#sandorcleganefanfic

[auxmodi]

sandor clegane x healer reader drabble

summary: After a brutal fight, Sandor Clegane seeks the healer's care, bantering with her as she patches up his wounds, both hiding the unspoken connection between them.

A/n: This is my first small drabble!! i need more sandor fics so i decided to start writing them, #needthat.

word count: 567

The door creaked open, and Sandor Clegane stepped into your small cottage like a storm rolling in. He ducked to clear the low beam, his broad shoulders nearly brushing both sides of the doorframe. Blood streaked his face and caked his armor, and he smelled of iron and sweat, a grim testament to the fight he’d just survived.

You didn’t look up from your workbench, where sprigs of lavender and sage littered the wood. “Another fight, Sandor?” you asked, your tone more resigned than surprised.

“Aye,��� he grunted, letting the door fall shut behind him. He dropped into the chair by the fire with a clank of steel and a wince. “Seemed rude to let the bastard walk away after he insulted me.”

You sighed, pushing away your mortar and pestle to fetch the bowl of clean water by the hearth. “And you decided it was a fine idea to let him insult you with his sword instead.”

His mouth twitched, just enough to show a flash of teeth. “ You’re the lucky one, girl. Get to patch me up again.”

“You’re bleeding on my floor,” you muttered, kneeling beside him. His armor was already half-unbuckled, the edges of his tunic soaked through with crimson. Without asking, you reached for the fabric, peeling it back to reveal the jagged slice across his shoulder.

“Careful,” he growled, though it sounded more like a pained groan. “I’ve still got fight left in me if you’re lookin’ to make it worse.”

“You’ll sit still and shut up if you know what’s good for you,” you shot back, pressing a cloth to the wound. His muscles twitched beneath your fingers, hard and tense as stone.

He tilted his head, watching you with those sharp, dark eyes. “Feisty for a healer, aren’t you?”

“I have to be,” you said, dabbing away the blood. “You wouldn’t listen otherwise.”

The corner of his mouth curved upward, just slightly. “Might listen more if you smiled at me.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for the needle and thread. “I’ll smile when you stop walking in here half-dead.”

“Then I’ll never see it,” he muttered, but there was warmth in his voice, buried beneath the usual growl.

The room fell quiet save for the crackling of the fire and the steady pull of the thread as you stitched his wound. He didn’t flinch, though you could feel the way his body tensed with each tug.

“You could’ve let me bleed out, you know,” he said after a long moment, his voice softer now.

You glanced up at him, your hands stilling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged with his good shoulder, his gaze flickering to the hearth. “Just sayin’. Would’ve saved you the trouble.”

You frowned, tying off the stitch with a firm tug. “And who would keep me entertained with their terrible flirting?”

That earned a rough laugh from him, low and gravelly. “Terrible, is it?”

“Terrible,” you confirmed, rising to clean your hands. But before you could move away, his hand shot out, his fingers brushing your wrist. You turned back, startled by the sudden gentleness in his grip.

“Still patched me up, though,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You’re too kind for your own good.”

You swallowed, the weight of his gaze making it hard to breathe. “You’re not as bad as you pretend to be,” you replied, soft but firm.

For a moment, his usual smirk faltered, replaced by something raw and unguarded. Then it was gone, his hand falling away as he leaned back in the chair with a grunt.

“Don’t go spreadin’ that around,” he muttered. “I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

You couldn’t help but smile, just a little, as you turned back to your workbench. “Your secret’s safe with me, Sandor.”

Behind you, the fire crackled, and for once, he didn’t argue.

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TEEHEEEEEEEE im bluhshing