the other. “I need to, um, insert my finger.”

He gusted a breath out. “Aye,” he rasped.

She slid a finger between the skin on the side of his neck and the tape, below where his beard ended. His skin was hot, and she felt him swallow heavily against the back of her finger. “I take the two measurements to allow for extra room in the collar if you need it,” she explained in a professional voice, to cover her rapidly growing arousal. Harry had never had this effect on her, she suddenly realised. Even naked and in bed with him she’d never been so turned on.  

“Aye,” he said again in a higher pitched tone, which seemed to be all he could manage.

“And your chest,” she said, breathlessness overcoming professionalism. “I need to, ah…” She could not quite manage the words, so she just stepped forward and wrapped the tape measure around Sandor’s broad chest. It took two goes to get the tape all the way around him because her cheek was in perilous proximity to his chest and her hands wouldn’t cooperate.

He smelled wonderful, she realised. Like fresh coffee and grapefruit shower gel.

“Try to relax,” she whispered, “and breathe out.”

His torso was rigid under her hands, but he let out another breath. She noted the measurement, not daring to look anywhere except his chest and the sheet of paper.

“Now waist,” she croaked, moving the loop of tape down his body. She carefully felt for his waistline. He was heavily muscled under her fingertips, clearly defined even through his work shirt.

She noted the number, though she wasn’t paying attention and hoped it was correct.

“I need to measure your length,” she said to his shirt buttons, which seemed to be the safest point of focus.

He made an alarmed noise and she dragged her gaze up to his face, which had gone from pink to red.

“Length of the shirt,” she said, and he nodded rapidly. 

She rested the end of the tape on the top of his shoulder and pulled it down, finally looking down. A noticeable bulge strained the front of his work trousers and she froze. There was no way she could rest the tape down there without touching it.

She glanced back at his face. He had screwed his eyes shut and seemed to be trying to relax.

“Sandor,” Sansa murmured, letting the measuring tape fall to the floor. She reached up to cup the scarred side of his face, swiping her thumb over the gnarled ridges of his skin.

He opened his eyes and stared down at her. She leaned in closer and tilted her face towards his.

“Oh thank fuck,” he said, and bent down the rest of the way to kiss her.

The brush of his lips against hers was electric, and Sansa couldn’t help but moan into his mouth in response. He rested his hands on her waist, pulling her a little closer to him. Sansa ran her free hand up his body, coming to rest on his firm upper arm.

“SANSA STARK.” Arya’s voice sounded from outside the shop and Sansa winced at the sudden intrusion on their moment.

She and Sandor stared at each other from intensely close proximity, breathing heavily.

“I KNOW YOU ARE IN THERE. OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW.”

Sansa loved her sister very much, but at that moment she would have happily traded her in for another sister. A quieter and more subtle sister. A sister who lived in a different town, far away.

“IT IS THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. YOU ARE ALWAYS IN THERE AT THIS TIME.”

Sansa wrinkled her nose. “I should let her in.”

Sandor nodded rapidly, before reaching out to stroke the back of his big index finger down her cheek. “Aye, she won’t stop knocking.”

Sansa hurried into the next room to unlock the door of her shop, almost colliding with a rack of petite jeans with her wobbly legs.

“Arya, what’s wrong?” Sansa said as she pulled open the door.

Arya frowned as she pushed past Sansa into the shop. She was clutching a large paper bag. “Nothing’s wrong, I just bought you some Dothraki takeout for lunch since you always get too busy and then Mum complains to me you aren’t eating enough and so I am a kind and benevolent sibling by helping you out. Also I wanted to try their new pomegranate pastries but couldn’t eat them at work because Hot Pie might get upset that we’re not eating his food.”

Sandor emerged from her workshop, holding his jacket hooked over his arm and strategically covering his front. “Need to get back to work,” he rasped.

“What are you…?” Arya looked between them both, then burst out laughing. “Seven hells you two, really? Fucking in the back office?”

“Arya!” said Sansa indignantly. “I was measuring Sandor for a new custom shirt. Not… that other activity.”

Memories of their all too brief kiss surfaced. By the expression on Sandor’s face, he was thinking about the same thing.

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Arya placed the bag beside the till and began to unload a variety of startling flatbreads, roasted meats, and pomegranate pastries.

Sansa ignored her sister in favour of addressing Sandor, who was giving Arya the middle finger as he made his way through the racks and towards the door. “Are you free for more measuring on your lunchbreak tomorrow?” she asked, carefully keeping her voice steady.

Arya made a rude noise in the back of her throat.

Sandor paused. “Aye,” he replied, gazing at her in a way best described as ‘smouldering’. 

“Okay. See you online tonight.”

***

A swirly green portal in an archway signified the entry to the Ruins of Dragonstone. The island where Dragonstone keep sat was across the water, in view but apparently unreachable unless one walked through the archway. Alayne jiggled her breasts at it as Sansa attempted to peer into its unknowable depths.

“Why is it called a dungeon when it’s obviously a castle?” Sansa asked, frowning at the image on her screen.

“That’s just the convention,” answered Hot Pie. “Any private instanced area for a party to adventure in is called a dungeon. Unless it’s a raid. But let’s not overcomplicate things.”

His character, an elven hunter named Gâteaux, jiggled her own breasts at Sansa as they stood together outside the castle/dungeon entry. Gâteaux’s chain mail bikini did not leave much to the imagination.

Hound sat beside them, though Sandor was away from the coms getting some snacks. Sansa had organised her evening’s food and drinks already, a large travel mug filled with hot coffee and a bowl of blueberries for energy.

Sansa’s heart gave a brief flutter every time she looked at Sandor’s online avatar, remembering their kiss in her shop. She wanted another, longer kiss. Nervous as she was about being bad at sex, the more time she spent around Sandor the more she was willing to risk disappointment for the chance to be intimate with him.

They were just awaiting Arya and Gendry, since apparently a full party of five people was required to survive the horrors that the Ruins of Dragonstone contained. Sansa hoped those horrors were markedly different to the horrors of the Riverrun Tram.

“Hot Pie?” said Sansa, peering at the carefully written, extensive list of new lingo she’d recently compiled.

“Yes Sansa?” he replied, with the affection of someone talking to the person responsible for providing them with a comfortable yet stylish and roomy wardrobe.

“How do you say…” Sansa squinted at the word. “Wait, let me write it down.”

She carefully typed the word ‘pwned’ into the party chat window on her screen. The word apparently signified the defeat of an enemy, and she thought it would be especially handy for a dungeon.

Hot Pie made a short, high-pitched squeaking noise, then cleared his throat and said, quite normally, “um. Why do you want to say that, Sans?”

“Well I discovered some new lingo when I studied the zone chat logs. Since the CB radio talk was out of date, I wanted to figure out how gamers talk now. I looked it up online and did some research.”

Hot Pie made a contemplative humming noise before speaking, “You pronounced it as ‘powned’ as in the word ‘owned’ but starting with a p. It’s generally for typed chat use rather than spoken though. It works better if you can see it.”

Sansa noted all of this down. “Okay thank you.”

“But it’s not really u….”

A double chime of the coms interrupted whatever Hot Pie was about to say.

“Bitches,” said Arya, her handsome blond paladin Nymerian appearing beside Alayne as she logged in to the game.

“Hi everyone,” said Gendry. His character was a pink-haired gnome warlock named Bull. Bull also had a ‘pet’ demon that followed him around, who, bafflingly, was in the form of a whip-wielding horned woman with large breasts and a chain mail bikini similar to the one Hot Pie’s hunter wore.

“Hi Arya and Gendry,” said Sansa. Her nerves came flooding back at the reminder the party was almost assembled and she would be responsible for keeping everyone alive.

“I’m back,” Sandor mumbled over the coms, and Sansa’s heart gave an obligatory flutter.

She longed to get him alone again tomorrow so they could talk about the kiss. Hopefully that would also lead to more kissing.

“Everyone ready?” asked Arya.

“We should get our PCs together at Arya and Sansa’s house, have a LAN party,” said Gendry, his voice wistful. “Then we’d all be in the same room.”

“Gendry please,” said Arya, “this is not the dark ages. We play online like civilised people.”

Sansa smiled as she remembered her siblings having LAN parties when they were much younger, all connecting up their computers with cords everywhere and driving their Mum crazy with the clutter.

Everyone entered the Ruins of Dragonstone together through the swirly portal. They appeared on the docks of Dragonstone island, the ruins of the ancient keep above them. The dragon-shaped castle, wrought by magic over a thousand years ago, did not have the scaffolding that it boasted in the real world from the modern reconstruction attempts. Instead all the towers jutted jagged into the sky and creeping vines covered everything. Seagulls screamed overhead, and Sansa could almost feel the breeze from the virtual ocean.  

“Are we all ready to get me the Needle of Vengeance from the final boss?” said Arya brightly.

“What if I want to use that sword for tanking, and roll against you?” asked Sandor.

Sansa recalled that they would have to roll a virtual dice for a number between one and one hundred if they wished to claim any high-level items dropped by monsters in the dungeon. Arya had explained that it was fine for people who were friends to sort it out amongst themselves, but that if they had a stranger in the group it would stop them ‘ninja looting’ and stealing items. Sansa was concerned as to why anyone would want to steal a fake pretend item in a game but apparently it was surprisingly common.

“Me too,” interjected Hot Pie. “Everything is a Hunter weapon.”

“Fuck you both,” said Arya caustically. “Needle of Vengeance is for paladins.”

Alayne’s cat, Princess, who accompanied her everywhere, stretched and yawned. Sansa took another swig of coffee from her thermos.

“Nothing is ever for warlocks,” said Gendry glumly. His demon cackled manically and performed a flip mid-air.

Alayne and Gâteaux did a synchronised breast jiggle and Sansa sighed.

Hot Pie harrumphed and moved his character forward. “I need to pull these undead Targaryen footsoldiers so they attack us over here.”

Gâteaux aimed her bow and shot into the group of skeletal Targaryen foot soldiers lurking near an outbuilding at the foot of the keep. They started running towards the party in a clatter of bones.

“Not that group, you elvish cunt,” growled Sandor. “You’ve pulled too fucking many.”

The group reached them, and Hound started swinging his axe.

“Hey, at least I have the curves to fill out this bikini,” said Hot Pie indignantly. “Unlike a certain dwarf I can mention.”

“For fucks sake, we don’t need fantasy racism,” said Arya as Nymerian waded into the fray beside Hound. “Both of you shut up and kill the fucking skeletons.”

Sansa watched the health bars of the group, carefully using her magic any time they took too much damage. “Flash Heal, Major Heal, Group Heal,” she muttered under her breath.

When the excessively large group lay in heaps of scattered bone around the party, cheers sounded over the coms.

Sansa consulted her notes. “PWNED THOSE N00BS!!!111” she typed into the party chat window, making sure she included enough exclamation points and ones to indicate her enthusiasm, as per the guidelines she had read.

“What the fuck, Sans,” said Arya over the coms.

“Do you like it? I’ve been learning gamer speak.”

“It’s very enthusiastic,” said Gendry kindly.

“Pull the next lot,” said Sandor to Hot Pie, sounding slightly strangled.

Sansa had plenty of opportunities to proudly contribute appropriate gamer phrases as they moved through the dungeon. She used “Having teh lulz” when Hot Pie said something funny as the party traversed the wilds of Aegon’s Garden. She got to say a celebratory “W00t” several times as they defeated a zombie Visenya Targaryen atop the bone dragon Vhagar in the Sea Dragon Tower, and another zombie, Rhaena Targaryen, accompanied by the bone dragon Dreamfyre, shortly afterwards in the Stone Drum. The many low-level slimes at the foot of the Wind Wyrm she correctly called “trash n00bs” and that their group was, of course, “pwning” them.

It was all going very well until the last boss.

“Just one last fucking fight,’’ said Arya, sounding a little fatigued after several hours of play.

Sansa had had several cups worth of coffee and was feeling like she could stay awake and alert until at least next century.

“Jaehaerys I Targaryen,” said Hot Pie in hushed tones. “The Conciliator himself. Jaehaerys the Wise.”

“Since when did you know anything fucking thing about history?” asked Arya.

“Some of us paid attention in school, Arya,” said Sansa. “There’s a whole module on early Targaryen monarchs in the first year of high school.”

“I have a graduate degree in Conquest-era History,” said Hot Pie indignantly. “So naturally after I graduated it was either become a Librarian or go to Culinary school. I went to Culinary school.”

“Can we get the fuck on with this?” said Sandor impatiently.

Gendry, who rarely spoke much over the coms and was more of a ‘doer’ than a ‘talker’ suddenly directed his character, Bull, to run into the room where the end boss was.

“Use your fucking words Gendry,” said Arya with profound exasperation. “We talked about this.”

There was a flash of light around all of them as something teleported their characters into the same area as Bull.

The undead form of Jaehaerys I Targaryen stood beside the legendary table in the Chamber of the Painted Table. His skin was wizened and purple, he sported a long white beard that dripped with fluids of decay, and a rusty circlet sat upon his brow.

“BEHOLD,” the creature bellowed, “WHO DARES TO DISTURB MY CASTLE? YOU WILL PERISH IN YOUR FOOLISH MORTAL PURSUITS.”

Jaehaerys I slashed his hand down and green wildfire erupted from the ground at their feet. Before any of them could do more than stare, Alayne, Gâteaux, Hound, Nymerian and Bull lay dead upon the chamber floor.

“Well, fuck,” said Arya.

“Oh no, he shizzled our fizzle.” Sansa paused and consulted her lingo notes again. “Or did he fizzle our shizzle? I’m not sure.”

Every time a character died their ghost appeared in the nearest graveyard and they had to run back to the start of the dungeon, then come back to life at the dungeon entrance. They then ran back to where they had died in order to resume where they’d left off.

Luckily it only took five minutes of low-key bickering for all the characters to make it back to the Chamber of the Painted Table, because they’d already killed everything else in the dungeon.

“Alright,” said Sandor when everyone was ready again. “Let’s avoid the green shit this time.”

On the second attempt they lasted twenty seconds, in which wildfire immediately killed Nymerian, Bull and Gâteaux. Hound reached Jaehaerys I and had one swipe of his axe, and received one heal from Alayne, before they too died from wildfire. 

Their third attempt lasted thirty seconds, until Bull’s demon cracked her whip and attempted to do a seduce spell upon Jaehaerys, resulting in a cataclysm of wildfire.

They delayed the fourth attempt whilst Arya and Sandor consulted the internet on potential strategies, then spent ten minutes arguing about which one was the best. They went for Arya’s one first. The attempt lasted about a minute and got the undead king to half health before they all died.

The fifth attempt ended when Hot Pie got sidetracked by the historical inaccuracies of the Chamber of the Painted Table and his character exploded in a trap, killing them all.

Their sixth attempt was also unsuccessful because Sansa got so distracted thinking about kissing Sandor that she forgot to heal him in time.

They used Sandor’s strategy for the seventh attempt and finally killed the undead Jaehaerys I Targaryen. Sansa was relieved, because she was running out of ways to phrase encouraging “w00ts” and “go gamerz!!1”. She’d also had too much coffee and needed to stop before she started to taste colours or develop the gift of prophecy.

There were tired cheers over the coms as Jaehaerys croaked “and now I join you, Alysanne my eternal love,” and fell to the ground in a squelch of unliving flesh.

“Let’s check the loot,” said Arya, brightening now that things were almost concluded. Her character ran over to the corpse and bent down.

Sansa typed into her party chat window, “1337 HAX0R!!! Killage!”, which she had been saving for a special occasion. Killing a boss of a dungeon seemed special enough.

Arya’s paladin stopped mid-loot. “Do you even know what that means, Sansy?” she asked, sounding amused.

“Yes,” Sansa replied loftily. “It means we did a wonderful job slaying the boss.” She was privately unconvinced that ‘1337’ was even a word, but apparently the numbers stood in for the letters ‘leet’ and it meant that something was really good. ‘Hax0r’ was even more unclear, but it seemed to have something to do with computer hacking and linking that to success.

“Right,” said Arya dubiously. She huffed a sigh that gusted over her microphone. “He dropped fucking tank boots. Lame.”

“I’ll take those then,” said Sandor smugly.

“Congratulations Sandor,” said Sansa, trying to sound as if she didn’t want to reach down the coms and kiss him.

“The one item that hunters can’t wear,” said Hot Pie sadly.

“We also have some healer gloves for Sansa and some gems we can sell. And for some fucking reason a roast chicken dinner?”

“Mine,” said Sandor. “Hound fucking loves chicken.”

Arya made a grumbling noise. “Is that a roleplaying thing? You’re roleplaying as a character that loves chicken?”

“Aye.” Hound sat down beside the rumbled corpse and began to eat the virtual chicken dinner.

“Right,” said Arya. “Gendry and Sandor can sell the gems since they are the Auction House wizards. I need to go and have my pre-bedtime shower before Sansa goes in the bathroom and spends an entire fucking hour grooming instead of letting the normal people sleep.”

“Hey,” said Sansa indignantly. “That was only that one time and it’s not my fault the hair mask took so long to apply.”

“Oh, hasks can be such a pain,” said Hot Pie sympathetically.

“Later, dorks,” said Arya.

“Aye, I’m tired as fuck. See you all tomorrow,” Sandor said.

Sansa’s heart gave another flutter. He did mean see them all tomorrow, his colleagues as well as her for another measuring session.

“Goodnight Sandor, goodnight everyone else,” said Sansa, smiling happily at the screen as she too disconnected the session.

Chapter Text

Two weeks later.

Sandor tossed the condom wrapper over his shoulder, and Sansa distractedly observed it had landed beside their abandoned lunches on a workbench.

Sandor was currently pushing his intimidatingly large erection inside of her for the first time, and Sansa had never felt anything so good. Not even that time she found that bundle of indigo coloured mulberry silk at a market stall for only ten gold dragons. This was better.

She forgot to worry about the potential for her old wooden dressmaking table to collapse under the weight of her lying on it; she forgot to worry about being self-conscious, naked in her shop in the middle of the day. When Sandor grabbed her bare thighs and pushed her knees up to her chest once he was fully inside her, she entirely forgot to worry about being bad at sex.

He leaned over to kiss her, only thrusting shallowly. The change of angle made Sansa moan. She was bent in two and utterly exposed to him, and she loved it.

“Touch yourself,” he said, sounding strained. “I’m not going to last, and I want to see you come all over my cock.”

Before he’d even finished, she’d thrust a hand down between their bodies. She was desperately aroused and in need of relief.

He stood up again, still barely moving inside her. He looked at her face, let go of one thigh so he could trail his rough fingertips down her cheek, then directed his gaze down to where Sansa’s fingers were rubbing her swollen clit. She was so wet and slippery she could hardly get a reasonable motion going, but she was so wildly turned on it wouldn’t take much to bring herself to orgasm.

She clenched her internal muscles hard around him and they both groaned from the sensation.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he rumbled as she got closer to her climax and her body tensed up.

She was still dressed on her top half and she rubbed her nipples through her bra, like Sandor had done before they ended up on the table. He watched her every move, wide eyed and intent.

Sandor started thrusting properly then, in and out with smooth, long, firm strokes, and Sansa came so hard that she cried out.

He followed her a few moments later, slamming into her so firmly that the table scraped along the floor for a few inches.

He bent over her, catching his breath. Luckily for her continued use of this table for cutting fabrics as well as sex, he didn’t put his weight on it. Sansa cupped the scarred side of his face, closing her eyes and drifting in her afterglow. She caressed the ridged skin along his cheekbone with her thumb and he hummed in response.

She opened her eyes again when he pulled out of her, holding on to the condom then pulling it off and tossing it into her bin. The sizeable, hot pink condom made quite a visual statement amongst the discarded fabric offcuts and ends of thread.

She sat up and wrapped her arms around him, leaning her cheek against his chest. He still wore his security guard uniform, and she listened to his heartbeat through the crisp cotton of his shirt. She could smell his grapefruit shower gel under the warm, clean cotton. He returned the embrace, smoothing his hand over her hair.

“That was better than our usual lunch,” she murmured. She realised suddenly it was the first time she’d spoken since she politely requested that he make love to her on the table. Harry had always said she was too quiet during sex, she recalled with a cringe.

But.

Everything with Sandor had felt amazing. It was all very quick, but easily the most she’d ever enjoyed being intimate with a man.

Sandor rumbled a laugh. “Aye, it was.” He pulled back a little and tipped her chin up with his finger. He brushed a soft kiss over her lips. “You made me come so fucking hard. If only I could have lasted longer. I went off like a green boy.”

“I…” Sansa’s cheeks flamed hot, but she pressed on, “I came hard too. You felt so good inside me.”

Sandor gave a low groan and kissed her again, much harder and with ample amounts of tongue. She responded enthusiastically in kind.

If she got that level of reaction to saying naughty words, she could only imagine what it would be like while they were making love.

She had considered saying those kinds of things to Sandor when they were alone on the coms. It was difficult to say sexy words like that, but it might be a way to connect when they weren’t physically together.

Sandor stood back and helped her to her feet, holding on to her when her legs wobbled. She was happy to hold on to him.

“You want your chicken sub now?” he asked, looking down at her.

Sansa glanced over at the chicken and salad filled bread rolls they’d bought for lunch. She looked up at him and smiled. “Yes, I would. I suddenly have quite an appetite.”

***

The ache between Sansa’s legs as she sat on her computer chair was decidedly noticeable. It was a good ache though, an ache that she enjoyed for the reminder of what she and Sandor had done for the first time earlier that day.

Every time he spoke on the group communication system, she felt a jolt of desire. She couldn’t wait to see him again.

“Hot Pie definitely can’t come tonight,” Arya announced over the coms. They had all met up to undertake a dungeon, Red Keep Spire. It was a huge, partially ruined castle, looming above lava filled pits.

“Oh, I remember that,” said Sansa, “he mentioned he was looking forward to his catering conference.”

“We need to advertise for another player,” said Gendry, sounding resigned.

“We can’t do it with four players?” Sansa frowned, though no one was able to see her since she was on her computer in her bedroom.

“There’s a fuckton of wights, skeletons, and baby dragons in this one. We’d get eviscerated.” Sandor’s voice sounded gentler when he was addressing her, and Sansa wondered if the other players would notice.

Sansa cleared her throat. “Baby dragons are cute.”

Sandor hummed. “They are supposed to be the spawn of some ancient Targ dragons.”

“Syrax really existed, and these babies are hers in the lore of this game. She had at least two full clutches of eggs in real life,” said Arya pompously. “Rhaenyra Targaryen was her rider.”

“You hate history,” said Sansa, trying not to sound indignant. “You’ve spent the past two weeks teasing Hot Pie for having a history degree.”

“I hate history, but I fucking like dragons. Everyone likes dragons.”

“I’ll advertise for someone,” said Gendry patiently.

“So how was today’s lunch date, Sandor? You’ve been seeing each other every day,” said Arya slyly. “Sansa wouldn’t tell me when I asked. She just turned red and disappeared off to the kitchen to make muffins.”

“Lunch was fucking delicious,” replied Sandor, deadpan. “I’d have those chicken subs every day if I could.”

Arya made a disgusted sound. “I think I’m actually sorry I asked.”

Sansa stifled a laugh and sent Sandor a private message.

<private message> Alayne to Hound: I miss you! Can’t wait to see you again! xxoo

<private message> Hound to Alayne: you too

Sansa frowned. That wasn’t much to go on, but then Sandor was more of a man of action than words.

“I found this guy,” said Gendry, breaking into Sansa’s thoughts. “His name is TentacleMaster.”

“Sounds like hentai,” muttered Sandor.

“What’s hentai?” asked Sansa, curious about the new word. “Is that another gaming term? It wasn’t on my list.”

“Yes Sandor, please explain to the group what hentai is and why you know about it,” said Arya, sounding amused for some reason.

Sandor cleared his throat. “It’s just a Yi Ti thing,” he said quickly. “Just some boring shit no one would care about. What class is the new guy?”

“He’s a swashbuckler,” said Gendry. “He looks like an old Iron Islands pirate, he’s got an eyepatch and everything.”

“Well, give him the coms details then,” said Arya impatiently.

TentacleMaster logged into their coms chat, and introduced himself as TentacleMaster, which Sansa took to mean they were using their player names instead of their real names.

“Hound, you want to give him the ground rules?” said Arya once they’d all introduced themselves.

TentacleMaster had breathed heavily into his microphone when she and Arya had spoken their character names.

“Right, we’ll be rolling for everything,” said Sandor gruffly. “Need before Greed and only Need stuff that is an upgrade that you’ll use.”

Sansa knew those terms from her list. In many groups, people had to roll virtual dice to determine which person would get an item of loot that a creature dropped when killed. Or, as Sansa now preferred to think of it, temporarily knocked out.

“Follow the instructions of the main tank, that’s me,” Sandor continued, “and don’t be a cunt. That clear?”

“Yeah,” said TentacleMaster vaguely. “Are we going to fight Syrax? I need some dragonscale boots that drop from her.”

“The one with all the dragon eggs?” said Sandor. “Aye, we can fight her. She’s optional, but we can do it.”

“It would be helpful to do all the fights anyway,” interjected Arya. “The baby dragon room is just past Undead Laenor Velaryon and his boy toys, which is a compulsory fight.”

The first part of the dungeon went according to plan. TentacleMaster said little, but he seemed to follow instructions well enough, and did a reasonable amount of damage.

The healing was a little boring, since the team was working well together and Sandor wasn’t taking too much damage because of his gear being ‘properly optimised’, whatever that meant. Hearing Sandor’s voice in her ear over the coms was turning her on and distracting her from her job. She’d been considering sending more private messages to Sandor since her attempt earlier in the evening.

In between bouts of combat, she gathered her courage and composed a naughty message to send to Sandor.

<private message> Alayne to Hound: I can’t wait to feel your

Sansa paused, hesitant over what dirty words to use. She decided to go with the terms Sandor had used that morning to refer to their respective private parts.

<private message> Alayne to Hound: I can’t wait to feel your cock inside my cunt again xxoo

Sansa felt unbelievably scandalous as she pressed Enter to send. She had never written anything so dirty in her life. She directed Alayne to follow the rest of the group. Her little orange tabby cat, Princess, faithfully followed her, trotting calmly through the hallways of the dank castle.

“Hound, what the fuck are you doing?” Arya’s voice suddenly came over the coms, and Sansa snapped her gaze up to her party members on the screen.

Sandor’s dwarf character had just run straight into a wall, and thereby attracted the attention of some nearby wights who came rushing over.

“Sorry, something, uh, came up,” said Sandor, sounding oddly high pitched.

After they fought the creatures, a reply flashed up on her screen.

<private message> Hound to Alayne: you are so fuckin sexy im going to make you come so hard next time I see you

Sansa let out a breath. This was not helping the sexual stimulation situation. It was making it much, much worse.

<private message> Alayne to Hound: I am going to take your cock in my mouth xoxo

Sansa covered her mouth with both hands to stifle her squeak of scandalised arousal at what she’d dared to write, knocking her headset microphone askew. It was true though, she wanted to do that. She wished to spend the night with Sandor, to take their time together, learn his body and bring him pleasure.

<private message> Hound to Alayne: only if u let me lick your pretty cunt at the same time

“Fucks sake, what are you doing, Hound and Alayne?” Arya’s voice intruded again. “You’re both about to walk off the fucking ledge. There’s a fucking ledge, and lava below. If you’d noticed.”

“Sorry,” said Sansa, her voice notably husky. “Slight flood here. Because. Um. I spilled my water bottle. Everything’s fine.”

“Aye, let’s get on with this,” said Sandor gruffly.

<private message> Hound to Alayne: You want to bring your PC to my place on Friday night? U can stay over after we play if you want.

<private message> Alayne to Hound: That sounds lovely. I could pick up dinner on my way over?

<private message> Hound to Alayne: okay

Sansa stared at the screen, her breath coming quickly. Sandor wanted her to go to his house, to spend the night with him. She could only imagine what they might do given an entire night together.

Her palms were sweaty, and she wiped them on her jeans. She’d never anticipated going on dates with Harry in such a way. But with Sandor, she wanted him badly, all of him, even the grumpy parts.

“Sansa, fucks sake, heal the tank,” said Arya. “Are you drunk? Do you need me to come in there and throw a bucket of water over you?”

“No, everything is great,” said Sansa, looking over her shoulder in the direction of Arya’s room with some concern. “I’ve got this.”

She directed Alayne to unload all her magical healing powers into Sandor and the others, trying to make up for her inattention.

They finally made it to the area outside the Dragon Hatchery without further incident, and Sansa let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Those private conversations with Sandor had been very distracting indeed.

“I need to afk, got to get a snack,” said TentacleMaster suddenly, the first time he’d talked in a while. His character sat down beside their group, outside of the doorway to the eggs, an <afk> symbol appearing above his head.

“Away from keyboard,” Sansa muttered to herself, reciting from her guide to gaming lingo. “Reasons might include obtaining a soda or a snack, ordering pizza or having a bio break, which means using the bathroom.”

“We can hear you Sansa,” said Arya. “That’s a ten four from me, over.”

“Shut up, Arya,” Sansa muttered. She looked carefully into the room they were about to enter, cautious not to disturb any dragons until they were ready. Dragon eggs filled the entire room on shelves, plinths and ledges. Row upon row, beautiful and dangerous dragon eggs. “This doesn’t seem very authentic. Dragons never laid eggs in batches as huge as this, I’m sure. I’d have to ask Hot Pie, he’s the expert.”

Arya snorted. “Well, he and his history degree are at his catering course. We are told dragons laid eggs in clutches, and history people think they were up to five eggs at a time, but no one is completely sure.”

“How could I have known you since you were born and not realise you liked dragons so much?”

“You were always too busy trying to dress everybody.” Arya gave a long-suffering sigh. “Your fucking princess dress up games, seven hells.”

“Hey, I let you be the prince,” said Sansa indignantly.

“Only because Bran was happy to wear your stupid dresses.”

“Fucks sake Starks,” said Sandor. His character ran several circles around TentacleMaster, who was still sitting on the ground. “When is this cunt coming back?”

“Should we go through the tactics for this fight?” said Gendry, with the cautious approach of someone very used to Stark family bickering.

Sandor’s voice turned soft, or rather, soft for him. “You happy you know what to do here, Alayne?”

“Yes, um, Hound,” said Sansa, trying to focus on the game and not how he felt moving inside of her. “I’ll use my magic to put special invisible shields over everyone to absorb damage, and I’ll also use spells that restore their health a little at a time too. And Princess will be with me, providing moral support.”

Princess yawned and stretched, then sat herself in a kitty loaf position at Alayne’s feet.

Sandor grunted. “Aye then. You all good Nymerian?”

Arya made a rude noise. “Who died and made you group leader?”

“Hot Pie,” said Sandor repressively. “I’m here to save the group from tiny annoying little shits.”

“For a big mean fucker, you’re incredibly dramatic. You’ve got so much Giant Angry Goth energy.” Arya huffed, then continued, “Yes, Hound, I am ready.”

“I’ve run the stats for this fight,” Gendry interjected, then ignored Arya’s angry muttering as he continued gamely on. “I’ve calculated a thirty-three percent chance to all die if we don’t follow Hound’s instructions during the fight, so we need to be on to it. Nymerian we will need you to control the groups of baby dragons that spawn, and any extra ones that hatch. We’ll do a careful slow approach, fighting small groups of enemies at a time.”

“Remember not to go near the fucking eggs,” said Sandor. “Every fucking egg contains a baby dragon that wants to fucking murder you. If you remember any one thing, do not go near the fucking eggs.”

Suddenly TentacleMaster jumped to his feet and took off running into the room filled with lethal dragon eggs.

“What the fuck?” said Sandor, as TentacleMaster launched himself at the eggs, running around hatching every single one in sight. A huge horde of baby dragons flew after him.

“TENTACLEMASTER,” screamed TentacleMaster, causing Sansa to wince at the sound funnelling directly into her ears. “IN DA HOUSE.”

“WHAT THE FUCK,” bellowed Sandor in return, running into the room after TentacleMaster. “Shit, Nymerian gather up the stragglers. Fuck, Alayne keep shielding me and dump your mana pool into my heals then take potions to restore it. Bull. Fucking Hells. Bull, help Nymerian in gathering up the little fuckers so I can hold them off the rest of you.”

Sansa followed Sandor’s character into the room, focusing on the health bars of her friends. Deadly fluttering baby dragons filled her entire screen. Alayne could hardly move for clouds and clouds of baby dragons, all attacking the party. The character suddenly jiggled her breasts, heedless of the perilous situation.

“TentacleMaster, why?” breathed Sansa. “We’re all going to die. We’re all going to get murdered by tiny baby dragons.”

“You’re a fucking cuntsicle, TentacleMaster,” said Arya, murderous and low. “You utter piece of shit, you’ve killed us all.”

“We can just respawn,” said Gendry reasonably.

One by one they all died to the baby dragons, swamped by sheer numbers. Only Princess, who could not be attacked, stayed alive, standing sentry by Alayne’s fallen body. Silence fell, punctuated only by what sounded distinctly like Sandor’s angry breathing.

“At least I got chicken,” muttered TentacleMaster.

With a wordless roar of rage, Sandor kicked TentacleMaster from both their group and the coms system. TentacleMaster’s corpse slowly faded from the screen, leaving only a pile of dragon-defiled bones.

Silence reigned again, until Sandor spoke. “I’m going out to take Stranger for a fucking run. I’m done with this for the night.”

“It’s so late,” Sansa blurted before she could think it through, “will you be safe?”

“Aye, I’ll be safe,” said Sandor in that gentle voice again, before he left the coms channel.

“Who the fuck is going to mess with the big guy?” said Arya. “I’m going to bring you in a cup of tea, Sansa Stark, and you can tell me all about why you’ve been distracted as fuck this evening.”

Chapter Text

Sansa underestimated how distracting it would be playing World of Westeros in the same room as Sandor. Even with her headset on, in front of her character who was running around with breasts bouncing merrily on the screen, she could feel his presence.

She and Sandor kissed passionately when they’d reached his house, but his immense, black Skagosian mastiff, Stranger, had interrupted them. By the time Sansa had finished being greeted by the cheerful dog, who unlike his master, was thrilled to make a new friend, Sandor had connected her PC to his spare monitor, found her a chair and it was time to meet up with the others.

They’d eaten dinner, Dornish takeout, in front of their respective computers, whilst Alayne collected flowers and Hound went mining for mithril. On the coms, Arya complained about her workday whilst she text chatted with some people who she said might be able to help the group, Hot Pie mulled over Gateaux’s outfit choices and Gendry hung around at the Blacksmithing district in Queen’s Landing.

Regardless of the mundanity of the situation, Sansa found herself desperately turned on.

Even picking pretty gillyflowers was not enough to distract her. Being so close to Sandor was arousing, and she couldn’t stop thinking about what she wanted to do to him.

“Is everyone ready for the dungeons we had planned?” said Gendry, eventually. “It’s almost time.”

“Wait, not yet,” said Hot Pie, sounding worried now that he wasn’t analysing chainmail bikini options. “I need to afk while I skim my stock before the overnight slow cooking and massage the aged beef before refrigeration.”

“Ugh, let’s take a five-minute break,” said Arya. “Whilst Hot Pie does the stuff he should have done before coming online.”

Sansa tore off her headset and before Sandor had finished saying, “Aye let’s meet back in five,” into his microphone, she was on her knees in front of his desk chair undoing the zip of his trousers.

“Seven fucking Hells,” he rasped, raising his hips to help her.

His manhood got hard in her eager grasp more quickly than she thought possible, and she immediately took it into her mouth. Not that it fit. She managed to fit the tip and maybe a third of his length before Sandor hissed and said, “teeth,” in a strained voice. Sansa slowed down, consciously keeping her teeth out of the way and just using her lips and tongue to stimulate him.

Harry had always seemed vaguely bored whenever she did this for him, correcting her technique until she made him finish, then returning the favour with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. She glanced up at Sandor’s face, trying not to look awkward with a penis in her mouth. He was staring at her like this was the best thing that had ever happened to him. It was extremely motivating, and she sucked harder, causing him to screw his eyes shut and groan. Sansa worked him over until he was moaning continuously, his hands tangled in her hair and hips thrusting up towards her.

She pulled away, and he gave a pitiful moan. She looked up at his flushed face and summoned her courage to say the shockingly dirty sentence, “I want you to come in my mouth and I want to swallow your come.”

Apparently, that proved too much for him as he immediately climaxed in her hand and Sansa rapidly had to put him back in her mouth to do as she said she’d do. She licked him through his orgasm, then stole his glass of cola to rinse her mouth as he sat slumped in his chair, looking stunned at what had just happened.

She lay her cheek on his bare thigh, feeling quite pleased with herself, as Sandor caught his breath and occasionally swore.

After a few moments he opened his eyes, growled, “your turn,” and before she could react had shimmed down onto the carpet with surprising grace for such a large man, and pulled her on top of him.

They kissed, hard, then Sandor, with a gleam in his eye, said “sit on my face.” Sansa squeaked in surprise as he pulled her up his body to make good on his request.

Sansa grabbed the seat of his chair for balance as she knelt over him. He unceremoniously tugged her underwear to the side and pulled her down, and with no preamble fastened his lips around her clit and sucked hard. It was shockingly sexy, listening to the joyful slurping noises he made as he licked and sucked her with abandon, throwing himself with gusto into the task of bringing her pleasure.

She climaxed quickly, before she could really think about it, her senses swamped by the intense experience. He kissed her again as he wiggled himself out from under her.

“Fucking delicious,” he murmured as he stood up and offered a hand to help her up too.

Sansa staggered back to her desk chair on wobbly legs, putting her headset on just in time to hear Arya indignantly ask where she and Sandor were.

“We’re here, calm the fuck down,” rumbled Sandor, with remarkable aplomb for a man whose beard was noticeably damp from Sansa’s arousal.

“We definitely came,” breathed Sansa. “Um, came here. We came here to the computers. Here we are.”

“Fuck’s sake,” said Arya. “If you two can fucking concentrate, I found some potential new recruits for us to team up with for raids.”

“I wasn’t quite clear on why we needed extra people?” said Sansa, concentrating on putting her words together in the correct order. “How are these raids different to the dungeons we’ve been doing?”

“We’ll need a group of twenty to tackle the new Long Night raid,” Sandor replied, apparently doing better than her with the post-orgasm brain fuzziness. “A raid is like a dungeon, but much harder. The Night’s King is the final boss of the Long Night, and he’s the hardest fight in the game at the moment.”

“The more people we know the better, so if they are good, we have a chance at succeeding,” said Arya, “This group of five seems frighteningly efficient, so they are probably in a cult. Or they just know each other well. I don’t give a shit though, they seem okay.”

“Not like TentacleMaster?” said Sansa cautiously. She liked baby dragons, but not in murderous packs.

Sandor groaned. “Fuck that cunt. That’s what we get for asking random people to join us.”

“Anyway,” said Arya darkly, obviously thinking about TentacleMaster, “Hot Pie and Gendry are going to take three of them, um, a paladin named RightfulKing, a rogue named OnionKnight, and a priest named KittenStag. We’ve got StoneDoe, who is a mage, and a shaman named Patchface. Each group will be on a different coms channel to stop confusion. RightfulKing sounds like a grouchy cunt, so Gendry can deal with him.”

“That sounds good,” said Sansa.

Arya gave the new people the coms details, and Sansa collected her thoughts whilst they logged in.

“You okay?” said Sandor, taking his headset off and sliding his chair over to her.

Sansa took her headset off too and grasped his hand. “I’m better than okay,” she said, squeezing his fingers. “I’m looking forward to spending the night.”

He held up her hand and kissed her palm. “Aye,” he said, then leaned forward to kiss her lips.

They sat back at their respective computers after a brief kiss, just in time for the new people to log in.

StoneDoe sounded like a young woman with a calm voice and a Stormlands accent. “You can call me Shireen,” she said, “and this is my friend Patches. He’s got some communication issues, but he’s a good player.”

“A feast of colours,” said Patches. He had a curiously flat voice, with no emotional inflection.  “Fabrics fluttering, a feast for the eyes. Watch the wolf and watch the dog, it’s no surprise. In my eyes, eyes, eyes.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Well, yes,” said Shireen, placidly. “Like I said. He’s really quite good.”

“Okay,” said Arya, audibly gritting her teeth. “Let’s see how we go. Why don’t we try the Ruins of Dragonstone again, that’s easy enough.”

Their characters all met up in the game and travelled together to Dragonstone. It turned out StoneDoe was a tiny, adorable, black-haired gnome character wearing some deep blue robes with a stylish cut that Sansa approved of. Patchface was a bald dwarf with extensive facial tattoos, wearing a motley collection of leather and feathers to signify that he was a shaman.

Upon arrival, they all entered the green portal that indicated the dungeon. The ruins of the dragon-shaped castle loomed above them.

“Beware the stone dragons,” intoned Patches, his dwarven shaman highlighted against the old castle. “They’ll eat the sad child of stone. Stone, stone, oh so alone. Oh, oh oh.”

“Don’t be silly, Patches,” said Shireen, gently. “Let’s go.” Her little gnome character led the way, black pigtails bobbing as she walked.

Sandor’s Hound bounded up the front steps. “Aegon’s Garden first,” he said. “Let’s clear the trash on the way there.”

Sansa knew that low level, easy to kill creatures in dungeons were called trash, and that terminology always seemed quite mean. “I thought you tried your best,” she told the skeletal bodies of ancient Targaryen soldiers.

“For fuck's sake, Sans,” said Arya, “stop mooning over the corpses and let’s get going.”

They cleared the ‘trash’ easily. Aegon’s Garden was beautiful, with looming trees and wild tangled roses bordering a central grasses area. Alayne jiggled her breasts as they all stood solemnly in the centre. Princess sat quietly at her feet and groomed a paw.

“Orange kitten isn’t she smitten. Under the trees, how she sees, sees, sees,” sang Patches. His character placed a water totem at his feet and blue energy pulsed around the party.

“Let’s group these wild roses up and mow them down,” said Sandor, running his character up and down in front of the party.

“I always feel bad killing flowers,” said Shireen, “they are too beautiful to be evil. Nothing so lovely should ever be bad.”

Patchface placed a fire totem beside Shireen’s character, and it illuminated her delicate features in red.

“Yes, let’s burn these down,” said Arya. Nymerian launched into some energetic dance moves. At least Arya hadn’t undressed him, and he still wore his plate armour.

“I always feel bad about hurting the creatures too, Shireen,” said Sansa. “I like to imagine they are just getting sent to sleep and will wake up after we’re gone.”

“Oh, I like that,” replied Shireen. “I’m going to imagine that too.”

“Bloody pacifists,” said Arya, though she didn’t sound particularly annoyed.

“Wild wolf, she threads the needle.” Patches' voice was a singsong tone. “All the faces in all the places, sew them calmly, sew them slow, oh oh oh.”

“Seven hells,” rasped Sandor, “let’s kill these roses before this cunt develops the gift of prophecy.”

Alayne cast a magical shield of protection around him, and Hound ran around the garden, making all the roses stand up on their root-feet and follow him to where the party was waiting.

Shireen’s StoneDoe walked forward and raised her hand. “Die, you thorny bastards,” she said in her sweet voice. Sansa’s jaw dropped in real life as Shireen’s character unleashed a torrent of magical flames from her hand.

Patches stood behind his friend, placing a series of totems around her, illuminating her tiny form in flashes of magic as she unleashed the fury of fire upon the deadly plants. Wave upon wave, the roses entered the zone of burning death, falling into char at the feet of the party.

“She cleanses, she cleanses,” chanted Patchface. “She cleanses. She cleanses.”

Shireen abruptly stopped her torrent of flames, and the party stood dumbstruck in front of the smouldering hulks of ambulatory plants.

“Holy fuck,” said Arya in hushed tones, “I knew I liked you Shireen.”

“Thanks Arya,” said Shireen softly, “you all seem really nice too.”

“I wonder how the other group is going,” said Sandor, as Hound bent down to check the corpses for any loot.

“Gendry’s been messaging me,” said Arya, “He said RightfulKing formulated a mathematically sound tactical approach to their dungeon, OnionKnight is an expert at crowd-control and KittenStag is, and I’m quoting him here, a slightly useless sweetheart.”

Shireen laughed. “That sounds about right. KittenStag is my cousin, and he’s precious.”

Sansa watched as Patchface wandered off to stare at the distant view of the ocean through the trees surrounding the garden. She walked over to him whilst the others looted.

“Isn’t the view beautiful?” Sansa said, as Alayne jiggled her breasts above Patchface’s head.

“Fly little bird, flutter your wings and fly high,” said Patches happily. “High high, into the sky, into the snow don’t you know oh oh.”

“I like birds too,” replied Sansa. “I like to imagine we can see the seagulls that would be here, even if we can’t see them.”

“Little bird, little bird,” whispered Patches.

“Let’s keep going on,” said Sandor. “Got more shit to blow up.”

Sansa glanced over at him in real life. He was looking at her with a hungry look in his eye, and she remembered again she’d be staying with him for the night. Arousal washed over her.

“Calm the rage, snarling dog, lost in fog,” said Patches, “find your quiet, gather your driftwood. Be good, find good. Brotherhood. No good, do good.”

“Let’s do zombie Visenya Targaryen in the Sea Dragon Tower,” said Sandor in a loud voice. “The bone dragon Vhagar is weak to fire, and apparently we’ve got shitloads of that.”

They continued on, leaving a trail of corpses behind them.

There was no zombie Visenya Targaryen in the Sea Dragon though, instead a man dressed in ancient Northern garb stood in her place, flanked by wolves.

“The Warden of the North,” said Sandor in hushed tones. “He’s a fucking rare spawn, replacing Visenya.”

“Why is a Northman in Dragonstone?” asked Sansa. “Historically, we hardly ever left the North.”

“Clearly you’d have to ask Hot Pie,” said Arya, “he’s the expert.”

Patches whispered something, but it was hard to hear. It sounded vaguely like “south is woe, do not go.”

“Well,” said Arya, “sorry Warden of the North, time to die.”

He was a tough fight, swinging a huge two-handed sword at Hound, who could barely block the blows. It took all of Sansa’s concentration, using her healing magic in the most efficient way, keeping the party alive.

Finally the Warden was defeated, falling to the ground surrounded by his wolves.

“Father’s head on the dirty ground, a bird screams, a terrible sound. All around, all around.” Patches sounded manic, his character swirling in magic.

All the characters stood in silence until Arya spoke.

“Well, that’s fucking dark,” said Arya, as Nymerian stepped over the wolf corpse and rummaged through the Warden’s body. “Anyway. The Warden dropped a sick greatsword though, that’s clearly a paladin weapon.”

“For once,” said Sandor, “you are right, that is a paladin weapon. You keep it.” Hound bent down to rummage through the wolves, gathering pelts.

“You did great in that fight, Patches,” said Sansa, ignoring the looters, “thanks for the totem that helped my magic.”

“Isn’t he wonderful?” said Shireen, enthusiastically. “He’s always got the right buffs for the party.”

“A Princess, a Queen, who remains to be seen? To be seen, to be seen.” Patches’ voice trailed off.

They continued quickly through the dungeon, led by Shireen and her pillars of fire.

The final boss was undead Jaehaerys I Targaryen, standing, as he always did, in the Chamber of the Painted Table. Noisome fluids of decay dripped from his beard, all over his body.

“A drowned fool upon a stool,” whispered Patches, his shaman standing apart from the group, staring at the wall. “Watching all, seeing all. Under the waves they go, into the deep they go, go, go.”

“He sounds like one of those Ironborn priests of the Drowned God,” said Sandor. “The ones that roam the streets of King’s fucking Landing prophesying doom by dragon fire and that shit.”

“We’ve had Patches in therapy for years, my step-Dad organised it for him,” Shireen said softly, “and he’s doing well. He didn’t use to talk at all. We think he had some childhood trauma.”

“He’s obviously doing great,” said Sansa, “it’s lovely that this game is so inclusive, everyone can play.”

“Seven Hells,” said Arya impatiently, “get your feelings out with a group hug and we can go murder this Targaryen.”

“Can we do group hugs in the game?” asked Sansa, thrilled with the concept. She knew there was a command to make her character hug individual people, but didn’t realise there might be a group option.

“For fuck's sake, no,” said Arya, “I’m kidding. Let’s do some killing.”

“Wait,” said Sansa in a firm voice, determined now to show her affection for the party.

She carefully typed into her chat window, smiling as her virtual hugs came up on the screen.

Alayne hugs Hound.

Alayne hugs Nymerian.

Alayne hugs StoneDoe.

Alayne hugs Patchface.

Alayne hugs Princess.

StoneDoe hugs Alayne.

Nymerian sighs loudly.

“Thanks Shireen,” said Sansa, as Alayne jiggled her breasts and Princess gambolled at her feet.

“You’re welcome,” replied Shireen, her tiny gnome jumping up and down in front of Alayne, “I’ve had loads of fun with your group.”

“Fly little dove, pillar of flame. Die little hart, who’s to blame?” Patches’ voice cut through the happy moment.

“Let’s go,” said Sandor impatiently. He followed his words by raising his shield and charging into the room.

Sansa squeaked in alarm and ran after him, the party hot on her heels. Alayne raised her hand and bathed Hound in a pillar of healing magic.

Patchface stood beside StoneDoe and started chanting in dwarven. Totems surrounded them, and green magic lashed out at Jaehaerys I Targaryen. StoneDoe raised her little hand and unleashed pillar after pillar of fire into the room. It was a stirring sight, Sansa amazed by their power as she tried to focus on healing Hound.

In a startlingly short time, Jaehaerys intoned “and now I join you, Alysanne my eternal love,” as he crumpled to the ground, dead.

Sansa and Shireen cheered.

“Well done, group,” said Sandor, rare praise from him.

“That was pretty fucking good,” said Arya. “We’re keen to team up with your guild for raids if you are, Shireen.”

“Broken boy upon the throne, they all just wanted to go home,” muttered Patches. “Home is snow, home is fire. Home is faces upon the pyre. The pyre. Oh, the pyre.”

Arya sighed and bent down to loot the corpse of the undead King. “Fucking tank boots. Hound already has these. Shireen, can you or Patches disenchant these?”

“I can,” said Shireen. StoneDoe took the boots off the corpse and waved her hands around, turning the magical boots into a magical shard that might enhance the gear people wore in the game. “All done. Do you want it, Hound?”

“Keep it,” said Sandor gruffly. “Use it on your gear for the raid.”

“Thanks, Hound,” Shireen said brightly. “We need to go, it’s time for Patches’ evening smoothie. Thanks for the fun group, everyone!”

“Ware the mockingbird in its pie. Poisoned berries, aye, aye, aye,” said Patches, even more flatly than usual.

“Remember Patches, goji berries aren’t poison, they are full of antioxidants,” said Shireen.

Everyone signed off, though Arya said she’d wait online until Gendry was finished. Sansa did a big fake yawn and said she needed to sleep. Sandor snorted and signed off.

“Shall we go to bed?” said Sansa, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Aye,” said Sandor, holding out his hand to her.

She took it, and he threaded his fingers through hers.

His bedroom was as tidy as the rest of his house, not much decoration, just a photo of Stranger, who was currently asleep in front of the heater in the living room. Sandor’s quilt was a utilitarian dark blue, but the bed itself was huge.

He tugged her in for a kiss as soon as they entered the room. They undressed each other quickly, Sansa desperate to see him fully naked for the first time.

She was not disappointed. He was large, hairy and solid, and she hummed happily as she ran a hand over his chest, standing close enough that her erect nipples pressed against him. “I want to dress you,” she said dreamily. “I could make you the most amazing clothes.”

Sandor huffed a laugh. “You’re already making me some shirts. Or you will be if we can stop kissing and now fucking every time I go to your shop.”

She wrapped her arms around him in a hug, pressing a cheek against his broad chest. He hugged her back, his enormous erection pressing into her stomach the only thing making the gesture sexual rather than just affectionate.

She raised her head to look at him. “I want to be on top of you,” she said. “I want to ride you until we both come.”

He made a pleased sound in the back of his throat and bent down for a rough kiss, holding her hard against him.

Harry had always said she was awful at being on top, not moving properly, and she should lie on her back and keep still instead. She liked the on-top position though, it felt good, so she was keen to try it out with Sandor. They may be new to being intimate with each other, but she was certain he’d let her try to figure things out.

They lay on his bed, kissing and stroking each other. Sansa loved not having to hurry, knowing she had unlimited time in which to enjoy being with Sandor. Eventually he leaned over and pulled a condom out of his top bedside drawer.

She straddled his thighs, watching as he rolled it on, then held his erection upright, raising his good eyebrow at her in a silent challenge. If she didn’t already know he could fit inside her, she’d have been worried. Sansa shuffled forward to hover above him, then carefully guided him inside and lowered herself right onto him.

She sighed happily when he was fully sheathed, and he reached out and stroked her breasts with both hands.

She ground herself against him, moaning quietly at the delicious pleasure of it. Sansa looked at Sandor’s face. He was watching her intently.

“Is this okay?” she said, and licked her lips nervously. “It’s not… bad, is it?”

He blinked and frowned. Then Sansa gasped as Sandor sat up, throwing his arm around her waist so she didn’t topple over. He cupped the back of her head with his free hand and pulled her in for another passionate kiss. “There is no such fucking thing as being bad at this,” he said when they broke the kiss. “Anything you do is sexy as fuck.”

Sansa could hardly breathe for the surge of affection she felt for him. She cupped his face with both hands and tried to pour all her feelings into another kiss.

He lay back down after a few moments. He moved his hands to grip her thighs but didn’t attempt to influence her movements. “Use my cock to get yourself off,” he said, “there’s no wrong way to do this.”

Sansa tried different ways of moving over him until she found one that she particularly liked, leaning forward slightly with her hands resting on his hairy chest. “That’s good, that’s perfect,” she huffed as she ground herself against him some more.

Sandor lifted a hand to tuck her hair behind one ear, then traced his rough fingertips down her cheek. “You feel fucking amazing around me,” he said.

She shut her eyes, concentrating on the pleasure sparking from where their bodies joined. Sandor’s hand slipped down to touch her, his blunt fingers rubbing her clit. Sansa yelped and opened her eyes as he was too rough and rubbed hard.

He paused and tilted his head questioningly, but he didn’t look angry.

“Gently. Um. Very gently,” she said, still worried he’d be offended she hadn’t reacted positively to his touch. “Please.”

“Keep telling me how you like it,” he said, gentling his caresses. “I want to make you feel fucking good.”

“Softer,” she said then, both surprised and relieved that he was happy for her to tell him what to do instead of expecting she’d like whatever he did. “And… and little circles.”

He changed the motions of his fingers accordingly, and Sansa gasped when he got it right. She resumed her movements, grinding herself against Sandor while he was deep inside her, his fingers rubbing her clit the way she liked.

Sansa cried out in pleasure when her climax hit. She slumped forward onto Sandor, unable to believe how good sex could be. He kissed her, then grabbed her hips and thrust up hard into her so he could come too, moaning loudly when he did.

He gathered into his arms once he’d disposed of the condom and slid back into bed. She rested her cheek on his chest, listening to his heart beat slow as he relaxed. She couldn’t remember ever being happier.

Chapter Text

From Sansa’s notebook:

Potential raid group:

Alayne – Me! 😁

Hound –❤️❤️Sandor ❤️

Nymerian – Arya

Bull – Gendry

Gateaux – Hot Pie (order that belt extender he needed)

StoneDoe – Shireen (remember to send her the link for the tall girl pants)

Patchface – Patches

RightfulKing – Shireen’s Dad (don’t ask him about his character name, he likes to lecture)

OnionKnight – Shireen’s step-dad (remember to thank him again for the seafood chowder recipe)

StagKitten – Shireen’s cousin (work out a non-awkward way to introduce him to Rickon)

New people:

BearLovr – Tormund (take note of his dirty jokes and look up any unfamiliar curse words) (note: remind Sandor to say Free Folk instead of Wildlings)

LadyofBearIsland – not sure of real name (Arya said she sounded very young but was tactically sound)

FireKissed – Eee-grit? (Check name. Also note any new words)

Marillion – Marillion (look up what a ‘script for a jester’s tear’ is before next raid)

Kraken – Asha or Yara? (Something like that - Arya unsure of name)

Hodor – Old Nan’s great great grandson

Any extra people to be PuG’d (this has nothing to do with dogs?) (okay it means people you ‘pick up’ to join the group. Add this to my list of acronyms.)

“There’s far too many new people. I’m never going to be able to keep track of them all.” Sansa held her notebook above her head and squinted at the list of names.

Sandor grunted and rolled over to face her, idly running his fingers over her naked breast. “Just worry about me and RightfulKing since we’ll be main tank and off-tank. The other healers will focus on the rest of the group and be backing you up.”

Sansa arched her back towards him, letting her notebook fall onto the pillow behind her head. “I’m nervous. What if I let everyone die? We’ve been planning this raid for weeks now.”

Sandor moved so he could take her nipple into his mouth. She ran her fingers through his hair as he suckled on her, and he hummed in response. “You’re a good healer,” he said when he finally pulled back just enough to speak. His lips brushed her nipple as he spoke. “I trust you.”

Sansa moaned at his words. For some reason, that statement was even sexier than when they used their usual naughty words with each other.

He glanced up at her face with a speculative expression, then crawled up her body, covering her with his huge form. “You’re a really fucking skilled healer,” he rumbled into her ear. “You always know exactly what spells to cast.”

Sansa turned her face towards his so she could kiss him, passionately. His praise of her online performance was definitely doing it for her. She hooked a leg around him and shamelessly ground herself against him. “I want you to say that while you’re inside me,” she gasped out, still reflexively embarrassed by asking for exactly she wanted but also accustomed to it.

He lined himself up and slid inside her with no more preamble. She was so turned on by his praise of her healing ability that she was already soaking wet. She’d started taking a contraceptive pill, and they both appreciated the lack of condoms.

Sandor sat back on his heels and pushed her legs back against her chest. He enjoyed being able to watch her in that position, she knew, able to see how it looked as he moved in and out of her body.

“I really fucking like how you keep my character alive,” said Sandor, punctuating every second word with a thrust.

“More Sandor, more,” Sansa gasped, bracing her left hand against the headboard.

“Your heal over time spells are fucking sexy. I can watch my health bar tick upwards when you use your magic and that’s fucking hot.”

She moaned and reached down with her free hand to touch herself. Sandor liked to watch her do that, too. Once she’d sat on her dressmaking table at work and touched herself until she came whilst Sandor watched. That had been embarrassing, but also very, very sexy. “You make me feel so good with your big… cock,” she said, with only the barest hesitation over using such a naughty word.

Sandor would never admit to it, but she knew he liked when she mentioned the size of his manhood and how much she enjoyed the way he used it. He always went pink and made love to her more vigorously when she said such wicked things to him.

“Aye, take my cock. You’re so fucking good at taking my cock. Almost as good as you are at healing five-person dungeons.”

“Yes,” she moaned loudly, shameless in her pursuit of pleasure. “More.”

“It’s sexy as fuck when you drain your whole mana pool because you’re healing me so well.”

Sansa could feel herself getting closer to her peak. “Sandor, I love you,” she gasped out. “I love your cock and I love you.”

“Seven fucking Hells,” he ground out, thrusting harder. “I fucking love you, too. Come over my cock for me.”

She squealed as her orgasm crested, waves of pleasure hitting hard. She was hot all over, sensitive and flushed.

Sandor tugged her legs down, then bent over her, hunching his back so they could kiss. She wrapped her legs around him and reached up to cup his face on the damaged side, where she knew no one ever touched.

“That felt so good,” she murmured against his lips, drunk with pleasure.

His movements had slowed, and he paused, deep inside her, while they kissed again, long and languid.

“I love when you come for me and I love you,” he rasped with utter sincerity, looking into her eyes.

“I want you to come too,” she whispered. “That’s my favourite part of having your big cock inside me.”

“Fucking Hells,” he moaned, but resumed his more vigorous movements, though still staying within kissing distance of her mouth.

Sansa held him tight when he climaxed too, moving with him when he rolled them both onto their sides afterwards. She snuggled against him, ignoring the wetness between her legs.

She’d never imagined, when Harry had told her she was bad at sex, that being intimate with someone could be so pleasurable. Sandor never judged her or thought she was bad or weird for things that she might ask for or say. It was fun being able to figure out together what worked for them.

“I need to go over my healing strategies again,” she said after some minutes.

Sandor groaned. “Give me a few minutes to recover, and I’ll let you practice on me.”

*

The portal that would take them to their upcoming raid dungeon adventure was green and swirly, as Sansa had come to expect. It was situated in the Frozen North zone, and as always, Sansa’s heart swelled at seeing her beloved home translated into the game. Scattered characters had congregated outside the portal, though none that Sansa recognised except for Arya and Sandor.

“Look how adorable I am,” said Sansa excitedly, steering Alayne and her cat Princess towards Arya. Nymerian, clad only in a loincloth, was dancing, compete with pelvic thrusting, in front of Hound who was fishing in a nearby waterhole. “I’m a gnome! I have the best pink hair.”

“What the fuck?” said Arya. Nymerian turned to face Alayne with a flourish. “Sans, did you pay for a race change? What happened to your elf being an avatar of your desire to dress the world? Gnomes are so tiny you can hardly see their gear.”

“Well, you’d fucking know,” rumbled Sandor, as his character stowed his fishing rod away and reequipped his axe, “you’re that size in real life.”

“Says the freakishly big guy,” replied Arya with a huff. “At least I can fit into normal-people seats.”

“If you use a fucking step stool.” Hound moved to stand beside gnome-Alayne as well, and even as a short dwarf he towered over Alayne, who was usually head and shoulders taller than him.  

“Better that than getting my arse stuck in one and having to get Jory to cut me out,” said Arya smugly.

Sandor growled. “That fucker promised he wouldn’t tell.”

“All of Stark Forestry saw the two halves of that chair, Sandor. There’s only one person big enough to get wedged in those tiny office chairs. Whoever put arm rests on those things was taking the piss.”

“Only one person big enough?” Sandor’s voice was indignant. “Have you fucking met Hot Pie? I’m surprised you haven’t been pulled into orbit around him.”

Arya snorted audibly over the coms. “At least he’s sensible enough to stand up whenever one of those stupid little chairs is the only option.”

“Hello? I’m an adorable gnome?” interjected Sansa, before the bickering could escalate into blood feud territory, as it often threatened to do. “And don’t fat shame Hot Pie, Sandor Clegane, all bodies are beautiful.”

“Aye, fine,” muttered Sandor, “I won’t shame that fat cunt. I’m not calling the fucker beautiful though.”

“Oh please call him beautiful,” said Arya, “and make sure I’m there when you do.”

“Fuck off, you little shit, or I’ll tell your dad what you and your bloody boyfriend did in the server room last week.”

“Not get wedged into chairs, that’s what we did.”

“WOULD EITHER OF YOU LIKE TO BE TURNED INTO A GNOME?” said Sansa, loudly. “Hot Pie took me to do some quests with some talking bears in the Bear Island zone when you both were doing raid planning stuff with Gendry last night. The reward was a wand that turns you temporarily into a gnome.”

“Go on then, gnome me.” Hound jumped up and down in front of Alayne as Sandor spoke.

“Well, now I’m uncomfortable,” Arya said. “That sounds like a weird sex thing.”

Sansa’s thoughts inevitably turned to the passion they shared earlier that day, with declarations of love mixed with sweet praise of her healing abilities. She wondered if Sandor would be open to dressing up like their characters and making love while they pretended to be them.

“Yep, that silence went on way too long, and now I need some brain bleach,” continued Arya.

Sansa hurriedly zapped both Nymerian and Hound with her wand and smiled as Sandor became a tiny gnome with a violet-hued comb-over hairdo and Arya one with a full mane of bright blue hair. Princess sniffed Hound’s foot, then yawned and settled into cat-loaf form.

“Perfect,” Sansa said, “I just need to zap Hot Pie’s Gâteaux, and we can have a fully gnome group since Bull already is one.”

“Hot Pie will never let you turn Gâteaux into a gnome. He’s obsessed with her curated outfits,” said Arya. Gnome-Nymerian started to dance again, though the pelvic thrusting was less dramatic on such a short character. Sansa had to admit, she was enjoying not having a character who randomly jiggled her breasts at people. Apparently that wasn’t a thing for female gnomes, only elves.

“Hot Pie and his fucking battle bikinis,” muttered Sandor. “Anyway, how long does the gnome thing last for?”

“An hour,” replied Sansa, checking the information on the wand.

“An hour,” said Arya, sounding contemplative, “I should find an orc or something to traumatise by doing flirting commands with them as a gnome.”

Nymerian flirts with Alayne.

Nymerian flirts with Alayne.

Nymerian flirts with Alayne.

Alayne giggles at Nymerian.

Hound farts loudly.

Nymerian farts louder.

Alayne sighs.

The people they’d organised to join them for the raid began to show up. Sansa was perplexed as to why they needed twenty people to tackle a dungeon, but apparently the Long Night was much harder than the usual World of Westeros group tasks of murdering historical Targaryens and related dragons. A raid in the game meant a group endeavour, but bigger and harder than usual. From what she gathered, the Long Night dungeon would have them fighting ice zombies throughout the North, with the final battle eventually being in ‘Winterfall’.

Gendry had set up coms channels for various combinations of characters so the number of voices wouldn’t be overwhelming. Sansa was in a grouping with Sandor and RightfulKing, who were the characters she’d need to heal the most. Sandor was the person who was supposed to hold the attention of whatever they were trying to kill, letting other characters do all the damage to it, and RightfulKing was his backup. Patches would also be on coms with them as he provided useful buffs that increased the efficiency of Sansa and the tanks, and Shireen’s StoneDoe too, because no one could really effectively communicate with Patchface without her. Shireen’s cousin KittenStag would join them, as Sansa’s backup healer.

[Raid chat] Bull: you’ve all got your instructions about strategy, and you should all be in your assigned com channels. Let’s start by clearing trash and see if we can make it to the first boss.

“Wait,” Sansa said, frowning. “What strategy instructions?”

“Keep me and RightfulKing alive,” replied Sandor.

“RightfulKing and I,” corrected RightfulKing. He had the same Stormlands accent as Shireen, but he utterly lacked her sweet personality.

Sandor huffed into his microphone. “Aye,” he said blandly, and the lack of f-words and c-words in his response startled Sansa. She decided he must be trying hard to stay onside with RightfulKing, who by all accounts was a highly skilled player.

“To Winterfell we shall go, go, go,” said Patches instead of hello, as he logged into their coms channel. “The flaming heart of a stag shall extinguish in the snow, snow, snow.”

“Um, hello Patches,” said Sansa. The ragged dwarven figure of Patchface appeared in front of Alayne. She did not turn him into a gnome. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Have you taken your medication, Patches?” said RightfulKing in clipped tones.

“Don’t embarrass him, Dad,” said Shireen reproachfully, apparently logging in as her father spoke. “Patches has had his evening smoothie. He’ll be fine. I put extra spirulina in, that always chills him out. Anyway, hi everyone, it’s lovely to be here.”

“Shall we sacrifice the innocent? The price is too high, so far in the sky. A Wall blocks the sun, but the daughter is gone. So frozen, oh why?” Patches whispered the words in his emotionless voice.

“It’s good to have you with us,” said Sansa. The tiny figure of StoneDoe, already a gnome, appeared beside Patches.

The human paladin RightfulKing strode over to them. He was the same race, sex, and character class as Arya’s Nymerian, but there the similarities ended. RightfulKing sported long, thick black hair, which flowed majestically down the back of his fully plate armoured form. His cloak seemed to blow in an invisible breeze. Sansa knew without a doubt that he would not appreciate being turned into a gnome.

“Hello everyone,” said a new voice that Sansa recognised as KittenStag, whose real name was Tom. He was apparently in his first year of studying to become a vet, and Sansa had connected with both him and Shireen on social media. It made her feel very modern and technologically savvy, to have made friends with people she hadn’t yet met in person.

“Hi Tom,” said Sansa. “How is Ser Pounce?”

“He’s good, today he…” Tom began before Patchface interjected.

“Gold their crowns, gold their shrouds,” said Patchface loudly, “a shroud on a walk through a stormy crowd. A sad demise is gasped aloud. Gold a shroud, shroud, shroud.”

“No, Patches,” said Shireen patiently, “we discussed this. We don’t talk about people’s shrouds anymore. Remember how upset that nice lady with those three pet geese was when you predicted that she’d get, um, euthanised and wrapped in a shroud after trying to genocide a bunch of people. Nice ladies we meet at the weekend farmers markets aren’t going to genocide anyone.”

“We’re still getting complaint letters about that,” muttered RightfulKing. “Davos had to compose a form letter so we could efficiently reply.”

Sansa’s gaze was drawn down to her chat window, and she quickly typed to join in the conversation.

[Raid chat] Bull: everyone into the portal, let’s begin!

[Raid chat] Kraken: WE’LL MAKE THEM PAY THE IRON PRICE

[Raid chat] Alayne: Good luck everyone 😊

[Raid chat] Nymerian: good luck bitches

The raid channel then scrolled down on her screen too quickly for Sansa to read all the messages, with party members wishing the group well.

With some trepidation, Sansa moved Alayne, with her ginger cat Princess at her heels, into the swirling green portal. 

Priests could cast a spell that gave people they were in a group with extra health, so she did that once inside, her little gnome-form throwing her hands into the air and casting her spells. Other characters could do similar things to increase different statistics, so the sounds of magic surrounded her. Hound had found some chicken that also granted him extra fighting abilities, so he sat down to do that before they started. Patchface’s shaman chanted in dwarven, and various glowing totems appeared at his feet, granting special powers to those around him.

Sansa had never been in a group with so many players, twenty instead of five. Looking down at her list of people in the group, it was a little overwhelming. Arya said in other games they’d played big raid groups like this had been up to forty people, which Sansa couldn’t imagine. Characters were jumping around all over the place, interacting with each other via emotes or actions. Several characters started dancing in various states of undress whilst they waited for all the enhancing magic to be done. Emotes kept coming up in her chat window.

Gâteaux shakes her booty.

Nymerian bursts into dance.

StoneDoe claps excitedly.

Marillion caresses his guitar.

Hodor hodor.

FireKissed thinks BearLovr knows nothing.

FireKissed thinks everyone in the raid knows nothing.

StagKitten gently pats StoneDoe.

Kraken wrestles a kraken.

BearLovr fucked a bear.

Hound thinks no one is fucking a bear. This one we kill.

Sansa looked around properly, away from all the other players.

A moderate distance away an enormous bear stood blocking the path, its eyes an icily bright blue and great hunks of flesh in the process of falling off its body.

“A wight bear,” Sansa murmured, awestruck at seeing an animal from Northern lore bought to life in front of her, even if it was in a fake virtual world.

“Rotting dolls made of ice, rotting dolls oh so nice,” mumbled Patches. “Ask the trees, in the breeze, ask the trees. See their eyes, it’s no surprise, see their eyes, eyes, eyes.”

“Right,” said Sandor. “I think we’re good to go. Let’s kill this fucker.”

Hound ran towards the beast, his temporary gnome-form tiny as he hefted an axe several times larger than himself and roared a battle cry. The rest of the players arranged themselves as their character classes should, with magic users standing a longer distance away and people who used weapons like daggers or swords positioned to the side or behind the beast.

The fight seemed to be similar to a normal dungeon battle, except it was taking longer. Sansa kept her eyes on the health bars, whispering her spell rotation under her breath as she wove her magic.

“Fucking hunters keep pulling aggro,” growled Sandor after a minute or so.

Sansa glanced reflexively down at her notebook, but she knew that ‘pulling aggro’ meant that players doing damage kept pulling the attention of the monster they were fighting onto themselves, even though it was the job of the main tank, in this case Sandor, to take most of the damage onto themself and keep the monster in one place. RightfulKing functioned as an off-tank, who would collect any extra monsters who appeared and keep them away from the other players, and in a worst-case scenario take Hound’s place if he died during a fight.

Hot Pie often had a tendency to pull aggro, which meant a monster wasn’t controlled and could run around stomping everywhere and on everyone, and people could die.

“Fucks sake,” continued Sandor, making Hound scream battle cry after battle cry to keep the bear focused on him, “this is why everyone hates hunters.”

“I thought everyone hates rogues?” said Sansa, carefully pressing her healing spell buttons as she talked. “I was reading some online forums for research and that’s what they said. Though no one seemed to be able to spell rogue, it was always ‘rouge’.” She frowned at the screen and shook her head. “Anyway, I thought that was weird because OnionKnight seems really nice, and he’s a rogue.”

Patchface’s voice sounded suddenly again, making Sansa jump. “Lost to the dark waters, my boys, boys, boys. No Drowned God for them, no Seven, only the Fire whose face turned away, today, all days.”

“Patches, be chill,” said Shireen in her sweet voice. “I don’t see why people are mean about certain classes, either. Both Davos and Hot Pie are lovely people.”

The zombie bear roared, sudden and loud, and the ground started to shake.

“What’s happening?” Shireen gasped.

“Everyone’s health is dropping,” said Tom, his elven priest frantically casting healing spells from his position beside Alayne.

Sansa had her gaze fixed on the health bars of the two men getting the most damage, but in her peripheral vision she saw huge fissures open in the ground, bright red lava pouring out.

“The oldest dragons fell in a fiery hell,” intoned Patchface. “Molten flood over the land, isn’t it grand? A very first dance of dragons and all to death, all gone, a land wiped clean, no more green, green, green.”

“Time for you to have some more spirulina,” snapped RightfulKing, his voice strained.

“Watch out, Patches.” Shireen’s voice was panicked. “There’s lava coming for you, too. Get out of the way then I’ll make you another smoothie in real life.”

Sweat dripped down Sansa’s face as she pressed the keys to cast her magical heals, with both Hound and RightfulKing taking heavy damage. The lights from Patches’ totems winked out one by one as they were swallowed by lava.

“MOVE AWAY FROM THE LAVA,” said Arya’s voice, overriding all the private coms channels so Sansa knew everyone would hear the message.

“All the raid group is just standing in the lava,” said Shireen frantically. “Why aren’t they moving?”

“Because people are stupid cunts who don’t fucking listen,” snapped Sandor.

“Language,” said RightfulKing crisply, “though you are not wrong.”

The undead bear let out a howl and Alayne abruptly started running away. “Why am I running?” Sansa said frantically, mashing her keyboard to no avail.

“It cast a Fear spell on you. Fear ward yourself,” said Sandor, “or we’re all fucking fucked.”

RightfulKing huffed an obvious breath into his microphone, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m still running. Alayne won’t stop running.” Sweat now tickled into Sansa’s eyes, making them sting. She knew there was some magic she could do to render Fear spells, that she recalled made people run away, ineffective, but she couldn’t control her character. Alayne ran right over the top of the corpses of StoneDoe, Patchface and KittenStag.

Alayne fled straight into a lava flow, and with a cry, her health bar dropped to nothing, and she transformed from an alive gnome to a dead elf.

She watched in horror as RightfulKing died nearby, his thick, luscious black hair fanned out in a pool around his head.

With an f-word laced storm of c-words Hound died too, changing in death back to a dwarf, his heavily muscled body facedown at the feet of the bear.

The bear roared and launched itself at the few people who hadn’t yet died to the lava, finally leaving twenty corpses on the ground. The beast stood over their bodies, its gaping maw dripping noisome slather, its blue eyes glowing with ominous glee.

[Raid chat] Kraken: LOL raid wipe. We were the ones who paid the Iron Price O.o

[Raid chat] Bull: let’s regroup, meet back at the dungeon entrance

“I’m so sorry,” whispered Sansa, aghast at the carnage. She hated dying in the game. Every time felt so final, so tragic. Princess, who had survived, sat beside Alayne’s corpse, carefully licking one orange paw.

Patchface’s voice crept over the coms. “Fly little bird, words can harm but words can free, free, free.”

“Not your fault,” said Sandor, robustly. “Shit happens.”

“Your healing is at acceptable levels with an efficient rotation,” said RightfulKing. “The deaths were caused by a lack of situational awareness from the group as a whole.”

“Aye, well, that was a clusterfuck,” said Sandor.

RightfulKing hummed. “I do not disagree.”

Sansa pressed the button that would transport her character back to the nearest graveyard, her soul battered and bruised.

“We need to fucking work on our strategy,” muttered Sandor.

Chapter Text

Named characters in the Raid group:

Alayne – Sansa

Hound – Sandor

Nymerian – Arya

Bull – Gendry

Gâteaux – Hot Pie

StoneDoe – Shireen

Patchface – Patchface

RightfulKing – Stannis

OnionKnight – Davos

StagKitten – Tommen

BearLovr – Tormund

LadyofBearIsland – Lyanna Mormont

FireKissed – Ygritte

Kraken – Asha Greyjoy

*

Two months after the events of chapter 6:

“Roflmao.” Sansa carefully typed in the chat window, to show her amusement about the funny story Arya had just told her. She checked the spelling, then added, “Roflcopter,” to get her point across.

For some reason, Arya sighed so gustily over her coms that it crackled madly. “Do we need to have another tutorial on emojis, Sans?” she said.

“Lolerskates,” said Sansa happily, because that seemed like a word she could say aloud, and more evocative than the manic yellow face emoji with the tears.

“This is almost worse than that time Mum and Dad found out what those eggplant emojis Rickon had been posting everywhere meant. Almost.”

“I really think I’m getting the hang of these meme’s too,” said Sansa, pronouncing it ‘me-me’. Stranger raised his huge head and looked at Sansa as she spoke. “I should print some out and put them up in my store so everyone can laugh at them together. Some are so funny.”

“It’s pronounced ‘mee-m’,” said Arya absently. Nymerian was fishing in the Kraken Islands zone, trying to catch some fish to provide buffs for their upcoming raid. It had been a few weeks since their initial, disastrous raid, and after a lot of practice, they were finally tacking the final, and most important, boss in the Long Night dungeon.

“Or I could put signs up, with pictures of adorable cats saying things,” continued Sansa, unhindered by pronunciation guides. Alayne and Princess were picking flowers in the most southerly zone, the New Rhoynish desert. Gendry’s warlock Bull would be able to turn them into potions for the raid with his skill in alchemy. “What about ‘I can haz Plus Size Skirts’ or ‘I can haz Men’s Shirts’? Or ‘I can haz Half Price Shapewear’. That sounds cute.” Stranger whined and rested his head back down on his paws.

“Sansa.” Arya sounded like she was trying to be patient. “Remember when Aunt Lysa signed up to run her own business with that pyramid scheme company that sold weight loss supplements, and all she did for like a year was pester the family to buy them until literally everyone stopped taking her calls and it turned out her garage was full of the boxes of them and she lost all of our cousin’s college fund buying that shit and could never sell it?”

Sansa groaned. “Oh, I remember. She was so fat-shamey with everyone. Even Bran, and Bran basically lives off fresh air and good vibes instead of human food.”

“Yes. Exactly. We all remember Aunt Lysa’s folly, as Mum calls it,” said Arya darkly. “Your sign idea is worse than that.”

Sansa sighed gustily. “You might be right. But what about ceiling cat? I found some great me-mes about a funny cat with its face poking out of the ceiling. ‘Ceiling cat is watching you purchase locally produced fashion’ would be a good sign.”

“That meme was originally about masturbation, Sansa.”

Alayne paused in the middle of bending over to pick some gillyflowers. She still managed to jiggle her breasts as Sansa stared at the screen, frowning. “Ah. Would everyone know that?”

“Everyone who had internet access ten years ago.”

Sansa tapped the keys of her keyboard thoughtfully. “Well, there’s another one with a cute dog with words. I could do signs that say, ‘very discounted, much quality, wow’.”

“Fucking hells Sans,” said Arya, “you may as well say ‘all your base are belong to us’ and be done with.”

Sansa sat up straight, causing Stranger to wake up for a moment again. He really was a very lazy dog. He went for runs with Sandor, but other than that, he slept most of the time. “I like that sound of that. How about ‘all your blouse are belong to us’?”

“Ugh. It’s almost time for the raid. Where’s your boyfriend?”

“He’s away picking up our dinner.” Sansa made Alayne throw a ball for Princess and smiled as the little orange tabby cat dashed after it and returned with it in her mouth.

“He got a moral objection to getting food delivered?” Arya sounded baffled, in only the way someone who hated cooking and relied heavily on food deliveries could.

“Yes actually, he finds the concept of getting food delivered to be strange and off-putting.”

“Huh. You think you know a guy, but it turns out he has a fucked up moral compass. Though honestly, I’m not sure why I’m surprised. He’s an asshole, but he’s our asshole.

Sansa looked up as she heard the front door slam. Stranger gave a low ‘boff’ and jumped up, jogging at speed towards the sound. “Oops, he’s back, got to go for a minute.”

Sandor was laden with boxes from a local Braavosi restaurant, containing several types of pizza. Pepperoni and meat lovers for him, spinach/feta for Sansa, cheese with no sauce for Stranger.

The food was delicious, and Sansa enjoyed it up to the point where Sandor removed his shirt because of an unfortunate incident with the pizza sauce.

“Thirty minutes until the raid,” Sansa said contemplatively. She was supposed to be moving Alayne north to the North, but she kept getting distracted by pizza and desire.

“Aye, just enough time to run the Auction House scan,” Sandor replied, frowning at the screen. His empty pizza boxes sat on his desk. “Prices have been fluctuating a lot lately, cunts have been paying too much for unrefined dragon glass.”

Sansa eyed Sandor up and down. He looked extremely lickable without a shirt. She directed Alayne to stand in a safe place and spun in her computer chair to face him.

She squirmed with arousal and considered how to broach the topic. Sandor hadn’t noticed her. He was clearly making Hound do some business things in the in-game Auction House. He stared at the screen, clicking buttons and muttering what sounded like calculations under his breath.

She’d been getting better at expressing her desires. They both had. If she wanted Sandor to tell her she was a good girl and a great healer, she only had to ask. If Sandor wanted her to take his manhood in her mouth and touch him in even more scandalous places than that, he’d ask. Sansa squirmed in her seat again, recalling that last naughty memory.

“I want you,” she blurted baldly.

“What was that?” Sandor said, still staring intently at his screen.

Sansa huffed and pulled off her top and bra at the same time. Carefully, because she’d embroidered little frolicking wolves along the neckline of the top and she didn’t want to stretch it. She gently placed the garments over the back of her chair, because clothes should be treated with respect as a nod to the people that made them, and stepped closer to Sandor.

That finally got his attention. “Oh, fuck me,” he said, staring at her bare breasts.

“No, fuck me,” she replied tartly, though she could feel her cheeks burning red as always from using such shocking language.

Sandor’s mouth dropped open as he stared at her, even more than when she’d agreed to touch him in extremely private places the previous week.

“Well?” she said, tugging her skirt and underwear down so she was fully naked.

Sansa wasn’t entirely sure what happened next, after she placed her lower half clothing with her upper half clothing, except that less than a minute later she found herself kneeling on Sandor’s XXL Large Person sized computer chair, holding on to the backrest for dear life whilst Sandor thrust desperately into her from behind. The chair was pushed up against the desk, making it rock with the force of their movements.

For someone who’d consumed more than one pizza in the very recent past, Sandor was undeterred in his physical efforts.

“Keep hitting the space bar,” grunted Sandor, with a particularly deep thrust. “Hound is still running the automatic price scan.”

Sansa was finding it somewhat difficult to care about her boyfriend’s online avatar becoming inactive in a game when she just wanted an orgasm, but it was easy enough to tap the space bar so that Hound jumped, and the game thought he was still online.

“Harder,” she said, the syllables disjointed by Sandor’s movements, “we don’t have much time.”

“Fucking hells, I’ll come if I fuck you any harder.”

“Harder,” she said insistently. “I like it that way. Please Sandor.”

He grasped her hips and thrust harder, almost on the cusp of being uncomfortable. The chair pushed more firmly against the desk, making the monitor rock alarmingly.

“Yes,” she moaned, squeezing her internal muscles around him. “Just like that.”

“Space bar,” Sandor ground out after a few minutes of breathlessly vigorous lovemaking.

Sansa was clutching the back of the chair, moaning helplessly with pleasure. Without opening her eyes, she released her death grip with one hand and reached out to mash the keyboard.

She had no idea what she made Hound do, but it must have worked because Sandor gave an approving hum and reached around to grope her breast.

She could feel her orgasm approaching and was about to ask Sandor to rub her clit when he suddenly clutched her hips with bruising force and cried out in pleasure as he achieved his own peak first.

“Shit, fuck,” he muttered as Sansa moaned with the loss as he slipped out of her.

Abruptly, he pulled her back against his body, holding most of her weight as she would have fallen off the chair otherwise. With his free hand, he moved it down between her legs and began rubbing her in just the way she liked.

“Come for me,” he muttered in her ear. “Show me what a good girl you are.”

She relaxed against him, trusting his strength to hold her, and surrendered to the pleasure.

“Make me come, keep touching me.”

“That’s my good girl, we’re going to fuck up the Night’s King tonight and your healing is the most fucking important part of the group.”

Sansa spread her legs wider, on the cusp of sliding them off the seat. “Yes Sandor, I’m so close.”

“You’re the most important person to me too,” he growled in her ear. “And I fucking love making you come.”

With a cry, she climaxed, his fingers reverently stroking her through it.

In a deft move he pulled her in to his arms and swung them both around, so he was sitting on the seat with Sansa on his lap.

She buried her face against the burned side of his neck and relaxed in the afterglow, listening to him breathe.

Eventually Sansa raised her head, opened an eye, and looked at Sandor’s screen. All caps private messages flooded the chat window, mostly indicating they were late for the raid.

“I know we’ve worked hard for this raid, and my healing is super efficient according to those spell charts Gendry gave me, but I wish we could cuddle more,” Sansa murmured as she stood up with some reluctance, wincing as she realised she’d need to duck to the bathroom for a quick clean up.

Sandor stood up too, pulling her in for another kiss. “We can cuddle all fucking night,” he said, “but first we kill the Night’s King.”

“Night’s King first, more cuddle later,” she said in agreement, slipping a hand down to grope his bottom.

Sansa dashed to the bathroom to clean up and get redressed, whilst Sandor made their excuses and set both of their characters automatically flying on tamed dragons to the Frozen North.

[Raid chat] Nymerian: no one believes ur terrible excuses Hound

[Raid chat] BearLovr: Hey at least he’s getting some action

[Raid chat] Kraken: Unlike u, ginger bastard

[Raid chat] RightfulKing: Can we keep this professional?

[Raid chat] Kraken: WE COULD BUT WE WONT

[Raid chat] Bull: Alright stfu everyone. Hound and Alayne are here.

When she sat back in her own modestly sized and therefore unsuitable for lovemaking computer chair, Sansa’s face flushed hot at the thought that the entire group had guessed what she and Sandor had been doing. She held her headset in her hands, suddenly embarrassed about talking to everyone and getting teased.

“Hey,” said Sandor. He held his headset in his hands too and had turned his chair to face her. “I fucking love you.”

Sansa relaxed and smiled at him. “I love you too.” She took a deep breath, reassured. “Now let’s murder a guy.”

“Fucking aye,” said Sandor, donning his headset.

Sansa didn’t get too much teasing once she’d logged into the voice chat, mainly because the group was busy clearing the zombies that blocked access to the Night’s King.

Weeks of practice in the Long Night dungeon had meant they’d learned how to kill all the huge zombie animals and legions of wights, with only the final boss the Night’s King left. Sansa had, after listening to hours of her group’s strategy talks over the coms whilst she and Princess picked flowers, learned that the final boss of any group raid dungeon was the hardest. Sandor’s desk was covered in scraps of paper with notes he’d scribbled down about the fight, the ones he took about their previous attempts to kill the Night’s King, in which the entire group inevitably died, mostly contained the c-word. Their biggest and best attempt at killing him was supposed to be tonight, with a firm strategy in place and the group as prepared as they could be.

Once she’d arrived, Alayne ran through the stark beauty of the Long Night dungeon, which was largely free of monsters before the very end because the group had killed the ‘trash’ earlier in the week and it wouldn’t reset until after the upcoming weekend, on Smithsday. It was always nighttime in the dungeon, as befitting the historical theme of the second Long Night event, which had taken place a Millenia ago. Winterfell, in real life, had become a large town that grew up around her family’s ancestral home. Winter town, where she and Arya ostensibly lived, though Sansa now spent most of her time at Sandor’s place, had become a suburb of the greater Winterfell urban area. In the game, ‘Winterfall’ was a keep that was supposed to resemble the one from a thousand years ago, when her ancestors helped to end that Long Night in some mysterious way. Her father thought it involved their family crypt, somehow, though that detail wasn’t in the game. World of Westeros just had them fighting the Night’s King, who awaited them in the godswood, standing beside the Heart tree and looking like a blue, icy and vaguely bored humanoid man.

Princess trotted after her, leaving tiny paw prints in the patchy snow of the path. Whoever had designed the dungeon had taken some liberties, as Hot Pie had lectured the group about at length during previous trips there. Weirwood trees were scattered about the area, instead of just the godswood, and each one had a lit sconce attached so the players could actually see what their character was doing. Sansa’s interest in history had largely been confined to textiles, but even she knew weirwoods were limited to groves in the North rather than taking the place of ordinary trees.

She could see Hound ahead of her, running to join the rest of the group. Her life had changed so much since she agreed to be the healer for Arya’s group of friends. So many new, important people, so many new experiences both online and off. Particularly with Sandor. Sansa’s cheeks went hot again, and she squirmed in her seat. Whatever happened with the raid, she had spending the night naked and in his arms to look forward to.

The big group of players were still working their way through the ice zombies on the outskirts of the keep when Alayne arrived. She stopped beside Tommen’s elven priest StagKitten and immediately joined him in healing. Princess stood with Tommen‘s pet cat Mittens, both nonchalantly yawning amid the action.

“Good of you both to join us,” said RightfulKing tartly, who’d been forced to assume main tank responsibilities in the brief absence of Sandor. They had been adopting the same coms groups throughout the raiding process, with Sansa mainly being with Sandor and RightfulKing, with Tommen to back up heal, Patchface to help boost their abilities and Shireen to assist communicating with Patchface. Arya often joined various channels as needed, too.

“They shall find love together,” whispered Patchface, “enduring and unsurpassed.”

“That was very thoughtful and romantic, Patches,” said Shireen, sounding delighted. “Thank you for sharing your feelings with the group.”

“Aye,” said Sandor gruffly. His unscarred cheek appeared pink in the light from his monitor, and Sansa’s heart ached with the force of her love. “Anyway, do you want to keep tanking, RightfulKing?”

The paladin RightfulKing looked like he should be the main character of the group, with his long flowing black hair and majestic suit of shining armour. Sandor’s dwarf Hound looked slightly disreputable next to him, thick and stocky in mismatched armour.

“The group tactics have been developed around your skill set, Hound,” replied RightfulKing. “I cede you the duty.”

They cleared the rest of the ‘trash’ zombies efficiently, and Sansa couldn’t help but compare it to their first venture into the Long Night dungeon, where they all died to a basic wight bear. Now they all understood the appropriate tactics and knew how best to prepare themselves.

The Winterfall godswood in the game was a pale imitation of the one that eternally stood at her parents’ estate in Winterfell, but it was still glorious rendered in pixels. Tall white trees, much bigger than the ones in real life, loomed over them all, their blood red leaves floating gently down among the group, even though there was no breeze in the game.

Alayne stood at the entrance to the godswood. She could see the colossal figure of the Night’s King beside the Heart tree, waiting for them to enter the area and trigger their encounter with him. His skin was blue, and he wore ice covered armour with a jagged crown upon his brow. He held an enormous sword made of ice and looked fairly desultory, like he needed a good book to read, or at the very least, an interesting VideoTube livestream to watch.  

[Raid chat] Hound: everyone ready?

An overwhelming chorus of ‘readies’ flooded the chat and Sandor groaned aloud. Sansa glanced over as he shrugged in person and took off running towards the Night’s King.

Sansa let a long breath out and focused on her healing magical spells, as she’d been training to do. She was a good healer, an efficient and skilled healer. Vivid memories of Sandor whispering that into her ear whilst they were making love arose. She ignored her arousal with studied professionalism; she had a job to do.

The Night’s King was always silent, creepily so, without the dramatic monologues common to many major characters in the game. He just responded to Hound’s taunts with unspoken fury, swinging his huge sword towards the dwarf.

The whole group joined in the fight, each person following their own battle plan.

“Greater heal, party heal, pause, heal over time, greater heal,” she mouthed silently as Alayne waved her hands in the air, turning her magical powers into health for the people drawing most of the Night’s King’s damaging attention.

Suddenly zombie skeletons descended upon the godswood, rushing in through the weirwoods. The desecrated bodies of humans composed the bulk of them, though a giant strode behind the horde.

“Minion rush is early,” noted RightfulKing. “I’ll try to contain.”

[Raid chat] Gendry: wights are early. Let RightfulKing pick them up.

“There’s more than usual,” said RightfulKing after a few moments, sounding strained. “There’s still some attacking the group.”

Sansa could see the health bars of players lowering dramatically with the onslaught.

[Raid chat] FireKissed: fuck one of them shot me. Bloody arrow, right in the chest.

Sansa gritted her teeth. Her job was to focus on keeping Sandor and RightfulKing alive. Tommen and the other healers had to worry about the other players.

[Raid chat] LadyofBearIsland: There’s a bloody giant, it picked me up and crushed me. Japes on it though, I killed the bugger before he got me.

“Focus, focus,” whispered Sansa to herself. Sandor’s health bar kept dropping drastically under the onslaught of the Night’s King and his sword.

“Oh my gods I’m on fire, they are shooting fire spells at us now,” gasped Shireen, the stress clear in her voice. “We’re surrounded by ice. How did so much fire happen?”

“Tiny girl on fire,” intoned Patches, “futility her pyre, who was the liar?” His shaman spread his arms wide, and glowing totems appeared all throughout the area.

The Night’s King fought on; his own health being steadily whittled away by their group.

Sweat ran down Sansa’s face as she focused on the players she had to heal. She couldn’t let the other deaths distract her. Her lips moved silently as she did her most efficient magical spell rotation, optimised by the program Gendry had written that calculated her best moves.

“We’ve almost got the fucker,” said Arya, bursting on to their coms channel.

“Aye, but most of the group is dead,” said Sandor, strain clear in his voice.

“Stay focused,” said RightfulKing sharply. “We’ve trained for this.”

“Greater heal, flash heal, pause, greater heal,” muttered Sansa.

“This should happen at the Isle of Faces,” whispered Patches. His character stood beside Alayne, the vibrant totems guttering out one by one. The tiny body of Shireen’s StoneDoe lay at their feet. “The Isle of Faces of all the places, a pact undone, lives unmade. The Others come to great accolade.”

“Not now, Patchface,” said RightfulKing, finally sounding strained. “Focus on the battle.”

“The Night King is preparing to do a final area attack,” said Sandor. “He’ll fuck all of us.”

“And not in the fun way,” muttered Arya, who was still in their channel. “Sansa, keep me alive.”

Sansa squeaked in alarm. The prospect of another person to keep alive was terrifying because it would mean she’d run out of the mana Alayne used to cast her healing spells.

“You’d better know what you are doing,” said Sandor, frantically mashing keys on his keyboard.

“This is an unscheduled deviation,” interjected RightfulKing sharply.

A deafening roar sounded over the headset, and Sansa realised Arya was shouting a battle cry. Nymerian launched himself through the air, his long blond hair streaming majestically behind him. “Die, you frozen fucker,” screamed Arya, as Nymerian executed a frenzied attack upon the boss with his sword, Needle of Vengeance.

The Night’s King fell to one knee, almost dead, and Sansa held her breath. She groaned as the Night’s King swatted Nymerian away like an annoying bug with what looked like his final strength.

Each moment seemed frozen and sluggish, time slowing down with the tension.

“Fuck off, you cunt,” snarled Sandor, as Hound used the distraction to drive his axe into the crotch area of the boss. “Fucking take it.”

With a dramatic silent scream, the Night’s King exploded into shards of ice, settling into a pile at Sandor’s feet.

Sansa began to breath again, looking at the remains with interest.

Presumably the loot was supposed to be contained within the icy chunks.

“They were made, and must be unmade,” muttered Patchface. “The ancient magic knows, it sees. It’s the trees, always the trees. This is wrong, this is wrong this icy song.”

Around them, the remaining wights also exploded, scattering into shattered ice at the players’ feet.

The coms and raid chat channel burst into cheering, both voiced and typed.

Nymerian immediately knelt down beside the body to check the loot. Sansa rolled her eyes and concentrated on using her magical powers to bring the dead players back to life. She started with Shireen.

It turned out the Night’s King dropped a new dress for Alayne, which Sandor described as “your highest tier epic healer chest set piece.” Those words strung together like that made absolutely no sense to Sansa, but it was a very pretty dress in white with ruby red leaf detailing with a flattering drape, so she was delighted to wear it. She wondered how she was supposed to role play where the Night’s King had been keeping her new dress. It seemed a little too much fabric to fit into an icy pocket.

RightfulKing’s husband, OnionKnight, received a necklace suitable for rogues that was apparently made of finger bones in a pouch, of all things, but he was happy. Hot Pie’s Gâteaux received the other major piece of loot, a battle bikini even more revealing than their previous outfit. Sansa wondered where the Night’s King had been holding that item too. Perhaps the Night’s King had more going on in his personal life than any of them suspected.

“Let’s celebrate our victory by running naked into Queen’s Landing and getting drunk,” said Arya, after the group had dispersed after taking screenshots of their characters posed around the icy remains.

“On pretend alcohol?” replied Sansa sceptically.

“It’s a role-playing server Sans, I’m just getting into the spirit of things.”

She glanced over at Sandor, who looked her up and down and licked his lips. “Um I think I’m, hssss, experiencing, hssss, technical difficulties, hssss. I’ll have to, hssss, go offline.”

She quickly logged off, to the sound of Arya saying, “that’s not how modern coms systems work.”

Sandor snorted a laugh and said, “fucking, hsss, faulty coms,” and logged off too.

She took his hand, smiling as he squeezed it and stood up. Things were looking bright for a happy future together.