#Sandor clegane x reader

[i-smoke-chapstick]

saw that you're in your got era so perhaps jealousy headcanons for the got or hotd characters? 👀 literally anyone from these characters - robb, jaime, margaery, oberyn, theon, cersei or ramsay, I'd love to see your interpretation on any of them ! ( or aemond, alicent, aegon, gwayne, OTTO !!, larys, daemon or mysaria for hotd, again whichever era you feel like it !!) and just for future reference, do you write for asoiaf characters or mainly the shows?

'LOVE CAN KILL, [jealousy! hcs]

-GOT / HOTD CHARACTERS X READER-

⋆ Characters ↬ Robb, Jaime, Margaery, Oberyn, Cersei, Joffrey, Ramsay, Tyrion, The Hound, Aemond, Aegon, Alicent, Gwayne, Daemon

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ; jealousy, and how some characters deal with it ;)

⋆ tags/warnings. GOT and HOTD!characters x female reader. SFW! But naturally, some of these characters get a bit suggestive! Possessive behavior, canon typical violence, etc. Please send in more GOT/HOTD requests! Apologies this took so long, this is more characters in a post than I've ever done lol. Unfortunately I'm not super familiar with Otto, Larys, Theon, or Mysaria, so I decided to pick some characters I'm more familiar with! (Joffrey is my #1 favorite of all time, my sincerest apologies.) Whew, 14 characters ! For right now I'm only writing for the TV shows! (i've only read book 1, lol)

𝑅𝛰𝐵𝐵 𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐾

♫ “I wasn't thinking when I told you to stay.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

With Robb, it's all about the body language. And boy, he's horrible at hiding it.

He can have a hard time placing the feeling as jealousy. He was raised to be honorable. But feelings of...neglect run deep with him. Oldest child syndrome, if you will.

Which is why his jealousy most likely manifests in subdued, quiet behavior. Part of him will recognize he's being ridiculous, while another part of him is silently fuming. Fists clenched, he'll send you an intense stare as he watches you converse with another lord.

His emotions leak through his expressions. When he catches you staring back, his gaze will flit down, and he'll wait patiently for you're time. Or...in most cases...he'll march right up, placing himself between you and the man. Maybe a small, "I'll take it from here." If the lord is offering to help you with something.

A subtle touch on the small of your back. It's a small claim, a subtle "back-off."

A lot of his jealousy also transforms into protectiveness more than anything. He'll offer to accompany reader to places he wouldn't normally be concerned about. He's close by, and he's reminding her wordlessly, he's watching over her and any threat.

Finally, when you two are alone, will he drop down that guard of his. Covering up that burning pit inside him with casual humor, you can sense the underlaying seriousness of his voice in his light teases.

"You’re quite popular these days. Should I be worried that I’m not your only admirer?"

He certainly beds you, having something to prove. And only afterwards when you are in his arms, sweaty and warm from the candlelight, wrapped in furs...will he calm down.

"It’s not that I don’t trust you… It’s them I don’t trust. Some men don’t know how to keep their place." He'll whisper, holding onto you firmly.

𝐽𝐴𝐼𝑀𝐸 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “You don't know that you're in over your head.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Jaime's jealousy is burning. It's simply the way he was raised. And gods, you are his.

Numerous sarcastic remarks flow between the two of you and the man who he believes has essentially stolen your affections. His taunts are offhand, dry remarks, often directed towards his "opponent" or even you, if he's feeling bitter enough.

"I didn’t realize he was such a comedian. Maybe I should ask him for pointers." He'll say, with that sarcastic drawl. "If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to make me jealous. Not that it would work, of course." He chuckles, but his gaze is sharp.

Depending on the offense, Jaime's reactions differ. If you simply have an admirer, a few...well chosen words are directed towards them. His confidence allows him to not be too bothered. Maybe standing closer, clearly showing off to whatever poor soul thought they had a shot with you.

It's a different story if you are friends with the person involved, or entertain their advances even mildly or jokingly.

That's when the uncharacteristic tension comes out, full of small twitches in his jaw and curt, smug responses. His visible annoyance is uncontrolled.

We saw how he was with Loras when it came to Cersei. If he feels truly threatened, whether it's by another pretty boy, or just someone he feels could...hypothetically...have the upper hand...He'll corner them when you're off somewhere else. And give a small warning, from the Kingslayer himself.

"You seem to have forgotten who you're dealing with, so let me remind you." He leans in just close enough for his words to sink in. "Whatever you think you might be to her… you’re not. Let’s keep it that way, hm? I'd hate to see you make any...lasting mistakes."

𝑀𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝐸𝑅𝑌 𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “It was just too hard to push you away.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Margaery is smart with her feelings. She knows how to play the game, and play it well. Instead of showing her jealousy openly, she's a touch more composed than most characters on this list.

She recognizes just how precious you are, and admires that. She doesn't necessarily blame others when they become...attached to you.

When jealousy arises, she views it more as a small problem in need of being handled. And she knows how to handle things.

She embraces the graceful competition, subtly outshining anyone who seems to get in the way of her goals. Her goal being you're affection, of course. You're already hers, and she sees no problem in working to keep it that way.

This appears in gestures of strategic sweetness to keep you close, perhaps wearing your favorite gowns on her, and offering that charming smirk. She doesn't shy away from manipulating you, just a teeny bit.

"They’re certainly captivated by you. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to keep your attention." She teases, "Besides, who could ever compare to us?"

Her words carry a playful undertone, but she makes her point clear. Laughing charmingly, threading her arm through yours.

Very rarely does she think she's in any serious danger. She prides herself on being yours and knowing how to keep you on a tight leash. Though...if she feels genuinely worried, she expresses her feelings quite clearly but still gently. She reminds her lover of their shared goals, and all that they've built together.

"My, you do attract admirers easily, don’t you? I’ll have to start guarding you more closely." She gives you a playful look, though her touch on your arm will linger just a bit longer than usual.

𝛰𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑌𝑁 𝑀𝐴𝑅𝑇𝐸𝐿𝐿

♫ “Let me go, but you won't let me go.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oberyn doesn't feel insecure. How could he? He knows, deep down, that you're his. Jealousy isn't something he confines himself too, he views it as an ugly emotion, capable of getting rid of the true wonders love has to offer.

That being said...he is only a man. And he is fiercely protective. If anyone were to flirt with you and you were clearly uninterested, it would be a swift death, or at the very least, he'd make his point clear with a blow or two and a cutting edge remark. Especially if they are a Lannister. He enjoys you being admired, but only to a certain extent.

"Your efforts are wasted, they’re far too captivating for someone like you. I’d suggest you find someone more... suited to your charms." He begins, hand itching for his spear, "Consider this your first and last warning."

Yeah, he means business.

Most of the time, he spins the situation to show-off. Showcase his own passion and devotion to you. If it's simply a friend of yours, he may even offer them to join in. If not, he'll spend the entire night practically worshipping you, promising that he's the only one who could ever make you feel like this.

Similarly to Margaery, he teases you lightly.

"You have a lovely laugh. But I must admit, it’s much better when it’s for me alone."

Oberyn doesn't shy away from PDA either. It's that assertive reclaiming he seems to favor, pulling you close, whispering something that affirms your affections for each other. He'll revel when he watches the other mans face fall in dismay.

He might get cocky, and push it a bit far. By the time he's done, the 'competition' will be utterly humiliated and embarrassed. He'll be smirking at his own quips.

"I assure you, my friend, my lover favors...more substantial things." He motions to the poor mans crotch.

You're gonna have to give him a slap on the arm.

𝐶𝐸𝑅𝑆𝐸𝐼 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “Consequence of loving me can be cruel.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Cersei's jealousy is intense and multifaceted, to say the least. It manifests in a mix of cold fury and harsh threats, channeling that anger into much more controlling behavior.

Deep down, she is terribly insecure. Once another man or woman as your attention, and she catches on, she's coolly lashing out. And she catches on quickly.

At first she may appear indifferent, but if you look close enough, you can see the subtly giveaways. The way her lip curls, her nostrils flare, and her knuckles go white gripping her wine chalice.

If you're the first one to confront her, and attempt to reassure her, you'll save yourself some trouble down the line. Guaranteed, she'll deny it, but still make a passive-aggressive remark here and there. But eventually she'll calm down, edges softening.

That rare moment of vulnerability that you're not sure is manipulation or not. She'll look towards the ground, running her thumb over you're hand on her cheek. She'll sit on the edge of her bed, jaw clenched.

Now, it's a whole different story if you don't catch on to the early signs. If you don't manage to reassure or call her out in time, that jealousy implodes.

She may confront you first, anger bleeding through her. She runs on it. She may even threaten you, oblivious to the potential consequences her words might have.

“You think you can charm your way into my affections by paying attention to that little fool?" She's standing up, loathing distorting her features. Her voice raises. "Perhaps I should throw a feast in her honor. Let’s see how charming she is when surrounded by my people."

It's threats and threats and more and more threats...which can be especially worrying if the person she's jealous of is a friend of yours.

Almost every scenario ends with you having to comfort her, treading carefully with the words you say.

Now, when it comes to confronting the competition, she makes it very clear. Though, these threats are often much more impulsive. A swig of wine, and she gracefully moves towards them when you're out of sight.

A faux compliment or two, before she whispers, close.

“You’ll find that my guards are quite loyal to me. A simple command, and they’ll ensure you never breathe the same air as her again.”

It only makes her feel a bit better. But, regardless, she's smiling smugly, feeling proud of herself when the offenders face turns white.

𝐽𝛰𝐹𝐹𝑅𝐸𝑌 𝐵𝐴𝑅𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸𝛰𝑁

♫ “Too much love can kill.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh, Joffrey. I'm obsessed with him.

Yeah. He has the worst jealousy issues out of everyone on this list. It's baaaaad. It's a cocktail of insecurity, possessiveness, and entitlement. As someone who has been raised to believe he is above others, and has been coddled his entire life...it infuriates him.

It's the same feeling you get as a child, when someone steals one of your toys. You belong to him. He never grew out of that mentality, or that feeling.

Be prepared for plentiful outbursts of anger. He's a tantrum personified, especially if he feels disrespected. Insecurity grips him tight and refuses to let up until he's either been heavily reassured...or the other person is... taken care of.

And even then, after reassuring him for hours, it may not be enough. You know how he hired a knight to take out Tyrion in the Battle of Blackwater? Yeah. That person will be paid a little 'visit.'

When reassuring him, similar to Cersei, you really have to be careful what you say, or it might make the situation even worse. At that point, he's seeing red.

"I’m the king! You should be grateful for my attention, not chasing after scraps!" He's huffing, pointing to himself as his breathing increases. He'll look at you with an ice cold glare, nose wrinkled in distaste.

He might even force his hand around your face, harshly grabbing you. He looks dead into your eyes, voice clear and low. "You're mine. You belong to me." He's seething.

If he notices you simply looking at anyone else too long, he'll feel beyond threatened in both his masculinity and position as king. Especially if you laugh at another mans jokes, or simply attempt to be friendly with a commoner or lord.

"What’s so amusing? You’d think you’d find better entertainment than that fool." He mutters under his breath harshly, bad habit of picking at his fingers. He'll shuffle uncomfortably. He'll look to you expecting agreeance. It's 100% that mentality of 'Friends? You don't need friends. You have me.'

Yeah, he keeps the very blunt insults coming. Petulant name calling is not above him. Includes, but is not limited too, "Degenerates, Idiots, Commoners, Peasants, or Cretins" which he may describe as being "Stupid, Disgusting, Repellent, Sickening, or Revolting." He's got a LOT of those angry remarks in the bank.

While he may not directly confront the offender, (he doesn't have time for idle threats.) He has his own ways of dealing with them. And that is a public humiliation ritual, making a mockery of any rival. And if they disobey ANY whim of his, they're gone. That one scene with Tyrion at his wedding? That "Kneel!"? He's commanding the same of any man unlucky enough to have threatened his claim on you. Oh, and they're going to be his cupbearer.

Even if they do as he asks, by now his anger will have transformed into that renewed sense of cruelty. "You're fingers or your tongue?...Or I could just cut your throat."

𝑅𝐴𝑀𝑆𝐴𝑌 𝐵𝛰𝐿𝑇𝛰𝑁

♫ “You're gonna suffer now, whatever you do.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

His jealousy may not be as overtly intense as Joffrey's, but it certainly is the scariest.

In his own words, he prefers being an only child. That same kind of mentality certainly carries over to his relationship with you. He prefers to be the only one you see that way.

He loves a good game, and that's what this is. If anything, it's quite exhilarating for him. Though, he is a huge hypocrite. For a man who thinks jealousy is boring coming from you, he feels it quite freely.

Sees it as a means of asserting dominance, whether that be through intimidation or overt manipulation. He doesn't deny it like most characters on this list. When he's feeling jealous, he says it. It's a small warning for you not to go any farther, lest worse things occur for you or the perceived threat.

He'll go up to whoever you are talking too, saccharine and honorable smile on his face. He'll casually interrupt, introducing himself as Lord Bolton's successor. Despite his calm demeanor, there is a tightness in his face, and a wicked look in his eyes, that only you can recognize. It will make you shiver.

If the rival persists, he'll find it all too amusing.

"You're bold, I'll give you that." He says with a boisterous laugh, and you already know the mans fate is sealed.

Looks like his hounds will be having another meal tonight. He'll have his men go out looking for the man, and he'll question him more...privately, when you aren't there to witness his tortuous taunts.

But for now, his focus is on you, and your loyalty to him. When he excuses the both of you, his hand is gripping yours painfully tight.

By the time you're in his chamber, he's on you, ripping your clothes off with a harsh intensity and pushing you to the wall. His nose is twitching in barely kept anger, forcing you to look at him.

We all saw that scene between him and Myranda when she threatens to marry someone else, and it was not pretty. His eyes are borderline bloodshot, and he can't keep his hands off you or your throat.

"You're mine." He leans forward, through gritted teeth. It's better you don't put up a fight, because he'll be having you and your attention one way or another.

Que the numerous kisses and bite marks soon to follow. And he is not gentle when he's inside you.

You'll never hear from the flirtatious lord again...and if you do, it's only in the prayers of his grieving family.

𝑇𝑌𝑅𝐼𝛰𝑁 𝐿𝐴𝑁𝑁𝐼𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅

♫ “My love, you are not safe with me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Now, Tyrion's jealousy is more subdued and introspective versus some characters on this list. He has a good sense of self-awareness, and he's intelligent to figure out what he's feeling quite quickly.

At first he'll dismiss it as nothing more than an annoying feeling of insecurity he attempts to cover up. But...it doesn't last long. Especially when someone else makes you laugh. Or when Bronn makes a taunt with a half smirk, that some other fancy lord has taken a keen interest in his lady. (Bronn, you instigator!)

As such, Tyrion resorts to his usual humor to deflect any unpleasant feelings he may have when he's jealous. Similar to his brother, these witty remarks are are subtle intimidation technique, meant to dryly convey his displeasure.

"Ah, the sound of laughter. How quaint. I suppose I’ll have to work harder to earn your amusement." He forces a smile, masking his discomfort. "I didn’t realize I was competing for the title of Court Jester."

These feelings of inadequacy manifest in more self-deprecating ways for Tyrion, given his anger is more controlled. He might opt to drown his sorrows, so don't be surprised if you catch him drunkenly waving his chalice around, doing poor impressions of the so-called-lord that had your attention.

This doesn't mean he won't confront the rival, though. Quite the opposite. While he won't seek the man out, (For his sake, he isn't privy to seeing the tall handsome lord in person. He's not a masochist.) If he happens to come across him flirting with you first hand, or sees him during a feast, he'll make sure to throw one or two gibes out there.

"Desperation looks unflattering on you, my friend. Perhaps you should tone it down a notch." He speaks carefully, nodding to Bronn as a subtle warning. "Or at least the best you can manage..?"

If the rival flirts with you blatantly and in front of him, I can 100% imagine him putting them down. After a flirtatious remark directed towards you, he'll make a dry comment, "Flattery is wasted on me, but do go on; I’m always entertained by those who think they can win my affection." As if it was directed towards him. Probably shuts the man up for a moment.

When the two of you are alone, he'd be very grateful if you could just hold him. Give him that reassurance he craves when his carefree facade breaks. That moment of vulnerability means the world to him.

𝑆𝐴𝑁𝐷𝛰𝑅 "𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐻𝛰𝑈𝑁𝐷" 𝐶𝐿𝐸𝐺𝐴𝑁𝐸

♫ “I need you to go, don't fight me.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Listen up, Sandor doesn't take shit.

Jealousy isn't an emotion Sandor is particularly used too. In fact, he didn't think he'd find anyone to love in his lifetime, so the feeling is foreign and unpleasant. And, like a mean dog, Sandor's first reaction is to growl.

He doesn't like it. Says it's constricting, and it pisses him off. Not just the pretty boy lord flirting with you, but the whole situation in general. Makes him feel vulnerable, and weak.

Naturally, his first reaction is to distance himself. He may avoid you, grumbling, spitting out vile and vulgar comments to get you to run with your tail between your legs. It's better for the both of you that way.

"You think they’re worth your time? Just a pretty smile to distract you?" He scoffs, shaking his head. "You could do better. But then again, you always choose to suffer." He motions at himself, and it's a glimpse of that self-depreciation he buries.

But you love him for a reason, and you know that won't end well. Best way to handle him when he's jealous is to be gentle, and to listen.

He doesn't want empty reassurances. He's complicated that way, even if they are genuine. He isn't one for flowery words or overt displays of emotion, so the best way to comfort him would be to give him some space, but continue to take care of him.

It will still frustrate him, but eventually he'll cave. He'll rejoin you, silently, eventually. Won't offer any apologies, but maybe a gruff nod, and you two will commence whatever it is you two have.

In future instances, he becomes much more brutally honest with how he feels. Doesn't sugarcoat it. If he doesn't like someone, even if they are a friend, he expects them gone- or he'll take care of them regardless. That kind of possessive behavior is just something you'll have to work through.

I can imagine him silently brooding if he witnesses someone flirting with you first hand. Typically his size and reputation is enough to scare whoever away. He's looming over them, eyes dark, and ready to defend what's his.

When you take your leave, he'll confront the person with a very explicit threat or two.

"If you don’t back off, I’ll find a nice dark corner to stuff you in- preferably with a pile of shit." Or, "Get any closer, and I’ll rip your tongue out and shove it down your throat."

𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁𝐷 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “Get swallowed by the weight.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aemond has the most...complex jealousy out of everyone on this list. It's layered, and the outcome may be unpredictable. It's an emotional and volatile nature that's been building up for years since he was a child.

He often had feelings of jealousy for his brother, his nephews, etc. That trauma is deeply rooted in him, and it's hard to let go of old habits, given it's been present all his life.

You'll watch his head bow in distaste when you make small conversation with other lords. How his eye will gaze at you, almost warningly. His jaw will be clenched tight, and he'll avoid eye contact, looking off to the side in anger. He doesn't want to watch.

If it's a friend of yours, he can be a bit mean, questioning your loyalty a bit harshly.

"Friendship? Is that what you call it?" He speaks, angrily. A thinly veiled threat is directed to you, "It seems more like a prelude to betrayal."

He'll brood in the corner, silently waiting. That is, unless, he deems the man goes too far.

In the scene where he gets his eye put out by Lucerys, the conversation that starts before it happens pretty much sums his jealousy up. He's firm with his claim to Vaghar, and the same goes for you.

When Rhaena states that Vaghar was hers to claim, Aemond responds in kind, "Then you should've claimed her." And puts up a hell of a fight to prove his point. That same possessiveness carries over to his relationship with you. He doesn't back down. You're his.

He has no problems getting in between you and the man he feels threatened of. He offers a blunt threat.

"I could have you torn apart, limb by limb, and I’d sleep soundly at night. Be certain of that."

Guaranteed, mixed feelings of insecurity will rise to the surface. When you two are alone, he'll continue to brood silently, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and body language tight.

Please do reassure him. He needs it. His eye will soften, and he'll place his hand over yours, leaning into your touch. With a soft huff of an air, a final warning slips past his lips.

"Don’t make me remind you why I’m the only one worthy of you."

𝐴𝐸𝐺𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ “I wanna hold on tightly.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Aegon handles jealousy poorly, much like he seems to handle everything else.

It's like throwing gasoline on a fire. Once that feeling in his chest flares up, it's shown through erratic behavior, sarcasm, and attempts to assert his claim in juvenile, insecure ways. Unlike his brother, he lacks the restraint to simply brood.

No, be prepared for plenty of mocking comments directed towards the man he's threatened of, and showy displays to prove he's the better choice.

Everyone knows he is unpredictable and reckless, and possessiveness drives him to act out. He certainly overindulges to cope with his insecurity, (getting shitfaced) and will gladly push your boundaries to get your attention back on him.

Not to mention the belittling comments he'll make.

"Oh, is that who you’ve chosen to entertain now? I didn’t realize your taste had grown so dull."

Prone to acting overtly clingy, almost like a restless cat. He will attempt to slide over into the conversation, resting an arm around you, or even pulling you away. He doesn't care if it's 'improper.' He probably brings up his status, his bloodline, acting over-the-top.

He's also no stranger to outbursts. His temper may make him lash out impulsively, whether that be towards you or the man whose got your attention. If he's in a particular mood, be ready to deal with a screaming Aegon, threatening to slaughter and burn said rival. His fist will come down hard on the council table.

He also doesn't care if he's making a show of it in front of the council members. Que Alicent or Otto attempting to placate him. He needs to have a cooler head if he's going to be ruling the Seven Kingdoms, and this type of behavior isn't very becoming.

He definitely thinks he's owed some make-up sex, if only to quell the insecure storm raging inside him.

"You think they could satisfy you? Truly?" He says, firmly, as he steps closer. Anger is burning in his words, volume raising. "They wouldn’t even know where to begin."

And he plans to show you that he's right.

𝐴𝐿𝐼𝐶𝐸𝑁𝑇 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “I'm afraid I'll pull you over the edge.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Alicent experiences jealousy complexly, just like Aemond. It gnaws on her until she's at her breaking point. Rather than overt displays or confrontations, she attempts to employ more strategic distance...but it always ends up resorting in icy politeness.

She's making her displeasure known through restrained, pointed remarks. Out of duty and pride, she'll attempt to avoid direct confrontation, but she wears her jealousy on her sleeve.

I imagine her withdrawing from the situation at first, if not for anything but her own sake. Her gut reaction, out of insecurity, is to escape the situation. It honestly makes her feel sick.

Unless she's forced to stay...then she'll begrudgingly offer a tight smile. Her responses are carefully measured, and she slips into that role of "queen" rather than a lover.

A part of it stems from passive aggressiveness, and another part of it is purely subconscious.

Speaking of passive aggressiveness, she'll make some pretty cutting remarks, either questioning your loyalty or purposely feigning ignorance to the situation.

"Perhaps I’m mistaken. But I know loyalty when I see it. Or when I don’t."

It's an all bark, no bite threat towards you. But it serves as an aggressive reminder of your connection with her, and that you are now apart of her duties.

If she does interfere beforehand, she'll make indirect remarks about the person causing her jealousy, but will most likely frame it as merely her own curiosity.

Maybe just a touch of self-depreciation, unintentional manipulation. Years of Otto's techniques have rubbed off on her.

"It’s of little consequence, truly. I simply thought I was the one you preferred to spend your time with. I may have misjudged."

𝐺𝑊𝐴𝑌𝑁𝐸 𝐻𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝛰𝑊𝐸𝑅

♫ “Hurts to say it over, over again.” Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

In contrast to Alicent, Gwayne has no problem when he feels threatened to step in. He's a member of a powerful house, and a knight no less. Those two things have taught him to be prideful and honorable.

He will defend your honor whenever he deems in necessary, and there are no exceptions. He certainly has a flash of a temper, but he believes he's much more restrained than others, given his training.

If he thinks someone is crossing a line, he'll interfere. He'll position himself quite closely to you, making his presence known.

He offers the man a silent warning, offering a cool, assessing look. It would be enough to communicate his disapproval.

And if the man persists...well...they'll end up with the end of a sword pointed at them.

Similar to Robb, Gwayne's jealousy appears more in his heightened protectiveness. He insists on staying close for your safety.

"Do they need to be reminded that you’re already spoken for?"

Obviously, his noble pride carries on. If he gets pushed, his jealousy will show more openly, taking the man aside, and telling them that he is more worthy of her time and attention. Might throw in a comment about his noble standing.

He'll take you aside when everything is said and done, reminding her his intentions are honorable. Everyone else is just...unworthy.

"You may not see it, but I know men like him. If he truly respected you, he wouldn’t need to linger around someone else’s beloved."

𝐷𝐴𝐸𝑀𝛰𝑁 𝑇𝐴𝑅𝐺𝐴𝑅𝑌𝐸𝑁

♫ "No matter how you feel." Love Can Kill by Lennon Stella

Oh boy, you'll have to keep this man on a tight leash when his jealousy flares up. It's as intense as he is, and he shows it openly.

He'll deny it, or embrace it, depending on the severity of the perceived offense. It's closely tied to that desire for power within him he can't seem to shake. Any affront to your loyalty is an affront to his own standing.

He switches from possessive protectiveness to outright hostility. There's really no in between. It's a raw and unfiltered fury that makes his hand shake and his eye twitch.

He doesn't tolerate rivals, and he's very upfront that he's the only one fit to be by your side. This comes through when he has you all to himself on his bed...

He'll confront the person whether you want him to or not.

"If they value their limbs, they’d remember you’re mine." He mutters casually, pacing around the room.

He carries that hard glint in his eyes. He may even mildly appreciate the sheer balls of the man stupid enough to attempt to flirt with you, but he'll shut it down quicker than anyone on this list.

"You’ve got a bold tongue. I wonder if I should cut it out..?" He'll look to you for permission. It's up to you if you wanna let the dragon loose!

[auxmodi]

sexual tension

drabble ;)

my masterlist

summary: around the campfire, the men start teasing sandor about his size, and as the crude jokes fly, you can't help but sneak a glance at him. when you catch the outline of him beneath his clothes, your heart races, and you can't look away. sandor notices, and the tension between you two is almost too much to handle. you're left wondering what will happen when the camp settles down for the night.

warnings: nsfw, sexual tension, sexual attraction , reader's smutty thoughts, alcohol, objectification, p in v sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing , public sex kind of.

word count: 3.2k

the campfire crackled and spit, casting flickering shadows over the circle of men gathered around it. the air was thick with the smell of sweat and woodsmoke, the chatter growing louder as the ale flowed. you sat just outside the circle, not part of their bawdy camaraderie, but close enough to catch every word, and gods, how you wished you weren’t.

“clegane,” one of the younger men drawled, a drunken smirk plastered across his face. “bet you’re hiding something fierce under all that armor, eh?”

the others laughed, quick and eager to latch onto the joke. sandor, seated across the fire, didn’t so much as glance up.

“reckon it drags behind him in the snow,” another chimed in, slapping his knee.

more laughter, rough and raucous. your stomach twisted as you pulled your cloak tighter around you, hoping to disappear into the night.

sandor’s lip twisted into a mocking half-smile, his gaze sharp as it swept over the group. “keep talking about my cock,” he growled, the words a low, gravelly threat, “and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever get to look at.”

that earned a chorus of hoots and hollers, none of them taking the threat seriously.

“you hear that?” the first one cackled, slapping his thigh. “big man’s got a temper to match!” he leaned forward, squinting at you. “what d’you think, girl? you’re always hovering around him, eh? got an eye for—”

you choked on your sip of water, quickly lowering the cup and staring at the ground as your cheeks burned hotter than the fire.

the thud of steel slicing into wood made you flinch. when you dared to look up, sandor’s knife was embedded in the log beside the man’s head, the blade gleaming menacingly in the firelight. the man froze mid-laugh, his face blanching as though all the blood had drained from it.

the men fell silent for half a beat before breaking into another round of laughter, though it was more nervous this time, the kind of laughter that comes when you’re not sure if someone’s joking.

“aye, no need for that,” the first one said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “just a bit of fun, clegane.”

sandor leaned back against the log, his long legs stretched out and his lips curling into something close to a smirk. He didn’t say another word, just shook his head as if they weren’t worth the effort.

you tried to focus on the cup in your hands, but the conversation around the camp was impossible to ignore.

the men roared, and you dared a glance toward sandor. he was still as a stone, sitting against a log, legs stretched out in front of him. His bowl of stew rested in one hand, the other dangling lazily by his side.

but it wasn’t just his size that drew your eye. It was the way he carried himself, like he was more than aware of the effect he had on everyone around him.

the long lines of his legs, the thick muscles visible even under layers of leather and wool. your gaze drifted lower before you could stop yourself, there, was the unmistakable outline of him, large and thick, pressing against the fabric of his trousers. your heart pounded in your ears as you realized just how much of a hold he had over you.

you tried to tear your eyes away, but the way he filled out his clothes, the way he made you feel. you wanted to touch him, to feel that strength, feel the weight of him, his size, pressing down on you. the image of him, thick and demanding, burned into your mind, refusing to leave.

when you glanced up, you found sandor watching you. his eyes were steady, sharp, like he knew exactly what had been going through your mind. there was no judgment in his gaze, only that intense, unblinking stare, like he was daring you to admit it. To admit just how much you wanted him, how much you needed him.

slowly, almost lazily, he tilted his head.

“enjoying the view?” his voice was a low rasp, just loud enough for you to hear over the chatter of the men.

your heart raced, and you looked down, fumbling with the crust of bread in your hands like it held the answers to your embarrassment.

he huffed a quiet laugh, deep and rough. “thought so.”

the sound of his laughter, knowing, made your pulse jump. you risked a glance up, only to find he was still watching you, his lips curling into something between amusement and triumph.

you tried to gather yourself, but your body felt light, almost dizzy from the weight of the moment. but then, as the world around you came back into focus, you realized you weren’t the only one who had noticed.

the men around the fire had been watching too. they’d seen, heard everything. you could feel their eyes flicking between you and sandor, their glances filled with anticipation, like they were waiting for something to happen.

one of them, who’d been watching intently, couldn’t help but chuckle. “well, looks like you’ve caught the big man’s attention, girl.”

you could feel every set of eyes on you now, watching, waiting for something, anything to happen. and you knew that whatever had just passed between you and sandor wasn’t going to be forgotten.

-

some time passed, and you were finally alone. you had been chosen to set up the camp, and for once, you weren't mad about it. the embarrassment still lingered, heavy on your body, but with this task, there was no one around to remind you of it.

the dirty thoughts still lingered in your mind, persistent and unsettling. it was the way he looked at you, like it didn’t bother him at all. there was something strange between the two of you, an unspoken connection that you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried.

lost in the depths of your thoughts, the sudden crunch of boots on the ground behind you pulled you from your trance. you didn’t dare glance over your shoulder, but the shadow cast by the moonlight told you everything you needed to know. his presence loomed large, unmistakable. it was sandor.

he stood there for a moment. then, in his usual gruff manner, he spoke. “you’re alone out here.” his voice was steady, not a question, but a statement. the air between you felt thick, but his presence, though imposing, didn't seem to demand anything more.

you glanced at him, trying to hide the slight amusement creeping onto your face. his expression was unreadable, his eyes dark as always. he was standing too close, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence, but still, he didn’t move, didn���t push.

“well?” he asked after a long pause, his voice rough, yet tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “you gonna stand there all night? ain't you got a camp to set up?” his voice reeked of alcohol.

you blinked, suddenly realizing you were still rooted to the spot, caught in the strange tension he’d created. his tone had been flat, but there was something in the way he looked at you, like he was waiting for you to say something.

“right,” you muttered, shaking your head as if to clear it. you turned away from him, reaching for the bedrolls and stakes you had set aside, trying to ignore the way your heartbeat had quickened. “I’ll get to it.”

you could feel his presence still lingering behind you as you bent down to fasten the stakes into the ground, the weight of his stare making the silence awkward and thick. every movement felt too deliberate, like he was watching your every action, even though he hadn’t said a word since his last remark.

suddenly, you felt a hand press against your lower back. startled, you flinched and glanced up at him. without warning, he yanked you to your feet by your pants, pulling you tightly against his chest, your back to him. "don't make me do all the work" he murmured low, his voice thick with intent. you held your breath, feeling the undeniable pressure of his body against yours. his hips subtly thrust forward, the hardness of his bulge pressing into your lower back.

your pulse quickened, a mixture of nerves and something else you couldn’t quite place. you shifted uncomfortably, trying to create some distance between you, but his grip was firm. "sandor," you whispered, unsure of what you wanted him to do. "this isn't right."

without answering, he lowered his mouth to your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear. the warmth of his breath sent a shiver through you, and before you could react, his hand moved down your body. with a sudden, forceful motion, his fingers grasped the fabric of your shirt, pulling it taut before ripping it open. the sound of fabric tearing filled the air, and your breath caught in your throat.

you gasp, instinctively crossing your arms to shield your chest, but he seizes your wrists and firmly pulls them behind your back. sandor smirks, his voice low and rough as he says, “hiding won’t save you now.”

he pulls you back into him, your ass pressing against his bulge. sandor chuckled, a sound that reverberated through you. "is that what you want?" he growled low, his voice thick with desire. you could feel the tension in his body, the way he stiffened behind you as you pushed back into him. his groan followed, deep and unmistakable, as his hips involuntarily thrust forward.

"keep pushing, and you're only going to make it worse," he whispered against your ear, his voice a mix of amusement and promise.

but you couldn’t stop. you pressed back into him again, your body moving against his in a way that left no room for hesitation. his breathing hitched, and before you could react, sandor spun you around with brutal force. you fell to the ground, the air knocked from your lungs, and you gasped in surprise.

you now sat on the floor, hands pushing up your body to regain some balance. your breath was shallow, heart racing, and as you looked up, you saw sandor towering over you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

he took his time, slowly unbuckling his belt as his gaze never left you. you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and fear, the way his eyes held you in place, his every movement calculated.

he noticed the excitement in your eyes, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. a low chuckle escaped him, the sound rich with amusement. "you’re eager," he murmured, his gaze darkening as he took in your reaction.

you were frozen, not knowing what to say, your words lost in the heaviness of the moment. all you could do was sit there, heart pounding, waiting for him to move, unsure of what would come next.

without warning, he unzipped his pants and slowly takes out his cock. you stared in disbelief, you couldn't help but notice how much larger he was than you'd expected. his gaze remained locked on yours, and with a slow, almost indifferent smirk, he muttered, 'didn't think you'd be this quiet. thought you’d have more to say.'"

his words stung, challenging you, and without thinking, you pushed yourself to your feet. you met his eyes, you didn’t know if you were trying to prove something to him or to yourself, but you took a step closer, your breath steadying as you faced him head-on.

you stared at him, the silence heavy between you. neither of you needed to speak to know what you both wanted, but the words failed to form. uncertainty gripped you, but something inside urged you to move, to take the first step. without thinking further, you leaned in and kissed him.

your lips met his, the kiss harsh and impatient, filled with undeniable desire and lust. you felt his tongue push past your lips, exploring your mouth, his hand tightened his grip on your thigh, finger digging into your skin. "answer me", he said, his voice low, "you think you can take all of me, huh?" his other hand quickly yanked your pants down to your knees, the urgency in his movements making your pulse quicken.

you looked up at sandor, meeting his intense gaze, your voice barely above a whisper. "do your worst." the words were edged with hesitation, but there was something else there too, a quiet challenge. he smirked, clearly appreciating the boldness beneath your uncertainty, before he spun you around and shoved you face-first into the tree.

his grip on your wrists was rough, pulling them behind your back and holding them there with unrelenting force. his breath was hot against the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. as reality set in, so did a rush of nervousness, your breath quickened, your heartbeat pounding in your chest.

he chuckled, feeling the tension in your body. "you're not getting cold feet now are ya?" his voice gravelly, "it's too late to back out now."

you feel the cold breeze on your legs and chest, and you try to arch your back slightly, as if to invite him in. you feel his hard presence against you, waiting impatiently.

when all of a sudden you felt sandor's thick fingers attach themselves to your pussy. his other hand stil holding on tight to your wrists. "let me see" he mutters, his fingers brushing against your folds, stroking up and down.

you desperately tried to clamp your legs shut, the humiliation heavy in your chest, too much to bear. but his hand, strong as usual, forced them apart. the weight of it settled heavy on you, the sense of being exposed, vulnerable, naked in a way you never thought you'd be, especially with sandor, your usual companion in the mud and blood of battle, seeing you like this.

sandor, clearly tired of you already, grabbed you by the neck with a cold, firm hand, his grip locking you in place. you were shoved hard against the tree, your body pinned to the bark. there was no hesitation in him now, he didn’t want to wait any longer.

"quit fightin’," he growled. "you’ll give in, like it or not."

you were so overwhelmed by his actions that your mind went blank, unable to focus or think clearly. he noticed, of course he did. "please, sandor," you murmured, desperately trying to create some friction by swaying your hips, but he held you down firmly, laughing at your attempt.

sandor is so smug about it too, groaning just quietly enough while his hands grab your ass, pulling you further apart so he can finally enter you. "been waiting for this," he murmured, his voice low and filled with satisfaction.

you turn your head towards him, glancing over your shoulder just to see how big he looked as he loomed over you, pulling you closer while gripping the base of his cock as he slips his tip into you. the sharp, overwhelming pain makes your body ache. you cried out in desperation, you close your eyes and try to relax every muscle in your body as he slowly fills you up, little by little.

sandor furrowed his brows as he holds still for just a moment, his rough hands were all over you. "fucking hell, don’t tell me you’re a virgin" he growls through his teeth.

"not that,” you finally managed to whisper, releasing the breath you were holding. “i just- it’s been a while.”

"you're so fucking tight". he grunted, finally feeling your cunt stop clenching, he immediately pulled back and thrust into you forcefully, causing you to cry out, your arm instinctively reaching back to hold his hips back from the overwhelming sensation. he ignores your protests and starts thrusting into you quickly, your body responding to his every move. you whimper with each thrust, moving in rhythm with him, your hand still holding his hip in protest as he drives into you relentlessly.

he grabs the arm that's gripping his hip and pushes it behind your back, gaining a better angle as he thrusts into you. "c'mere," he growled, his grip tightening on your arm. "let me feel you, all of you".

the eye contact, his words, it’s almost enough to make you tap out. sandor’s eyes never leave yours as he pushes into you roughly.

as the rustling of footsteps grows closer, you freeze, heart racing. sandor's grip tightens on you, his eyes scanning the surrounding woods. the sound of your men moving through the trees grows louder, and you can feel the tension in the air.

"stay quiet," sandor murmurs, his voice low and commanding, as he pulls you closer, putting his hand over your mouth. almost covering your whole face with just one hand. neither of you can be fucked to care, the pleasure building low in your stomach as he keeps on pounding into you.

the men approach, oblivious to your presence, and you hold your breath, hoping they don't notice anything out of the ordinary.

you can hear their voices now, but they pass by without a second glance, the danger passing as quickly as it arrived. sandor lets out a low grunt, picking up his speed, fueled by frustration. his hands find your hair, pulling it harshly, causing you to yelp.

you choked on your moans, your aching pussy taking him whole, sandor leans in close as he pushes you back and forth on his cock. loving how you whine everytime he slides inside of your pussy.

he can't hold back anymore, his control snaps, and all that’s left is brute force and raw lust. he grips your hips tightly, his hands holding your ass as you let him take control. his touch grows bolder, sliding up your sides, skimming your stomach, and grazing your chest until they rest just above your throat. he pulls your towards him, looking for you eyes.

you look at him and find him staring at you, his lips parted, his eyes moving from your face to your ass, watching as he splits you open, again and again.

"oh gods" he mumbles under his breath, still staring at where you bodies keep on meeting together with his brute force. his breath quickens, short, guttural growls of pleasure escaping his mouth, you nod, sandor immediately knowing what you mean, his fingers dig into your hips even harder, his breathing becoming faster and more labored, as he picks up the pace. the sound of slapping flesh becoming even louder in the forest.

before you know it, you're cunt is filled up with his seed, you cum and his name keeps on falling of your lips. "that's it girl." he thrusts his seed deeper. it's quick, the way he eases himself out of you, how you feel it flowing down your inner thighs.

you try to stand secure on your wobbly legs and it was you who finally said something. "y- yeah, you've made your point."

sandor just watches you with a grin on his face, cocky bastard.

[agender-wolfie]

I need to be put in a headlock and prone boned until I’m fucked dumb all while being called a “good baby”… pls 🥹

[catsteeth]

She's My Collar

Sandor "The Hound" Clegane x Baratheon Princess

+:✿ Request ✿:+ 

Request: “This request is for sandor of course!! I am all for angsty, yearning sandor clegane!! My train of thought is all over the place but heres a list of something I hope you could include in the one shot: •hozier level yearning •unrequited love/want •perhaps stark!reader or baratheon!reader •fleeting interactions like something small but it sticks with sandor •“im not a religious man but ill follow her” kinda vibe if that makes any sense!!" CW: MDNI, ANGST, afab reader, alcohol consumption, unrequited love, yearning, misogyny, arranged marriage, violence, joffrey being joffrey, mention of death.  A/N: He’s pathetic and I love it

Word Count: 5K

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

The girl was born a Baratheon, born to Robert Baratheon during a previous marriage. Her mother, born to some wealthy house. But her memory would be lost in time after she died in childbirth. Robert did not speak of her. Cersei despised the mention of her name. So not much was known of her. Though she must’ve been pretty, as the girl born to Robert Baratheon was a girl of beauty. And soon after her mother’s death, Robert married Cersei Lannister. 

Either due to jealousy or embarrassment Cersei would treat the girl with malice, and hostility. But unlike the King's eldest son, the girl was kind and good. 

The boy was born to a man who wanted nothing more than for his sons to be knights of the Seven Kingdoms. His ambitions blinded him, allowing his eldest son Gregor to commit horrid acts. So long as the boy was a knight, none else mattered. The man's youngest son was kind. He was just a boy, no more than six years old. 

The little boy dreamed of being a knight just as his father did. Dreamed on the good deeds he would do in the name of his king and the Seven Kingdoms. Though those dreams would be dashed and discarded once the boy's older brother showed him the cruelty the world is capable of. The cruelty he was capable of. The cruelty the world rewarded him for. 

The boy grew into The Hound, Sandor Clegane the second most feared man in the Seven Kingdoms. The girl grew into a princess, one hated by her stepmother and eldest half brother. But loved by her father, her half siblings, the realm, and by a Hound.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

The Hound and the princess grew alongside one another most of his life. He could remember when he and she were much younger. The Lannisters and the Baratheons were traveling across the Stormlands. It was a hard journey, soon food became scarce. Naturally the scraps of whatever the royals did not eat were left to the guards and any other member of the traveling crew. But the princess would offer a young hound the meat from her plate every night.  He always hesitated, but was too hungry to deny her charity. She never held her charitable act over him, never even mentioned it. 

He was not one to appreciate beauty, nor was he one to indulge himself in fantasies of love. But the princess’s beauty was one that haunted Sandor. His whole life he looked at her as though she were the maiden herself. And the princess did not look upon the Hound with grotesque curiosity. Nor did she flaunt his presence to others in a manner of threatening them. No, the princess was kind towards him, kind when she did not have to be. He often found kindness a weakness in people, but in her kindness he found a comfort. 

The girl was different from her father, different from her brother. She was kind, she was honest, and he would follow her as if she was a God.  

He could also remember the first time she bestowed her favor onto him. 

Sandor never feared the tourneys he fought in. He did not fear the joust, he did not fear the competitors. What he did not like was the tradition of asking a noble lady for her favor. 

Sandor never liked this tradition. Never liked having to speak to noble ladies much less ask them to favor him. Not only was it ridiculous to him, the ladies often grimaced at his gesture. But at this tourney, and every tourney after it, he would pick the lady he wished to have picked each time before. 

As he rode his intimidatingly large black ill tempered stallion around the tournament pit. He looked up at all the noble ladies above him, looking down at him. They all sneered at his gaze, wishing not to be picked. The noble men all snickered amongst one another. But there was one person who looked upon him with indifferent eyes. The Baratheon girl’s eyes were not filled with pity, disgust, nor anticipation for the violence he was about to insight for the high lord's entertainment. She simply watched him with her same kind eyes. 

He did not think much of it, it came naturally to him as he stopped his horse in front of the royal family's seating. “I ask the favor of the Princess.” He said begrudgingly. 

The princess rose from her seat with a smile. She grabbed a ring of florals and silk. The flowers were yellow and the silk ribbon was black, the colors of both her house and his. As she approached him, she smiled upon him and placed the favor upon his joust. “I wish you good fortune, Sandor Clegane.” Sandor, he did not know she knew his name. Her voice itself was gentle and hushed, only for him to hear. Her smile was gentle and warm, one that he would have killed to see each night. One that he won the tourney for. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Once, Joffrey had decided that a servant boy had shot him a momentary disrespectful glance. If he had, it would not have been unwarranted, though who is to say if he even did. Joffrey, sometimes bored, would pretend small disrespectful gestures were made against him. Allowing him to justify any horrid act he found amusement in subjecting any poor soul to. 

“I am sorry, my prince! Please if you would give me another chance-” The servant boy pleaded on his hands and knees. His cheek red from the blow Ser Meryn had given him moments before. 

Sandor never liked being Joffrey's sworn shield. Never liked that blonde cunt at all. Whenever he wanted to feel powerful, wanted to hurt someone weaker than him for no good reason, it bored and irritated him. 

Though it hardly ever embarrassed him, until she stepped into that room.

“Brother stop this!” The Baratheon princess commanded with a look of disgust. Sandor, though he’d not laid a hand on the boy, swallowed hard and stood straighter at her sudden presence. He worried how she’d look at him now, would her kind eyes fade for him?

“Why should I?” Joffrey asked her back with a raised brow.

The girl, bravely scoffed and took a few steps closer to her younger ‘brother’, “Because I commanded you to.” She said with angry eyes, an expression Sandor rarely saw from her. She looked beautiful even when she was angry.

Joffrey narrowed his eyes at her, “Who are you to command anything of me?” he stifled a laugh which only enraged her more. And only enraged Sandor more.

She took another step closer to him. Her hand gently trailed along the extravagantly dressed wooden table. “Your elder sister, the Kings first born-” 

“First born daughter.” Joffrey finished her words for her. “Daughter. You are not heir to anything. I’ll be king one day and you, a princess for a lifetime.” He said laughing as if he were amused by some great jest. “And as your king, I could have anything done to you that I like.” He walked closer to her, with a threatening gaze. “In fact, as heir to the throne, I could do anything I like. I could have Ser Meryn hold you down and-”  And with that the girl's temper got the better of her. She grasped a glass goblet from the table she stood by, and threw it with great force at her brother’s feet. The goblet shattered into a hundred pieces. Bits of it flew and cut Joffrey’s right hand. And some other bits cut Sandor’s cheek, not deeply but enough to bleed. “You cannot do that!” His shrill voice cracked as he grasped hold of bleeding palm.

“Clearly I can.” The girl said with little emotion. It would have made Sandor laugh if he didn’t have to worry about the other royal guards. He worried that they would put their filthy hands on you, or would be foolish enough to draw their swords. 

Though none would. The guards were shocked by the scene. This princess had never done so much as raised her voice, and now she was assaulting their future kind. They had to think of defending one of the King’s children from the other. They stood, unsure of how to act.

Furiously Joffrey shouted, “I’ll tell my mother!” Knowing his father would do nothing but ridicule him.

The princess raised her hand, and slapped the boy across the cheek, “Tell her I did that as well.” She added. 

Her slap was enough to leave a red imprint across the boy's face.

In a fit of anger, the young prince grabbed hold of his sword. Prepared to draw its blade and point it at the princess. Just before Sandor could grab the prince, a different Kingsgaurd stepped between the two royals. “Stop this!” the man commanded. Joffrey let go of the sword's hilt and the girl began to walk away, ready to face whatever punishment her step mother desired. 

With her back turned, and the guards' attentions divided. Joffrey ceased his moment, and drew the thin blade of his sword and readied himself to strike the princess. 

“Boy!” The princess turned back as the Hound’s loud voice boomed out through the dining hall. She was stunned by the sight before her. The prince’s attack was stopped by the Hound ceasing the blade with his bare hand. Blood from his hand trickled down the blade of the sword.

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Soon the two royal children were brought before their father the King.

“How the fuck did any of this happen? You are meant to protect my blood!” King Robert questioned the KingsGuard furiously. 

“Never had to protect a princess from a prince.” Ser Meryn attempted to explain, “Or a prince from a princess.” He said in a lower tone that angered Joffrey.

“Shut up!” King Robert angrily shouted, sick of hearing whatever excuse they had. He sat back in his chair, and huffed loudly. He looked between his two children. “Well done, my girl.” He said in a gruff low tone.

Joffrey looked surprised his father would congratulate her on striking her brother. “But look what she-“ Joffrey began, holding up his cut palm.

Though Robert interrupted him, “How could you ever be a king if you cannot win a fight against a woman?” 

“Father!” Joffrey’s shrill voice shouted, 

“Leave!” Robert shouted back. With an infuriated huff, Joffrey left accompanied with two guards by his side. Though Sandor stayed in the room. “Girl, come ‘ere.” Robert commanded much softer to his daughter, waving his hand, beckoning her to come closer. 

She did as her king commanded. Stepped closer to him with her head lowered. Robert stood before her, and held her chin up with his fingers. “You’re more of a man than your brother.” He said proudly. He meant it as a complement, it was a rare thing to receive as a child of Roberts. With a sigh he patted the girl on the back, “Go on then.” He said softly dismissing her. 

She nodded and took her leave as her father requested. 

As the girl left, Sandor turned to follow her out. Though the King’s voice beckoned out, stopping him in his steps. “Dog.” Sandor stopped, and turned towards the King, “If that yellow haired shit lays a hand on my girl you beat him.” The King commanded. Sandor needed no other instruction. He was quite content to do so. “Understood?” The King pressed.

Sandor nodded, “Aye.” 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As the Hound walked down the Halls of the keep, he saw the princess walking in the opposite direction. He tried to keep his eyes ahead, not looking at her at all. 

Though his illusion of disinterest did not deter the girl, “I beg pardon, ser.” Her serene voice called out gently. It felt like a cool breeze on a hot day, a relief. 

Sandor looked up at her, hoping she was not speaking to him. If she was, he knew whatever words she spoke to him would haunt his thoughts. As he looked at her, he knew she was speaking to him. He swallowed and then croaked out, “I’m no ser.” 

The Baratheon princess shook her head, “No. You are more true than any knight.” He knew her words would haunt him, but now they would torture him. The girl stepped forward, making him almost flinch, “All the knights in that room were content to let my brother kill me. What you did today-“

The girl began but the Hound interrupted her, knowing if she thanked him, his stomach might turn. “It’s my duty to protect you.” He grumbled, attempting to not look the girl in the eyes. Her beautiful eyes.

“I’d call it brave.” She chimed, making him stop and turn to face her once again. He was about to tell her it was not brave but she continued, “But I know you’d not. You are a hard man with many scars. You needn’t courage, nor praise. But I thank you for what you've done.” 

Fuck.

He was never thanked for doing his duty. Never thanked for anything. He was commanded and he did as he was told. 

Her eyes wandered over the Hound’s face. It made him feel weak, for the first time in a very long time. “I am sorry-” She said, her voice sickeningly sweet. Sandor looked at her with confusion, “Are you hurt?” She asked as she reached her hand towards the cut on his cheek. Her sudden movement made him flinch. 

“No.” He rasped quickly. 

The girl however was scared of the Hound. She continued forward and placed a hand on the Hounds shoulder. Even though her hand was separated from his skin by his thick armor, he still felt a chill run over his body. “Oh but you are-” She began, concerned for him. A feeling that was new for him.

“It’s a scratch.” Sandor interrupted the girl.

She shook her head, “Still, I caused it.” The girl reached into the neckline of her gown, making Sandor almost blush. Such a strange thing, a man who had seen every part of a woman, and every sexual act no matter how deviant in almost every brothel in KingsLanding would blush at such a thing. She pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with her name, “Take this.” She said holding it out to him.

He could not take it. He could not, no matter how badly he wanted to. “Don’t need it-” 

“I command you to take it, as your princess.” The girl said without hesitation. Reluctantly Sandor grabbed the cloth, “I am sorry.” She said once more before continuing on and walking past Sandor. 

She did not know that he would worship that cloth. Keep it in his armor, and keep it in his rooms when he slept. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

When Robert mixed drinking and hunting too often, a boar attacked him. Leaving him so injured he was on a deathbed.

The princess visited her father each day, morning, noon, and night. And when he died, she stayed confined to her chambers. Her only company she’d allow was her Septa. Though the girl was grown enough to be without a Septa, hers was closer to a mother. Since the girl never had one, her septa was there for all her girlhood. So she insisted on keeping around. 

Sandor often checked on the girl, though of course she was not wise to this. 

He would open her door, just a crack. He would listen in just to be sure she was alright. One day when he decided to open her door he heard her and her Septa speaking plainly. 

“Do you think the boar was the Gods doing?” The girl asked as she stared out her window with a stoic and dazed expression.

“Hm?” Her septa responded, looking up from the needlepoint she mindlessly toyed at.

The girl did not look at her septa. Simply continued to stare out her window into nothingness. She paused for a moment, not speaking, “I’d a dream the Stranger came to those woods. He changed into a boar and killed my father for his deviance.” She spoke of such morbid dreams with no emotion attached to it at all.

“How awful.” Her septa gasped, throwing her needle point down onto the table in front of her. “No dear girl I don’t think it was.” She said more gently, “You dream too much.” 

The girl shrugged, still not looking at the old woman. “I suppose I’m trying to find the Gods in everything I do.” 

“Prayer is best for that. Not such morbid dreams.” The old Septa said, picking her needle point back up. 

The girl did not respond for a moment, still simply staring out into nothing. “Do you think they’re real?” She asked softly and without shame. “Do you truly believe it? Never did you doubt it?” She asked, finally looking at the Old Septa.

“They are real.” She asserted sternly, “You believe they aren’t?” 

The girl sighed, not wanting for a lecture, “I know the Gods are a necessity for people. Like food, water. I know they must exist. But I also know they don’t.” She said calmly. Her words stuck with Sandor like a knife driven into his back.

“What a terrible thing to say.” Her septa said shocked.

“Is it?” The girl's eyes narrowed in confusion, “It’s just my thoughts.”

The septa shook her head looking back to her needle point. “You think too much, dear girl.” 

The girl sighed and went back to looking out her window, “Seems I do too much and not enough.”

Without many words at all, this lonely girl would consume Sandor’s every thought. She was smart and kind. Two things Sandor did not think of himself. 

He did not believe in the Gods, because if there were Gods, why did they punish this girl? Perhaps she was his punishment. Perhaps he was hers. Perhaps it was the world that was their punishment. 

This girl should be queen. She’d be a good one, a better one then her cunt brother. She’d be loved by the small folk and no doubt able to keep some kind of peace, even with the war. She’d not let her pride keep the seventh kingdom. If they wanted independence they’d have it. Clearly they could fight well enough on their own. But she was not queen. But she was his. 

How her hair laid against the delicate fabric of her pillow. She was all too precious for his affections. He couldn’t help it really, he felt drawn towards her. Felt a stronger pull towards her than he felt towards anything, even food or water. But he’d never subject her to his presence. 

He simply needed to see her, needed to know she was safe.

She slept sweetly, her breathing though loud was the calmest noise he’d heard. It was like the sounds of waves meeting the sands. 

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes he would fantasize about what it would feel like to sleep beside her. For her to invite him into her bed. To sleep in his arms. He’d feel her heartbeat against his own. He’d smell her scent, and feel her chest rise and fall with each breath. He never slept well, but he believed if she was in his arms, perhaps he could. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As time went by, the royal family debated what to do with the girl. She was not a Baratheon Lannister, she was the reminder of Robert's first marriage, a reminder that Joffrey was not the true king. 

Sandor stood guard by the small council’s chamber door as he heard the girl’s step mother Cersei say, “She’s as wild as the boar that killed her father. No man would want her, she is too difficult. So give her to the Tyrell’s, a poisoned gift.” 

Overcome with a myriad of emotions, anger, sadness, and grief, Sandor rushed to the girl's chambers. 

Sandor stood behind her door. His hand firmly grasped the door handle, and his forehead rested against the wood of the door.

He stood there for what felt like an eternity. 

He wanted to open the door, ask- no beg you to run away with him. He wanted to tell you all the things he felt for you. Wanted to protect you. 

But he was a second son, a kingsguard, he had no land, and no money. He had nothing to offer you, he didn’t even have a handsome face to bargain with. 

And so, he let the handle of the door go, and he walked down the hall. He considered it mercy. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Instead of subjecting that poor girl to his company he decided to subject tavern dwellers to him instead. That night, as her marriage was announced, Sandor sank into his cups.

Though even there he was not protected from talks of her betroval. 

Beside Sandor at another table were four men, 

“Say what you will, I think it’s a perfect match! Loras Tyrell loves a Baratheon!” Some oaf shouted as he slammed his cup onto the table laughing. 

“Aye but she’s missin’ a cock now isn’t she!” A shorter guard shouted out.

Sandor wanted to break the fool's jaws for speaking of her situation with such amusement. “Too bad for Loras, and too bad for all the other men in the realm!” A bald guard added,

The shorter guard raised his cup, “Hear hear. I’ll miss seeing that girl… Miss seeing her bend over to pick flowers.” 

The bald guard nodded in a facade of sadness, “Aye that ass will be missed-”

“No, her pair of tits will be missed!” The fatter guard spoke up.

“Nay her cunt! Ah and what a waste she’ll be giving it to a boy whore.” One of the men said, it was enough for Sandor to slam his cup onto the table in anger. He was trying with all his might to hold onto his restraint.

Though this did not go unnoticed by the men at the table. The oafish one spoke up again, “What of you Clegane?” He said getting closer to the Hound, “You guard that sweet stag so loyally. Surely you’ve thought of what her cunt tastes like-” 

Without another thought, Sandor took the man by the back of his head and slammed it into the table. His nose broke and his teeth cracked. Sandor took his dagger out and stabbed it through the man's hand. His blade took one of the man’s fingers. 

Sandor stood, taking his drink with him, “You speak to me like that again, I’ll take more than a finger.” He warned as he left the tavern in a huff.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

Against his better judgment, that night Sandor checked in on that girl. 

She was with her Septa again. He hoped that she were alone, if she were perhaps in his drunken state he’d have actually begged her to run off with him.

“My father would never have allowed this.” The girl said with a scared and sorrowful waiver of her voice, “Though I suppose it will be a relief to be gone from this place.” She sniffled, “I just don’t want to be forgotten.” 

“You’ll not be forgotten, dear girl.” Her Septa said petting her hair. 

“I suppose if I were to marry anyone in this city it would be him.” She shrugged, “But, I am unsure of how I could please him. You know of his nature. Know of his relationship with my uncle. I care not for any moral righteousness and I hold no judgment of it. But how could I ever make him happy?” She asked desperately, frightened by the prospects of her future. 

Her Septa grasped the girl by her shoulders tightly, “You will make him happy by giving his children royal blood.” 

“And how can I even do that?” The girl put her face into her hands,

“You are familiar with the act, I have explained it-”

The girl interrupted, “I won’t want it.”

Her Septa sighed, “A dreadful duty for some wives. Just lay there. Look at the ceiling and memorize the pattern of the trim. Count the seconds. Anything to let your mind wander away from your body.” She tried her best to comfort the girl, but clearly was doing nothing to help the girl’s fear.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

As Sandor took leave of his duties. He threw off his armor without caution, and nearly ripped his clothing off himself. He was angry, no, he was enraged. 

This girl did not deserve this. She deserved none of the shit those blonde shits put her through. And the words of ‘advice’ given to her by her septa only enraged him more. She should have told her to slip poison in his wine. 

Sandor sat down on his bed in his small clothes with a huff. His weight made the bed creek and bow. He drank from a wineskin as he thought of it all. Soon his anger subsided, replaced with a defeated sorrow. 

Naught could be done for her. This much he knew for certain.

So, after his wineskin ran dry he laid down. Finally allowing his body to rest even though his mind could not.

As he laid there, stripped of his armor and steel. As his sensitive skin laid against the rough material of his bedding he was reminded once more that he, and his body were punished. Punished by both too much, and not enough.

Too much combat, too much drinking, too many tourneys, too many cuts and bruises. So much he endured, and his body was punished for it. He ached and felt pains all over his body all the time. His scars were sensitive and hurt in warm bath water. 

But as he laid there he was again reminded how he had not enough. Not enough gentle touches, enough love and care. Though of course he’d never admit it to anyone. His body felt truly alone in his bed. He wished he could have felt her around him. He’d fucked before, that would not shock anyone. But he’d never made love to anyone. And Gods did he need to. 

He thought of it often, kissing her. He’d do it gently. He’d be gentle with her. She deserved gentleness. He’d kiss her while he held her face in his palms. Kiss her neck, press his lips against her skin and lick where she was most sensitive- wherever those spots were. Gods he wanted to know where they were. 

He felt shameful for thinking this way, he really did. He was no better than those men in that tavern. But, he’d be good to her.

He’d make her his wife, in the eyes of The Seven. He’d build her a home. It wouldn’t be like the one she’d been brought up in. Not a castle, but a house made of stone and wood. He’d give her safety, love. And as his hand began to wonder his punished body he thought of how he’d give her children.

He wished to know how her body would feel in hands. How it would feel to have his hands caress her breasts, the curves of her body, the soft plumpness of her belly. He wondered how it would feel to be inside of her. How his cock would feel to slide in and out of her slick, warm, inviting cunt. He did not know, but he did know it would have felt oh so much better than his calassed hand that was wrapped around his length now. 

Though his actions were vulgar and sexual, he did not think of it as that. He couldn’t think of her for long without feeling the need to have her. To be close to her. To please her. To hold her close and make her feel safe under his touch, to make her feel loved and desired with his body, his hands, and his mouth. 

He thought of what her septa told her. That she’d have to lay down and take it. If she was with him she’d want it, she’d never be forced. Bedding would be a pleasure not a duty.

His groans loudened, and his breathing quickened as he thought of how she’d ask him for it. How gentle her touch would feel on his ruined skin. 

Soon he was awoken from his day dream as the hot splash of his release jolted his mind back to reality. 

He did not have her, and she for all he knew, did not want him. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈

And so the Hound was left with nothing to do but sit and watch as the love of his life was preparing to leave his life forever. 

He felt his heart breaking as he escorted the royals to the docks with the rest of the Kingsguard. He felt his eyes water as she began to step onto the dock, and approach the boat that would take her away from him. 

Naught could be done for her. 

So without a word the Hound offered the girl his hand. She took it, gently. He helped her into the boat. Her gaze fell onto him, and Gods it felt warm. He wanted to cut through them all. Wanted to take her off that boat and ride her away on Stranger. He’d do all the things he thought of the night before. Build her a home, keep her safe, and he’d love her. But they didn’t live in that world. 

The princess would marry that Tyrell. She’d have his sons, whether she wanted it or not. And she would never know how much her dog loved her.

The Hound watched as the boat sailed away with the girl he had loved all his life.

It’s the world that’s awful.

Thank you so much for your request! It was so much fun to write!!

Requester: @rhinestonecowboysworld

[proseandpretrichor]

Fateful Love; Sandor Clegane x Reader

Summary: Sandor had convinced himself is affections were only one sided, but as fate continued to entertwine the two of you maybe he would be proved wrong

Warnings: Smut! P in V, Oral female recieving. 18+

Never did you think you would be here right now. But when Caitlyn Stark took the time away from Bran’s bedside to beg you to go with Ned Stark, to help him look after her only daughters, to protect them. How were you supposed to refuse that? 

So here you were sitting on a horse, in the cold and sleet trailing behind the sniveling prince, Joffrey, who rode behind Lord Stark and the King. 

That is when you noticed him, Sandor Clegane, or the Hound as you quickly realized he was more frequently called. He was riding behind you, but close. Yet you did not hear a peep from the man, which struck you in awe since it was no secret the sheer size of him. Three days you had ridden in the same position along the procession and you wracked my brain for a single moment in which you heard his voice and couldn’t recall one time. This struck a cord of embarrassment through you causing you to shift in your seat towards him Seeing you in his peripheral he turned his gaze upon you and raised one of his thick eyebrows in question. You simply graced him with a small smile and dipped your head quickly as a sign of recognition of his presence. 

This was the first time you rendered the gigantic man speechless, but it was not the last.

Over the coming days, the King’s company grew to be comfortable around the Stark’s, and thus many of the King’s court grew fond of you. Quickly it became apparent to all who stayed in your presence even for a few moments, why you were so beloved by the Stark family. 

You had the innate ability to meet any and every individual where they stood. Ned Stark could be found walking with you, discussing the various policies that had now become his responsibility as the newly appointed hand. He would frequently ask for your thoughts on such matters, or how to inflict new motions without ruffling a large amount of feathers-it was no secret how poorly the King and his advisors dealt with such diplomacy. You would always give fair and wise counsel, which never seemed to surprise the Stark lord, but awed those who overheard including Sandor. You were always respectful and cautious with your words so that if you showed disagreement even the most arrogant, stubborn men saw your reason. 

Therefore, you often sat with the King and the Lord during meals. Mostly because the King found you beautiful, a refreshing face. That could also be apparent to all. Sandor secretly agreed, he appreciated the notion that you never refused food or drink when it was offered to you, thus you had many curves, and while he couldn’t see all of your skin, Sandor had no doubt it would be soft and pillowy to the touch. He shamefully thought of that simple fact too often when the cold, mushy, and wet ground kept him awake in the night. 

Eager to please his father, what once began as an obligation to entertain your presence, bloomed into genuine delight in your presence when Joffrey saw you. Which also in turn delighted Sandor, who thus could freely gaze upon you more throughout those days traveling. When Joffrey came to collect Sansa, you often would find yourself chaperoning the pair with Sandor. 

You would walk at least ten paces behind the two young teens, paying mind to giving their conversations the privacy you thought they deserved. 

One day, during such an outing, Joffrey stopped and turned to you. “Lady Sansa and I were in discussion about our dream lives. I have heard the Lady’s and shared mine, but I wished to know your’s, Lady Y/N.” 

“I will oblige in your discussion, my prince. Thank you for the thought of including me.” With that you turned and paused brows creased in deep thought. “I think I would like to live nowhere, as in completely isolated from anyone… maybe in the forest next to a meadow, or in a field next to some stream, lake, or river.” You then nodded very pleased with your decision. “Yes, my prince, that is what I desire.” 

“But Y/N...” Sansa exclaimed. “What of a husband or a family? Surely you have entertained such a thing!” 

“Yes, I will say I have.” Sansa rushed towards you, Joffrey close behind. She clasped onto your hand and drugged you to sit on a fallen tree with Joffrey placing himself on the other side of you. Sandor decided to lean against a nearby tree a little ways away, head turned to show his disinterest, but ear pointed to your figure. All waited in bated breath for your next words. 

“I suppose if I was so lucky,” you began a far away look beginning to gloss over your gaze, “I would like a big and strong husband, seeing as I am not a dainty woman myself.” You paused to pat your stomach earning laughs from the children. “However I would want to fatten him up a little, not enough to weaken his strength, but to just soften him up a little. That would be a nice cuddle, don’t you think” Nudging Sansa, who began blushing profusely. You continued, “And since we shall live in such a place he would need to find a way to work the land, so we may grow the food we eat, and to chop down wood for our modest cottage and firewood for the winter. Maybe we would come to collect a few animals, such as a goat, sheep, pig, chickens, maybe a dog so that we may rarely go into town except for the necessities. Then I would drag him to get such things as books, rarer groceries, and garments I cannot make.” 

“What of children?” Joffrey urged on. “Do you want children, Lady Y/N?” 

“Yes, sweet prince, I am fond of the idea. And of course if and however many my husband should wish for I will do my best to make it a reality. I have always been fond of children..” Pinching Sansa’s rosy cheek you brought her close enough to kiss her temple, who in return threw her arms around you. “Sometimes, I ponder what little versions of me and my husband I might nurture one day.” 

“I hope that will happen, Y/N!” Sansa all but shrieked, “I want to see and hold your little babes!” 

You paid little mind to the girl’s excitement, patting her on the head fondling urging everyone to continue on their walk. 

But Sandor couldn’t shake the picture you painted from his thoughts. He fit the description of a man you would like. He knew it was very unlikely to happen but that little nugget of hope spurred his affections to continue growing in size. And as he layed in bed that night, he fell asleep to the thought of coming home to you, children and dogs racing towards him and you beaming up at him and welcoming him back into your arms. 

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ��°・ . 。・゜❃     ❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃ 

Life at the castle in King’s Landing was without a doubt more stressful than that on the road. It became very apparent of the disdain for the Stark lord, thus you made it your sole duty to keep a close watch on the little ladies. 

You would secretly taste a bite of their meals before they were served to the family. You would accompany Arya to her sword fighting lessons, and nurse any bruises or cuts she sustained. You would continue to trail behind any interaction between Joffrey, who became more insufferable by the minute, and Sansa. Often you would rarely be found in your chambers at night instead you would be in a chair bedside one of the girls. Body bend and arms propping up your head before you would find yourself asleep in the morning. 

Such was one of those mornings. You carefulling clasped sleeping Arya’s door shut and traveling down the halls towards your rooms to get yourself ready for the day. You really did need to find a better sleeping position, the creak in your neck becoming a problem for your stiff neck to be able to move till later in the morning. This ailment distracted you from the bodies moving towards you in the corridor. 

“Watch where you're going!” Joffrey’s shrieky voice snapped you out of deep thought. 

Looking up to see he had side stepped your trudging path. Causing you to very narrowly crash into Sandor before stopping in front of him.

“Damn! I am so sorry, your highness!” You quickly turned towards the prince offering him an especially low bow for your mistake. Seemingly pleased with your groveling, Joffrey snapped back his walk with a typical roll of his bulging eyes. 

“I am truly sorry Ser Clegane, forgive me,” you murmured to the man in front of you.

“Not a knight.” He gruffly supplied, eyes staring down at your shorter frame. 

“I am well aware of that. However, I respect you very much. Therefore, I shall continue to address you with such respect.” With that you maneuvered around him and carried on towards your chambers. Just before you turned the corner, you called over your shoulder, “I wish you a wonderful day, Ser Clegane!” before you disappeared from his vision completely. 

Thus you rendered Sandor speechless once again. He had never been treated in such a high manor being reduced down to nothing but a brute and an animal. He was at a war with himself. Part of him knew he should follow the prince and continue his task of protecting him, but the other part of him urged him to turn around and march after you. To scoop you up into his arms and pin you against the stone wall, demanding to know what your words meant. To implore you to share if you had affections for him as he did for you. And if you miraculously did, he would kiss you senseless and hold you for all of the time he had left on earth. He would unclasp his armor instantly, place you on a horse, and lead you away from the castle to build you to the life you dreamed to have. 

Yet he didn’t, Sandor instead glanced back once more in the direction you left and followed after the prince. 

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃     ❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃ 

You were in a state of shock. The king died and Joffrey was immediately crowned king. Your beloved friend and lord was beheaded in front of not only your eyes but his daughters eyes. And thus since then King’s Landing has been rendered to a state of utter and complete chaos. 

Yet here and now you were faced with a monstrous choice. Sansa had chosen to stay both for the hope of a better life in the favor of the King, despite her name, and for the Stark name itself. 

But Arya now stood before you claiming she would no longer stay at King’s Landing and that she and Sandor were leaving and she needed you to come with her. That this was her turn to repay you for your lifetime of service. 

You felt as though your body, heart, soul and mind were being split, each sister taking your livelihood. You did not want to abandon Sansa in this wretched place with him. She still had much to learn and followed young and naive notions. Yet, Arya was littler than her and partaking in what could be a greater threat than Sansa. Her sword skills were not fully honed and Sandor couldn’t know very much of the ways of little stubborn girls. 

You did not know what to do. The battle completely evident in your eyes, so Sandor grabbed hold of you and shook you till you gave him your attention. 

“Come with me,” he begged selfishly. “Not for the girls, for yourself, for your dream!” 

All you could do was look into his soft brown eyes. You didn’t even feel yourself nod, you didn’t feel anything until Sandor tucked you into his side with his arm wrapped around your waist and led you behind Arya to the stables. 

Turning back one last time, Sandor watched you shed one single tear looking back at King’s Landing. That was the first tear he ever saw you give freely, before your chest heaved due to a massive breath, you shuddered and urged your horse forward. Away from the city and away from your past.

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃     ❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃ 

You surprisingly loved wondering with Arya and Sandor. You found it completely freeing. 

Sandor also loved it, although his grumpy and growly demeanor portrayed otherwise. He was thrilled to be able to have a direct and constant hand in your health and safety. 

He was doing his best to give you all the food you could eat when you were starving, evenly dumping some of his portion into yours silently when he noticed you didn’t have your usual sleepy content post meal face he was familiar with. 

He always sat close by, when you laid down to sleep each night. He wanted you to receive all the rest you needed for the next day, knowing that while you were strong and could defend yourself when needed, you were still not nearly as skilled as himself or Arya, which caused him great unease and little sleep to your great dismay such as now. 

You were restless tonight, rolling over to give your shoulder a break. That is when you noticed Sandor sitting on a log above you staring into the slowly dying fire. “You should sleep too, Sandor.” 

For several moments the only response you received was a grunt, before he finally muttered. “I’m fine. Gotta keep watch.” That caused you to rise from your sleep matt. “Do you keep every night?” To which you received another affirmative grunt.  

You got up to sit on the log next to him closer than you ever had before-shoulder to shoulder and thigh pressed to his thigh. You then thumped your head against his shoulder, the crown of your head kissing the unbearded skin of his neck causing a shiver to set fire up his spine.

“I can watch sometimes too you know, if there was a threat I could hold them off long enough for you to wake up and take care of it. You shouldn’t have to shoulder all of the burden, Sandor.” 

“And you’re not going to take on any of the burden… end of story” he retorted with a tone of finality. 

“Very well, I will just have to take extra care of you then won’t I hon.” He just let your statement drift off into the air, not trusting his voice. You did not urge him to respond either, knowing him possibly more than any other human in his life. You were content with his presence and his silence, choosing to curl up into his side further. 

Sandor sighed to feign annoyance, but was all too willinging to wrap and arm around you and tuck you closer to him, his large body shielding you from the night chill, while he was lost in thought. You couldn’t have 

The next day and the days following you made good of the words you spoke to him. 

Sometimes mending his clothes, stitching the worn fabric into a whole garment again. You would never tell him that this was just a tactic to see him shirtless, and that it may have been worthwhile to just buy a new shirt when they reached town. 

When you noticed Sandor sliding into his seat stiffly or grunting while he moved, you were more than happy to offer to massage his sore and tired muscles. 

Thus he was now shoved to a sitting position on the ground as you stood in between his legs, brows furrowed as you removed what remained of his beat up armor. Triumphantly clapping your hands once the pieces were tossed onto the ground beside you. “Where does it ache?” You questioned. 

“Shoulders.” He all but growled not out of anger, but in disbelief that this was a reality and not one of his many fantasies. 

Humming you placed your soft hands delicately onto his broad frame and began pressing into his muscles, forming small circles to feel for the tense tissue below. Once you hit a sore spot you applied a slightly firmer grip as you began to work out the kinks and knots that had formed during Sandor’s consistent labor. 

After a few minutes, the giant of a man began to relax and lean into your touch, head bowing in relief as reprieve washed over his body. 

Before he could stop it, his forehead continued forward before it was stopped by your soft tummy with a thunk, causing you to sigh in content as you continued your ministrations. 

Another time he would have been embarrassed for such an action, but in this moment he just relished in being comforted by the woman he loved. 

All too soon you finished, brushing his hair behind his ear before stepping back. Sandor had yet to raise his head from its lowered position or make a sound. 

Face drawn up in worry, you grasped his scruffy chin and raised it so his eyes had no choice but to meet yours, “Are you alright, Sandor? Did I hurt you?” you questioned softly, eyes searching for any clue into his mind. 

“No, never. You could never hurt me.” Sandor allowed himself to lean into the warmth of your hand. “Thank you, love.” 

“I don’t need thanks from you, you know I would do anything in my power for you hon. Lay down and rest for me, I’ll get you if something requires your attention.” 

And for the first time in his life, Sandor obliged, heart warmed from your care. He laid down on the ground and closed his eyes. While the old him would have felt shame in forsaking his duty for his own needs, all he felt in this moment was your love and care. The last thought ringing in his mind before sleep overtaking him was that from this moment onward he would do everything in his power to earn more of it from you and greedily take any of it you freely offered him. 

This was the first time Sandor felt loved by someone, but you certainly made sure it wouldn’t be his last. 

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃     ❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃ 

You were more frightened in this moment than you could ever recall being. When Brienne of Tarth managed to throw Sandor from the cliff you felt your heart fall with him. 

Without thinking you instantly turned your back to his assailants and raced down the hill to find him praying for him not to be dead. 

There you found him begging Arya to relieve him of his misery doing his best to goad her into his wishes. You stood frozen as she refused, simply choosing to take his coins and leave him for dead instead. 

You painstakingly waited till she and Brienne were out of sight before rushing to his side, mortified at the extent of his wounds he sustained in addition to the festering gash in his neck. But what crushed you the most was his eyes, there was no liquid golden fire in his brown eyes, they were dull and dark showcasing the true weariness he has carried all of his life. 

“Please love,” he muttered weakly, clasping the wrist that was petting his hair, you not knowing what to do to ease his pain at this moment, paralyzed with fear. “You must go, you must leave me. I believe this is as far as I am going to go.” 

You shook your head violently, fat droplets ever streaming down your face, “I cannot, I will not! You will make it Sandor, you have to make it!”

“Do not waste your efforts on me, Y/N. You have your whole life yet to live. You have dreams that are yet to be fulfilled. Go fulfill them, love.” 

“They have been fulfilled, daft idiot!” you yelled, grasping his face tightly between your hands, “You have fulfilled them. My dreams lie with you… they only exist because you do. And if you die-” a sob choking up your words, “My dreams die with you, my life dies with you, I will continue as a lifeless body, waiting for my fate so my soul may return to yours!” You stood up suddenly full with emotion chest heaving with distraught, “So you have to try, Sandor, you have to. If not for yourself, try for me, fight for me, live for me.” “Alright my love, alright! I yield for you.” Those were the only words he could muster, overwhelmed by your pleas and confessions. 

Indeed he did yield, over the following weeks he let you pester over every little thing. 

You cooked tirelessly to infuse bone broth with meat still left on the bone, more vegetables than Sandor would have preferred but still swallowed when you lifted it to his lips. 

You cleaned his wounds, stitched the larger gashes closed wincing every time you pierced his skin, applied salve and bandaged every little knick you could find. All while he stared wordlessly ahead not uttering a single complaint. 

When the sun set you demanded he rested whether he claimed he was rested or not, guiding his head to rest on your thick thighs while you stroked his hair, his scars, and his cheeks till his breath evened out. 

He let you remove his torn and bloody clothes, sitting perfectly still as you used a spare cloth to remove as much of the grime and dried blood as you could before dressing him in clean clothes once more. 

He even conceded to let you wash his hair, leaning back against a rock, head hanging off the edge as you poured water over his crown, eyes fluttering closed as you threaded your fingers through his hair combing knots out of his hair and cleansing his scalp of any filth that darken his locks further. 

It was because of you that a few short weeks later he was back on his feet sitting in an old tavern drinking mead in the warmth radiating from the fire in the hearth, looking more alive then he did before his battle and his fall. 

And you were glowing under the golden hues beaming across the room from the dancing flames. A small but radiating smile of content graces your features as you quietly sit beside him sipping from your mug as you watch the townspeople, talk and laugh and be merry. 

Feeling his gaze bore into the side of your face, you turned to Sandor, “Well, now that you are better, what do you wish to see or do, hon?” 

A pregnant pause laid over the pair of you causing you to wonder if you spoke loud enough over the cheers and conversations surrounding you. 

Finally his deep voice reached your ears, “I intend to show you my gratitude for your grace and patience. Then when I am satisfied with my performance, I am going to follow you till you find your paradise and once you do I will build you a house.” 

You dropped your jaw in shock at his blunt confession. This did not deter him from rising to his feet, swinging his leg around the bench and clasping his hand over your wrist and urging you to follow him to the room you both paid for upstairs. 

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃     ❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

After following you into the small room, he latched the door shut and moved to stand before you, eyes searching for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. 

When he found none, he slid one large muscled arm around your waist and pulled you against his chest, the other hand moving to cup the back of your neck angling your face towards him. 

Your breath hitched as he moved so his lips were only a few inches away from yours before he paused, “Do you wish for this? May I continue?” 

Instantly, you pushed onto your toes and closed the distance pressing your lips firmly against his as a response. 

This pulled a grunt of surprise from the man, but his surprise did not keep him from returning the kiss feverishly. 

Lips glide against lips, and you move your hands up his sides to rest against his firm, broad chest. 

The hand clasped against your neck moving to thread through the locks of hair and the base of your skull before tugging lightly to better angle your mouth to his. 

You gasp toward the sensation, Sandor using the opportunity to poke his tongue out and trace each of your lips before messaging against yours. 

With a groan, his hands left their respective places to slide against the back of your thighs before gripping the fat as he hoisted you effortlessly into his arms. 

You swing each of your legs around his thick waist in response, and your arms encircling his neck resting your biceps onto his shoulders and you press your lips harder into his. 

With a few large strides, Sandor crossed the room before resting your back gently onto the bed. 

You were too distracted by the feel of his body to unwrap yourself from him, causing a deep resounding chuckle to vibrate in his chest before cupping your face and pulling his lips from yours. 

You whine at the loss of contact trying to follow his lips, but he pulled his head too far out of your reach. 

“I know, my love,” He assured as he brushed strands from your face to rest along with the rest of your hair splayed out around your head like a crown. “Let me take care of you, as you did for me. Let me praise and worship you, so that you may know what I have to offer and what you shall receive for the rest of your life. Will you honor me with this, please love, let me do this for you.” He pleaded, causing the butterflies to dance around your stomach before fluttering their way to your core, lighting a fire to accompany the warmth already starting to pool in between your thighs. 

“Please Sandor, god yes please.” the words barely left your lips before he crashed to his knees pulling your hips towards the edge of the bed till the cups of your ass kissed the end of the mattress. 

He splayed his hands across your hip bones, as he looked at you with a questioning gaze. 

After you consented with a nod, he quickly pulled the laces of your pants from their ties and slid the form fitting fabric down your thighs and off your legs before launching the article across the room with haste. 

“Lift your arms, I will see all of you as I worship you for this blessed first time, darling.” he commanded, to which you happily obliged, arching your back and raising your hands above your head. He removed the tunic and tossed it in the same fashion as your pants, before sweeping his gaze across every inch of your skin. 

His large and warm hands gliding to your supple soft breasts tracing the curve they produced before squeezing the mounds into his palms relishing in the whimper you gave him in response followed by a soft “Please!”. 

“I know what you need my love, just have a little patience for me,” he urged, taking your hard nipples in between his thumb and pointer finger beginning to roll and pinch them earning him a louder whine as you pushed your chest further into his grasp. 

He dipped his lips to your left breast, poking his tongue out to swirl against the perky bud, teasing you a little before, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking while twirling and lapping at your peak with a little more pressure. 

You mewled in pressure, the menstruations shooting straight to your core causing your hips to search Sandor’s in a desperate attempt to find some friction. “More!” you begged him as he released your boob with a pop before repeating the same treatment to the right, his hand coming to replace his mouth on your left tit. 

Once he was satisfied with his treatment he pulled back to look at his work. Your chest heaving as your breasts glistened from the coating of his saliva. “You are exquisite, Y/N.” he murmured against your skin as he placed hot open mouthed kisses down a path on your stomach. “I think, I’ll have to make you mine, don’t you think? All mine, all for me and no one else. Yes, and if they tried to take you from me I will cut them down where they stand and lay you down and fuck you in their blood.” He placed one last kiss on your skin, his bottom lip brushing against the soft curls at the top of your mound. He lifted his gaze to your eyes where you were watching him, lust and need swirling around the pools of your irises. “Don’t you think that is fair love. You want that?” 

“Yes, Sandor, please” you crooned for him. “Please!” you pleaded once more. 

“Please what, my love? Tell me and I shall do it for you.” He knew what you were asking but wanted to bask in hearing your words grace his ears for the first time. 

“Please touch me!” You cried. “But I have touched your love, is it not enough? Where do you need my touch, darling?” Sandor began tracing little patterns on the inside of your thighs testing your patience, skirting close to your folds before shying away. 

“I need your fingers or your mouth! I need them inside please, I need you inside!” tears started to well up in your pretty eyes causing Sandor to give in and stop his teasing. 

Torturously slow he spread your thighs, watching as strings of your arousal stretched between your wet folds. This sight alone caused Sandor to let out a deep guttural groan, his cock swelling against the seams of his trousers. But he paid no mind instead choosing to inch closer to your puffy pussy, close enough for you to feel his hot breath fanning against your aroused core. 

“Look at you! Isn’t she such a pretty perfect little pussy? Is this all for me, my love?” 

“Yes, for you! All for you!” You answered by lifting your hips in hopes of relief. 

“Thank you for this wonderful gift, lovely, I’m going to have to give it a taste.” With that he pulled your folds apart even further and took on lip into his mouth sucking as much of your arousal as he could before doing the same to the opposite fold, before gliding the flat surface of his tongue from your entrance to your seam causing a delish scrap against your clit. 

You threw your head back as you moaned loud for him, hands moving to grip his brown tresses. Spurred on by your noises, Sandor began prodding, sucking and licking at your swollen little bud trying to coax as much of your arousal as possible. Seemingly satisfied, he dragged one of his thick fingers through your fold before knocking it against the opening of your entrance. 

All at once he pulled your pearl into his mouth beginning to suck lewdly at it while he slid his finger into your wet cunt. 

“Sandorrr!” You moaned, shocked by the intensity of the sensations trying to rock your pelvis into his mouth, only to be stopped and pinned to the mattress by his free arm. 

“I got you love, let me have you.” he coaxed releasing your bud to give it a kiss before returning to alternating between licking and sucking on your bud working hard to coax your first orgasm for him. 

As you began climbing towards your peak he added another finger along with the first, giving you a delicious burn to the pleasure you were feeling that sent your reeling. A spew of moans and whimpers falling from your lips as Sandor set a rhythm between his mouth and fingers. 

“I gotta stretch you open, darling, I’m a big man. You gotta cum for me first if you want my cock love.”

Chants of his name in broken high pitched whimpers were given to him in response as you hurled up towards your release thighs clenching deliciously and core winding that knot impossibly tight. 

Sensing you were getting close, Sandor curled his fingers up into your cunt finding and massaging that gooey spot inside you with each thrust, causing you to reel and thrash against the bed. 

Finally, the cord inside you snapped as you tipped over the edge, your orgasm washing over you, Sandors name being the only thought and words in your brain and leaving your lips and you rode out your high. 

“God, you are squeezing me so tight, love. How is my cock going to fit in such a tight little cunt?” Sandor groaned, still slowly pumping his fingers aiding in milking you of orgasm for all it would give him before he slid them out of you with a loud squelching noise. 

You laid there trying to catch your breath as you watched in shock as he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean before dropping them. 

Chuckling as he saw your surprised expression he told you, “You taste divine, darling, I will never let such a sweet nectar go to waste, I promise you.” 

Rising from his knees, he tore off his shirt and hastily untied his pants before shucking them down his legs. 

This caused his cock to spring from its confinements and slap against his stomach allowing you to get a glimpse of him. 

You gulped nervously. You knew he had to be larger than the average man just like the rest of him. But knowing it and actually seeing him in front of you were two completely separate things. 

Sensing your apprehension, he stroked your cheek lovingly. “I won’t deny that there will be some discomfort initially, but you have all my patience and more and I will go slow. You are in control and we can stop anytime it becomes too much, alright my love?” 

“Thank you,” you whispered, nerves fading slightly. 

He stroked himself a few times before sliding his dick against your folds collecting all the arousal you were willing to give him, making sure to tap your clit lightly a few times before lining himself up with your entrance. 

Sandor looked down at you and once you gave him a nod he slowly began sliding the tip inside your entrance. 

Although it was just his tip, the stretch was immense causing you to hiss at the filling and clutch your biceps. 

Sandor paused there for a moment, until you seemed okay and pushed in a little more. 

Finally after repeating the pattern a few more times, you looked down as he rested inside you while you grew adjusted to see that he was only about half way. 

“I’m going to push in all the way now, love. It will probably be easier for you, I need you to try and relax for me.You are clenching me so tight.” He groaned into your neck as he used all his strength not to just drill himself into you. 

You did your best to relax as he slid the rest in before he finally kissed your cervix with his mushroom tip.

“Take your time and adjust to love, let me know when you are ready.” 

After several moments, you whispered, “I’m okay, please move.” 

Placing both of his hands beside your head Sandor slowly dragged his cock out of you just a bit before sliding back. Repeating the slow rhythm a few times more for himself than it was for you. 

Soon you grew impatient and pressed your hips towards his before whining “More, Sandor, give me more! I need more!” 

This seemed to light something inside of the man because he then began picking up speed, his hips snapping against yours. Everytime he was fully seated inside you the roll of his hips brushed the wisps of hair at the base of his cock against your clit, sending you reeling with pleasure. 

Far too soon you felt the onset of your second orgasm, “Sandor, I’m close,” you warned before whining another “Please,” not entirely sure what you were begging him for. “So am I love, come for me, come with me. We will do it together.” he groaned from his place by your ear, his hips snapping as he started thrusting with a bit more force. He reached between your bodies and started thumbing your clit, causing your orgasm to crash over you with a moan, walls spasming around his length coaxing his orgasm, which he gave to you almost instantly. His hips sputtered as he tried to maintain his rhythm as he shot thick long ropes of cum into your gummy center filling you up. After a few more thrusts, he stilled inside you as he took a moment to collect himself and catch his breath. 

A few minutes later, he raised himself up onto his elbows and looked into your eyes, “Did I hurt you, my love? Are you alright?” 

“No, I am quite wonderful actually,” you huffed with a laugh. 

“Good, I am pleased to hear it. You look so beautiful like this.” He supplied before leaning down to capture your lips once more. 

Once you separated he slipped out of you and rolled over, pulling you to rest your head onto his chest while he twirled strands of your hair around your fingers. 

You looked up at him, causing him to meet your gaze.

“I love you, Sandor,” you told him, pressing a kiss to his chest. 

“I have loved you since we rode together from Winterfell.” He admitted to you before clasping one of your small hands into his own. “Marry me,Y/N. Become my wife, let me father your children, and build your  home. Let me cut down the wood for your fires, and always be there to eat the food you cook. It is what I have always wanted, please let it be me.” 

“It was always you, silly goose, from the moment that little prick asked me what I dreamed of, I will happily marry you, always.” 

Filled with excitement, Sandor sat up and thrusted you back in once more for a bruisingly sweet kiss. 

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃     ❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃ 

Many years later, you realized you fulfilled your dream. 

Shortly after that night you and Sandor quickly got married. 

It was a short ceremony, no one you knew was there. Just you and Sandor and some random townsperson, Sandor gave a few coins to marry you two. 

Afterwards you set off to find the perfect place to build your house, and eventually you did. 

Some many miles away from any other people, there was a quaint little meadow on top of a hill, with a little lake laying at the bottom. 

And so Sandor got to work building a house to your exact specifications. Lots of windows, a porch so you could read and watch the kids play. A good size kitchen and a cozy fire next to the table. A modest bedroom for the two of you to share and a few extra rooms for the potential for future kids. It wasn’t the grandest of buildings nor was it the most humble, but it was yours and you love it. 

Shortly after the completion of the house, you found a pair of dogs completely different from one another in breed. One was big and mean looking although it was a huge sweetie, which Sandor claimed and named Reaper. 

Meanwhile your companion was a fluffy pointy eared little ball of energy in which you named Nylah. 

After a few years you finally became pregnant and gave birth to a daughter you named Aurora, and following your oldest you gave Sandor two more daughters Odessa and Hadleigh. 

Although Sandor did not picture himself a father he certainly did not anticipate being a father to three daughters, but alas they were the perfect gifts. 

And you never cease to find a kick out of watching the large beast that was your husband gruffly oblige almost instantly to your little girl's wishes for little fairy houses or play kitchens. Always caving into spoiling his little girls and never refusing a chance to join their tea parties or play family. 

Eventually you gave birth to a set of twins in which you decided would be your last. This time the twins are both boys, Cristen and Harper. 

At first, Sandor was petrified at the prospect of two sons, fearing he would raise them wrong and them growing in contempt like himself and his brother. 

But as both the boys grew, he quickly realized his father’s faults and recognized his boys’ differences and did his best to cultivate their strengths. 

You were given the perfect little life by Sandor and in return you gave him more love than he even deserved, surrounded by their beautiful childrens with a life you built with your own hands. Sandor will be eternally indebted to you and vowed to love you deservingly for all the days you had with him. 

[summervale]

「Merriment」

Third-person reader insert! Y/N is the younger sister of King Robert Baratheon. Her house sigil is a stag, yes, but it seems she has a particular fondness for hounds.

Contains: Reluctant pining, kissing, mature situations Words:  2,311

UNFINISHED WORK: This was supposed to be a long, multi-part piece which is why it takes so long setting up! This was part one and is about halfway finished. Figured there's a lot of Sandor fans that might enjoy a small something cute <3

No husband and no responsibilities made for a very happy woman indeed. Small wonder she was all smiles and riddles and gayeties; she must, the commonfolk thought, be the happiest woman in all the seven kingdoms.

This was likely true.

She was forever laughing. There was a smile on her face always, it seemed, and everywhere she went she took merriment with her. Her ladyship took great pleasure in riddles and games and shows of mummers and fools, and King’s Landing had not hosted a tourney that did not have her there in the pavilions in many a year. She was a friend to all regardless of birth or station or reputation (within reason), and for this she was quite loved, but also quite resented. The resentment was paid little mind—turning a blind eye and smiling was much more fun, as it was often irksome to those who were loth to favor her.

Y/N Baratheon. Lady of Storm’s End, younger sister to Stannis and Robert, older sister to Renly. She possessed the same appetite for amity as Robert coupled with the mirth and grandeur of Renly. Of Stannis, it was said, they shared only a name. Still she insisted she adored all her brothers equally, “even the gloomy one.”

Much was afoot in King’s Landing.

King Robert had named Lord Eddard Stark new hand of the king, and Stark had arrived with a host of his own and his two daughters in tow. This was cause for celebration, and celebration was cause for a tourney, and where there was a tourney (or a celebration), Lady Y/N was to be found.

And she was found in King’s Landing quite a lot, of recent.

There was a rumor, often dubbed a vicious and untrue one, that though her house sigil may be the King's own stag, Y/N had a particular fondness for hounds.

The sun was two hours from setting when a host of black and yellow arrived at The King's Gate. In came banners that bore stags, and a spate of wagons bringing wines and cheeses and polished pears from Storm’s End. An impatient rider rode ahead of the rest, leaving behind a cry of protest as she thundered away, alone, up the streets of King’s Landing.

She arrived with a well-lathered horse and a swirl of her cloak. A party had time to gather in the yard of the Red Keep; a paltry welcoming committee with little time to prepare.

But the King was there—of course the King was there.

Had she not already been grinning, she would have grinned. “There’s my favorite brother,” said Y/N, dismounting and already forgetting her palfrey.

The look on Robert’s face was strange, though, and uncharacteristic of the Robert she knew and loved. The years had not been kind to him (as was made most evident by his growing waistline), and his face was stern, drawn into a scowl, his brow furrowed.

Is he not happy to see me? she thought even through her smiles and excitement. Gods, he looks as grim as Stannis, maybe twice as much. When she made to throw her arms about his neck, he took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length instead.

“That’s your grace to you, woman. I am the King, or have you forgotten?”

The King’s sister opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, which was done dumbly and not unlike a fish.

The ruse was short-lived.

Robert Baratheon—King Robert Baratheon—broke into a roar of laughter like that of a bear made human. Still holding his dearest sister by the shoulders, he gave her a hearty shake. “Your face!” he boomed. “You should have seen it!”

Her smile returned, then her laughter. “You’re a fool if ever there was one, Robert!”  She threw her arms around his neck even as he shook her, and the big king lifted his little sister in his arms and hugged her so tightly, so fiercely, that the now-arriving party feared the king may crush their lady.

Robert didn’t crush Y/N, though. No, they were both used to it. “You’re crushing me, Robert,” she huffed at last, prompting the king to drop her back down onto the ground.

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Right then, let’s get inside. We have much and more to catch up on, and there’s a flagon of wine calling my name.”

“Every flagon of wine calls your name, your grace.”

The King was laughing again, then, and the King’s sister was smiling.

That, as far as the two Baratheons were concerned, was the way it always had been, and the way it always would be, until one buried the other.

Meeting the King’s party was a grand ordeal, though Y/N had already met most of the partygoers in attendance on at least one occasion. Of course she knew the Lannisters, her brother’s family by law, and she’d met Lord Eddard Stark once before. Lord Eddard’s daughters were new to her, however, and a few of the faces at court as well. Having been taught well, she recognized most of the family names and colors, smiling and shaking hands and doing all the formalities a lady should do.

The occupants of the Red Keep’s great hall that night came from houses big and small, known and unknown, and saw the attendance of lords and ladies, knights, hedge knights, bards, poets and singers, fools in their motley and mummers with their painted faces. There were cards being shuffled and dice being thrown. Serving girls brought plate after plate of selections from the kitchens: stuffed capons, wine-glazed lamb, honeyed figs, dark breads with thick crusts, sweet lemon cakes still-warm from the ovens. The courses seemed never-ending and the wine never stopped flowing.

“Never was there such a party before, brother,” declared Y/N. She lifted a gilded goblet with a flourish, and rich, purple wine splashed over the rim and down her hand. She was the picture of effortless joy.

And she knew it, too.

If she hadn’t known it, the guests would have reminded her; the way they flocked to her in throngs and yammered on and on whenever she should happen to lend an ear—which was often. Round and round she circled the crowd as the evening wore on and the wine continued to flow, searching the room for a familiar face—a face that would stand out even in the most crowded of rooms.

Her gaze passed the lords and ladies, passed the knights in their polished armor, until at last she found her mark.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, stood near the far wall, obscured halfway in the shadows. His face was grim, as it usually was, pulled tightly into a scowl that had long since worn its lines permanently into his features. The burn scars that marred half his face were highlighted by the flickering torchlight, giving him an even more fearsome appearance.

She knew Sandor was not like the other knights, not like the men who fawned over ladies with flowery words and grand gestures. He was rough, blunt, and often downright rude.

He was the perfect change of pace.

Oft she sought him when at last she could take the rinse-and-repeat of perfumed nobility no longer. She wove through the crowd with ease, exchanging smiles and nods as she passed, until she finally stood before Sandor.

"Sandor," she greeted him plainly. “It’s been too long.”

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For an overly long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a grunt, he inclined his head slightly. "My lady," he replied, his voice as rough as the gravel on the King’s Road.

Y/N smiled up at him, unfazed by his gruffness. "Why do you stand here all alone?" she asked, her tone teasing. "Surely even hounds deserve a bit of merriment."

Sandor huffed, a sound that could have been a laugh if it had come from anyone else. "Merriment’s for fools," he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“Forgive me, then, for it seems I’ve forgotten my motley.”

“So it seems.”

She knew he was not a man of many words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But she also knew that, for reasons she could not fully explain, she had become someone he tolerated more than most.

Perhaps it was a royal decree by Robert unbeknownst to her. And what a royal decree that would be! The thought made her laugh aloud, which only earned her a raised eyebrow in response.

He indicated the floor from which she’d just come. "Motely or not, you should jingle along with the other fools,” he said, though his tone was less stern than usual.

"And you should be out there with your fellow dogs," said she, “but here we are."

Sandor's lips twitched as if they might have remembered how to smile for half a moment. “Surprised you’re not dancing again. It went well for you last time.”

With one sentence he had broken the façade she wore so well. Her look of smug mirth disappeared from her face in an instant and was replaced instead by one of flustered surprise.

It had been a celebration much like this one and she was deep in her cups by the time the sun had set and the dancing had begun. Y/N had been at the heart of it, twirling and dancing with little care, passing hand from one lord to another, from knight to knight, breathless and flushed and shoes long forgotten.

The next thing she knew, she was stumbling, and a moment later, toppling entirely. The ground rose up to meet her with an unpleasant wack!, and the pain in her cheek was overshadowed only by a pain in her ankle. She’d gotten too carried away and twisted something, it seemed, and hadn’t even felt it until she was picking herself back up off the ground.

Or, well, trying to pick herself back up off the ground. The usual cloud of courtiers buzzed around her in an attempt to see her upright again, but the pain in her ankle swelled red hot and angry.

A shadow passed, then, and she had looked up, her vision slightly blurred from the wine, to see Sandor Clegane’s gruff face above her. There had been no mocking grin or cold stare, just a look that might have been concern on a more expressive man. “You’re alright.”

Without another word, he had scooped her up in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all.

Y/N had gasped, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. "I can walk!" she had protested, though she hadn’t made any real effort to leave his arms.

 "Not on that ankle you can’t.”

And so she had let him carry her, through the bustling hall and up the winding stairs of the Red Keep, all the way to her chambers. It had been awkward, but it had also been…

More.

“You’re quite strong,” she said to him, which earned only a grunt of acknowledgement.

Something—something—fluttered inside of her when she saw him so close; the burned skin unevenly healed, the scruff that dusted his face, the muscle of his neck that disappeared beneath his armor where her prying eyes could not follow—but her imagination could. 

When they reached her chambers, he had set her down gently on the edge of her bed. She had looked up at him, her heart pounding in a way that had little to do with the wine. As he made to release her, she caught the back of his neck with her hand and held him there, inches from her face.

She’d expected him to break free, to pull away, to do anything else. But he stayed.

He stayed there like that, his lips inches from hers.

He had hesitated, his expression torn between wanting to leave and the pull of something deeper that they both felt there between them. They both smelled of wine and honeyed mead, lips sweet.

She didn’t know who kissed who, but in half a heartbeat they were entangled.

Sandor’s breath came ragged against her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She bit his lip and he growled. It was fast, animal, raw want.

And a longtime coming.

When he pulled away, she pulled him back in again, and he didn’t fight her. Breathless, she’d pulled herself up by his shoulders and onto her knees, the pain in her ankle unfelt and forgotten. Her hands cupped his face and she pulled him in, in, in, until her chest was flush with his and she could feel every rise and fall of his on hers.

At last he’d taken her by the elbows and pushed her away, and it ended as suddenly as it had started.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he told her.

“But I haven’t had enough of you.”

“You’ve had your fill of that, too,” he said, turning cloak and leaving.

“I’m quite certain I haven’t had my fill of you.”

He paused mid-step and looked at her over his shoulder. “You don’t want that,” he assured her. There was something dangerous in his eyes, something sharp as steel and burning hot.

Y/N leaned back on the bed. “I know what I want,” she said, wishing she could stand and go to him, to pull him by his cloak and his armor and whatever else she could get her hands on—something lower than his beltline. “I’ve known for years and years.”

Slowly, deliberately, Sandor crossed the room again, silhouetted against the warm torchlight that poured in through the still-open door. “Trust me,” he said, towering over her, leaning in close. “You might want to get your fill of me, but you don’t want me to get my fill of you.”

Her breath left her body in a shuddering shiver.

Again he had turned, then, and didn’t stop to look back at her that time.

[justagirlwholikesadam]

Sandor's Secret

Sandor Clegane x Fem! Reader

Summary: Sandor has a secret hidden away from everyone.

A/n: I should be writing The Wolf Among Men but I can't. Once i have an idea, I need to let it out. This is one of them. I do hope you enjoy and remember please comment. I read all the comments and it makes me so happy and gives me the boost to keep writing. ENJOY! - L

WARNING: NFSW, we are fucking, whore, Sandor likes it dirty, Hidden away from everyone, mention of abuse but not from Sandor. Border Credit: @black-dread

Word Count: 3.4K

Sandor has a secret, he’s been having it for a few years now. No one knew about it and he tends to keep it that way but the ones who were too nosy...there were taken care, of course. 

No one will ever take you away from him. 

Sandor has too many enemies in King’s Landing because of his brother’s wicked ways. His brother, Gregor had enemies throughout the seven kingdoms and most of the time Sandor will be the one suffering the consequences. Enemies usually thought that they could fight or hurt Gregor’s little brother to get back at him, but at the end of every fight the enemy is lying cold on the ground with their throat split open or a sword rammed into their stomach. That's why he has hidden you. 

His shift taking care of the king’s bastard ended and he was walking to his small home. He lived a few miles away from King’s Landing. He had declined the housing that the king provided him in the castle. He didn't want it. He liked his privacy, was what he said. Making it home, he walked Stranger to the small stable near the house. Making sure the horse was fed and had fresh water, he shut the stable door before walking to the house. He stood in front of the wooden door and knocked five times and jiggled the knob. This was a sign he came up to make it known it was him outside. 

A few seconds later, the door opened and he was pleased at the sight in front of him. 

He walks in before you can jump in his arm. This was something he had gotten used to and he loves it how you greet him like this after a hard day taking care of the spoiled brat. You didn't mind the blood or the sweat on him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You kissed him on the lips. He puts you down and you immediately start to help him remove his armor. Sandor can smell the stew warming on the fire as he sits on the chair near the dining table. You knelt down in front of him and began to unlace his boots. 

“Don’t gotta-” 

“Hush.” You cut him off with a smile. You had this conversation with him many times before. He told you he didn't expect any special treatment since he bought you. You would shake your head and tell him it’s something you are willing to do just like you're willing to continue to sleep and live with him. 

You were fresh off the boat when you came to King's Landing. No family and no money, there was the only thing to do. Sell your body. Little Finger inspected your body, lifting your arms and touching your breasts. He looked pleased when he grabbed a handful of your ass and sent you to an empty room. That night Little Finger had told the girls, the King's guards would be coming after a successful hunting trip and the whorehouse started to prepare for their paying guests. 

Guards came in and you can hear their laughter and hollering as they picked their woman of the night to keep them warm. The whispers came when you saw the largest and tallest man you have ever seen walk in. You had no idea who this man was but everyone froze for a minute before turning away from him. 

“Looking for a girl.” He told Little Finger. The smaller man gave him a smile and spoke to him in a low tone. You looked down at the ground when you heard the words, fresh and unused. The tall man handed him a few coins. Little Finger called out for you and the ladies gave you a pity look as you walked towards him. 

“This is her, Sandor. Easy on the eyes. She just came in. No one has touched her.” You grew the courage to look up at the tall man called Sandor. You realized why everyone was whispering. Half of his face was disfigured, burn.

“Hello, Sandor.” His brown eyes softened for a moment when you greeted him. 

“Go on, take good care of the prince’s guard.” You nodded and without a single thought you grabbed one of his large hands. You looked up at him when you felt him tensed up but he quickly relaxed when you began to walk with him to your room. You kept ignoring the stares from the girls and the other guards as you continued to hold his hand. You wondered why everyone was making such a big deal about it. There were men and women with facial scars, it was nothing new to you. 

You grew worried as you began to think more about it. What if he was aggressive? Mean? What if it gave him pleasure in harming the woman he slept with? 

Opening the door for him, he continued to stare at you closely. 

“Is something wrong, Ser?” You asked as he walked inside and sat on the edge of the bed after removing his sword. His eyes are still on you as you shut the door.

“I'm not a Ser. Not a knight.” He huffed out as he leaned his sword on the bed frame. “I see.” You told him before slowly walking towards him. “You are new around here? He asked. 

“I am. Is it that obvious?” You said as you kneel down to help him unlace his large boots. 

“You don't know me?” He asked as you began to remove his boot and quickly started working on the other. You shook your head at him and looked up to meet his gaze. 

“I'm sorry, I don't but from what Little Finger said you're the Prince’s guard so you must be very important. I hope I can meet your satisfaction, Sandor. I’m new at bei..” Your words came into a halt when you looked away. 

“Being a whore.” He finished your sentence. You nodded at him as you took his other boot off. 

You were about to stand up when he raised his hand. “Stay down.” You obeyed and looked ahead, you grew red when you were staring between his legs. He spread his legs and you saw the outline of his bulge. He leans forward and his hand goes under your chin, making you look up at his face. He looked so confused when he saw no fear in your eyes.

Insecurity started to brew deep in your chest and you began to thought. Were you not up to his standards? He must have many beautiful women thrown at him because of who he is and who he works for. 

“Sandor, I know I’m new but I swear I will be good. I don't wish to anger Little Finger. I fear he may kick me out.” You blurted out to him. You feel him touch your cheek and your hair. With his index finger under your chin, his thumb begins to trace your bottom lip. He pulled your bottom lip and you opened your mouth letting him put his thick thumb in your mouth. Closing your mouth, you began to suck on his thumb. 

Sandor sat up straight in his seat when you brought him a bowl of stew and a plate of fresh bread. He nodded at thanks to you and began to eat quickly. He was starving and the woman in the kitchen of the castle doesn't know how to make food taste good like you. He looks across the table to see you sitting down with your own bowl. He found himself glad, he never would have thought he would be living with a woman. He thought he would end up alone for the rest of his life. Now he has a beautiful woman living with him, cooking for him, treating him like a person and keeping him warm. 

He found himself thinking about that night, he met you. Sleeping with you was something he never experienced. Perhaps it was because you were so kind to him, you didn't flinch when you stared at his face. You were an eager thing to please and he loved it. Sandor knew his fate was sealed when you kissed him at the doorway the morning after. You didn't have too, he told you but you simply told him. You wanted to and if it was alright to kiss him again. He leaned down to meet you lips and kissed you hard that it left you breathless as he walked out of the whore house. He came back a week later, he couldn't stay away from you for too long. You and your sweet cunt occupied his mind. When he asked for you, Little Finger’s second in command gave him a small frown. 

“Half off. Some animal hit her.” Sandor gave her a face but nodded, giving her the payment. 

He walks to your room and the door is half open. He looked inside of your room, you're sitting on the edge of the bed. You felt his presence and looked at the door. Rage engulfs him completely when he sees you with a black eye and the side of your face is bruised. 

“Sandor.” The way you said his name made snap back into reality and he quickly walked away. 

Sandor finished his bowl before you, he got up to grab the pitcher of ale. He notices it’s almost empty and gets up to refill. He sees you’re about to get up from your seat to do it. 

“It’s fine.” He tells you softly, pushing you back down on your seat. “Finish eating.” He tells you and gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. 

He turns back to the table when he finishes and refills your cup as well before sitting back down on his seat with a sigh. Today was a hard day, he's tired on his feet. You noticed it when you finished your bowl. You tell him, you’ll heat his bath water. You're about to grab his bowl as well when he grabs your wrist, pulling you towards him gently. He knows he's strong and the last thing he ever wants is to hurt you. He can't hurt you, you're his. He'll die before hurting you. Taking the bowls from your hands, he places it back on the table. 

Sitting on his lap, you wrap an arm around his neck. You're blushing at his gaze. Sandor staring at you was something you always blushed at. He stared intensely and it made you wet. No words need to be said because both of you knew what each other wanted. Cupping his cheek, you feel his scars under your touch. You liked the touch of it since the first time you laid with him and you still loved it even after he took you away from the whorehouse. 

Sandor returned a few minutes later with a maester. He stood at the corner of the room while the maester looked at your eye and your face. You wondered how Sandor knew that Little Finger hadn't even offered to get you looked at. When the maester was gone, Sandor walked towards you. 

“Get your belongings, girl. We are leaving.” 

Sandor is the one to pull you in for a kiss. He tasted like ale and the stew, he was so warm as well. He tightens his hold around you as you open your mouth, his tongue slips inside of your mouth and you can't help but moan. His arm around you, his other hand goes between your legs. He groans as he pushes the hem of your dress up so he can touch your bare skin, your bare cunt. He groans once more in your mouth when he feels your lips, he spreads them with his fingers to touch your clit. You pull away from his lips to cry out as his fat thumb circles around it. He nips and kisses the side of your neck enjoying the whimpering coming from your mouth. 

 “I think about this cunt all the time. I smelt it all day on my mustache.” The thought of your nectar on him all day made you blush. He woke you up this morning at dawn with his head between your legs.

“Sandor.” You whispered his name. He looks at you, waiting for you to continue. 

“Can I suck your cock? Please.” He nods as his eyes twinkled with excitement. You slide down from his lap and kneel between his legs. He stares down at you as your hands unlaced his trousers. Licking your lips when you pull out his cock. It feels heavy and hot in your hand. You bring your other hand to get a better hold of it. 

Sandor starts to breathe heavily as you lick his head, humming as you tasted his salty pre-cum. 

“Fuck.” He whispered under his breath when you spit on his cock, he felt a blob of spit run down his shaft. Your hands are jerking him as you start to suck him off. You moaned as his cock stretches your mouth wide as you try to take him all in. 

Sandor brings a hand behind your head, grasping your hair as you start to gag on his fat cock. 

“Shit-t. Yes, just like that.” He huffs out when feels your hand cupping his balls over the trouser. Sandor throws his head back when his cock reaches the back of your throat. 

His praise only makes you suck him harder, your jaw starts to ache but it’s worth it. Seeing this giant man turn into putty because of your mouth was everything to you. Breathing through your nose you reach all the way to the end. Sandor moans when he feels your nose touch his pubic bone.  

Sandor pulls you away and you gasp when you feel him sliding out. Tongue out, breathing harshly for air and eyes filled with tears, you look up at him. 

“Come here.” He tells you and helps you up. You lean against him as he kisses you. He kisses your cheeks frantically as you try to catch your breath. 

“Bed.” He nods at you as he stands up removing his clothes.

He feels like his nickname, a hound staring at you. His nose is tingling as he watches prey, you undress. You had looked over your shoulder and blushed when you met his face. He’s ready to pounce, ready to sink his teeth on the only good thing he has in his life. 

“Everything okay?” He watched you walk over towards him when you were done. He wanted to purr when he felt your hand rub his stomach all the way up to his chest. You were biting your lips when you touched his thick dark hairs on his body. His chest was hard and you can feel the old heal scars splatter on his chest. 

Sandor just nods. He doesn’t answer. Cat got his tongue when he feels you touch his cock with one hand. You let out a surprise yelp when he grabbed you by the chin making you look up at him as he kissed you. He kissed you so messy and passionately, he nips your lips and consume you. When your legs start to wobble from being on your tippy toes, you pull away from him. He gives a mad huff and pushes you gently on the bed. 

You push yourself to the middle of the bed, opening your arms for him as he gets between your legs. You wince from the sudden movement. Sandor is a big man, his waist is wide. When he’s on you, he completely covers you under his frame. 

“Fuck.” He moans when his lips start to attack your chest. He pinches your nipples making you cry out, he drowns you out with his kisses. 

“Tell me? How? Now?” He says as he licks the valley of your breasts down to your navel making you squeal. He pulls away for you to move. 

“Like the first time.” You mumbled turning around with your ass in the air. You earn yourself a slap on the ass, it makes you quiver. You let out a moan when he gets behind you, a heavy hand on your shoulder while the other rests on your hip. 

“You came all over my cock the first time, remember?” You nod at him, shoving your face in the pillow so he didn’t have to see your blushing face. 

“Milked me dry, girl. Took all my cum deep inside of you.” Sandor says as he brings his hand from your hip down to your ass. He squeezes it, pulling a cheek to the side to see your waiting holes. He’s not surprised when he feels your pussy dripping wet. He growls because of it and cups your mound possessively. A smirk grows on his face when he feels the soft curled hairs on your mound get wet as he spreads your slick all over your mound. 

You cry his name out as he holds you, your wet cunt is throbbing for his cock. 

“Please. Fuck me.” You beg him and his hands goes back to your hip making you arch your back. You feel the hair on his stomach touch your ass as he leans over you, you clenched the pillow under you as you feel the tip of his cock. It’s so hot and big, Sandor’s above you, giving you praises as he splits you open. He even gives your ass a rub when he slowly slides in. 

You gasped when he slid himself to the hilt. You feel him in your tummy, that fat mushroom head is knocking on the door of your cervix and his heavy balls are resting on top of your clit. Sandor holds you down and takes his time so your sweet cunt is used to his size. He feels you clenching around him, he feels you under him moving your ass. 

“Not even going to wait for me.” He tells you when he feels you throwing your ass back softly. 

“It feels so good. I’m so full.” Sandor leans over you making you cry out by how deep he’s getting. He moves the pillow under your chin and he pushes your head to the mattress to the side. 

You gripped the sheets under you as he began to move. Each thrusts you’re crying out, moaning as he fucks you from you behind. You feel your toes curl up when he begins to growl when he grabs your hips and uses you like his personal toy. Moving you up and down on his cock, his hand stays on your face, covering you completely. 

He cages your head behind you as he ruts into you. You’re crying his name and Sandor is loving it because it’s his name you’re calling out, his name coming out those lips he loves so much. He whispers your name behind your head, he kisses the back of your head when he feels your tight cunt pulsing around him. 

“Yes. Yes.” He says as he slips his hand between your legs. “You’re soaked.” 

Sandor helps you get near, he’s about to cum. All day working, stomach filled with delicious stew and cock being milked by you. A perfect ending after a long day. 

“Pleasee.” You cry and Sandor looks down at you, you’re looking over your shoulder and it’s the only time Sandor shows his soft side with you. You only know this side of him. 

“I got you, my pretty girl. Cum for me. Let go.” He tells you before kissing your lips. His fingers rubbing your clit as he fucks you harder. Your mind is fuzzy, your filled to the brim and you can hear him moaning your name on top of you. You can hear skin slapping against one another, his heavy balls slapping your clit making you clench him even harder. He holds you in place when you start to cum on him, on his cock. He feels it, he even lets out a moan of his own. You start to whine, salivating on the sheets when Sandor comes undone. He holds your body, making sure he unloads his cum deep inside of you. 

Sandor watches you as you sleep on his chest, your fingers were in the middle of running through the massive amount of hair on his chest before you knock out completely. He holds you in his arms as he’s deep in thought. He chuckles to himself thinking what would Gregor do if he ever found out how pussy whipped Sandor had become for you. 

He was, he wouldn’t deny it, just count the dead bodies he buried a few miles away. They all had failed to find out what was Sandor’s secret. 

[author-morgan]

Title: A Dove and a Hound Rating: T Pairing: Sandor Clegane x fem!Reader Summary: A little dove with broken wings must save her wounded Hound. Or in which Sandor Clegane finds something sweeter than killing. Word count: ~3.7k Warnings: Injury/blood and typical Westerosi shenanigans.

ARYA STARK LOOKS at the bleak landscape around where they had made camp for the night in the northern Riverlands—almost in the Vale. It’s all craggy with sharp boulders, high patches of land, and hardly any trees. The names roll off her tongue as they do every night. The Mountain, The Hound, Cersei, Illyn Payne, Meryn Trant...she doesn’t make it to the next name after hearing the scraping of boots on rock nearby. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Syrio Forel’s words are burnt into her memory. 

"What’re you going on about now, girl?" The rasp of the Hound's voice makes her jump, and she curses him, looking up at the night sky, watching for shadows when she hears the soft noise again.

“We’re being watched,” she tells him, turning on her bedroll to face the Hound, her hand resting on the hilt of Needle.

His laugh cuts through the air—a rough sound that hurts her ears in a strange way. A man like the Hound should never laugh. "Here, in the middle of fucking nowhere?" His scarred face looks all the more hideous with the light of the fire licking at his skin. "Finish your little list, girl, then go the fuck to sleep." Arya frowns and looks around again at the land but sees nothing but boulders and empty plains, but she knows someone is out there. 

Sandor Clegane won’t admit it, but the Stark girl’s warning is the reason he stays up for over half the night. Then, when he’s certain Arya is asleep, he rises from his bedroll and unsheathes his sword, setting off to search between boulders and in the shadows cast by their dwindling campfire. But there’s nothing there. The Hound moves to return to his bedroll, but that’s when he hears quiet cursing and soft crying. And then he finds a woman huddled between two rocks, trying to nurse an injured leg. 

You see the hulking shadow approach too late to muffle your grunts and groans of pain. “Come any closer and I’ll put a fucking arrow through your eye!” You shout. But Sandor Clegane can see the bow in your hand is broken, even if you try to hold the two wooden pieces together to make it seem whole. Then he sees the broken arrow shaft sticking out of your swollen calf, too—the reason for your caterwauling. 

“With a broken bow and the only arrow you got stuck in your leg?” The Hound asks, laughing. “Pay a couple of hundred silver stags to see that done.” Sandor drives his sword into the dirt and awkwardly kneels near you, looking over the wound. He can feel your eyes on him, gaze nigh burning. But the soft white light of the moon softens the sight of his half-burned face. He looks familiar. Like you’ve seen him in passing somewhere—or maybe on the parchments nailed outside taverns noting bounties and the enemies of the Crown. 

You swallow the knot in your throat and look up at him—you might not be able to place who he is, but you know he’s dangerous, a killer. “Well, go on,” you snap, tears stinging in your eyes. “Kill me and get it over with.”

The Hound recoils as though stung by the words—he knows he’s put a lot of people in the ground, but for some damn reason, he can’t stomach the thought of landing the mercy blow now. You close your eyes and wait—no longer fearing death or pain. But the cold bite of steel never comes. Instead, Sandor Clegane lifts you into his burly arms and heads back toward the dying campfire.

Arya’s surprised when the Hound returns and lets you down to rest against the boulder nearest the fire. The girl’s quick on her feet, bringing a half-filled skin of water, and you greedily drink. "Think I'll end up losing it?" You ask the girl—wiping your mouth with a torn sleeve—a glint of humor shining through as you pat your thigh, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain that shoots down to your calf and makes your toes curl. 

“If you’ve gone this long” —Sandor crouches down and looks closer at your injury— “it’ll take more than an arrow to kill you,” he says. It earns him a dry and humorless laugh with a surprising grimness. Given enough time, he thinks he could come to enjoy the company, but right now, he and Arya Stark are already pressed for time, luck, and coin. Neither of them needs the liability of an injured woman—another mouth to feed—on the path to the Eyrie. Be best to leave her come the morning, he thinks, but now that he’s brought you back here, he knows the Stark girl won’t let that happen.

“May I have your name, good ser?” You finally ask—it only seemed proper to know the name of your white knight.  

Sandor Clegane looks at you, and the firelight paints the tangled and twisted mass of scars on his face red—pocking the flesh with craters and cracks. “Not a fucking knight,” he bites back.

And then you can piece everything together—his brute size, the burned half of his face, the posters scattered around the Riverlands. The rumors people whispered are true then, you think. Joffrey’s dog tucked tail and ran while the Blackwater burned. “You’re The Hound.” He grunts. You glance at the girl staring down at you with wide ice-grey eyes. If he’s the Hound then... “You’re Arya Stark.” The girl nods.

The silence that grows between the three of you is heavy and tense. You shift and grimace again. Then your gaze flits back over to the Hound. “Well, are you going to help me get this arrow out my fucking leg or not?” You ask, not understanding why he hauled you back here if he didn’t mean to do something about your current state. “'Cause if you aren’t, I’d sooner you cut the damn thing off or put me out of my misery.”

Sandor moves to you after that and cuts away the fabric of your britches from the arrow, then calls Arya over to set his dagger in the flames—unwilling to go closer. She does as he says, pushing the blade into the hot coals, but then Arya Stark leaps to her feet when she sees Sandor’s hand grip the shaft of the arrow—like he means to tear it from flesh. She knocks his hand away then pushes back on his shoulder, almost hard enough to knock him off balance from where he sits on his haunches. 

“We can’t just pull it out!” She tells the Hound like it should be obvious. But he’s not the one who grew up with a maester in Winterfell or spent time reading any books.  

“Then how you gone get it out, girl?” He asks, gruff and impatient. You glance between the odd pair, wondering how they haven’t killed one another by now. Arya crouches down and prods the swollen and bloody flesh, then without warning, she grips the arrow shaft and breaks off the fletching. Seven hells, you think, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep a wail of pain at bay, I am going to lose my leg. 

“Push it through,” Arya says, remembering the time she watched Maester Luwin remove an arrow from a hunter's shoulder. The Hound grunts and draws a second, smaller dagger, starting to whittle away at the splintered end of the broken arrow shaft. 

Arya goes to fetch more water and brings back a cloth with her before settling down to watch with wide, curious eyes. Blood starts to seep down your calf around the entry and exit of the arrow shaft from being handled so roughly. Satisfied with his woodwork, the Hound steadies your leg against his trunk and starts to pull on the iron-forged arrowhead. 

You grit your teeth together, fingers digging into the soft earth below, as he begins to ease the wooden shaft through gently and quickly as he can. Arya watches your face twist in pain, but somehow, you don’t cry out. It feels like an eternity. Sandor sets the arrow aside and takes the waterskin from the Stark girl, dumping the cool water over your leg to wash away the blood—there’s a cool but welcome sting.

Sandor tosses the empty skin back to Arya. "More water, girl,” he rasps. 

“Bring wine too,” you insist, and the Hound howls with laughter.

“Seven hells,” Arya remarks. You’re just like him. The girl heads off, then comes back with more water and looks at the open wound on your leg with a scrunched-up nose. 

“Needs to be sealed with fire,” Sandor says, sitting back on his haunches, that’s why he already had Arya put a dagger into the flames. They don’t have salves and ointments and teas and brews to keep infection at bay, and despite his fear and hatred of the fire, he knows it’s the best way to clean and seal a wound like this.

“I’ll do it,” Arya offers. Her hands are steady, and the fire and heat don’t bother her like it does the Hound. He nods, and the girl goes to fetch the hot knife. They give you a strip of leather to bite down on, and then the Hound looks away when the girl presses the flat of the blade against your flesh—you do scream then. He knows that pain—that scream—and the putrid scent of burning flesh that jumps into the air. Black dots and white stars dance around in your vision. It hurts worse the second time. But you fight through it. 

Your gaze settles on Arya after a while, struggling to stay awake. “Where are you taking her?” You ask, eyes flitting to Sandor Clegane. The two are an odd traveling party that much is certain—a Hound and a wolf—made even stranger by your sudden arrival. 

“The Vale,” he tells you, “she has an aunt there.” You hadn’t expected a man with his reputation to do something so kind, not even if heavy coin purses were offered as rewards. A hush falls over you, but then the Hound rises and picks up a threadbare blanket from his bedroll. He drapes it over your shoulders, not ungently. “Best get some rest,” he says. “It’ll hurt worse tomorrow.”

THE DAYS ARE both quick and slow to pass, and soon, you’ve lost track of the time since meeting Arya Stark and the Hound—it could have been a few weeks or maybe months. But since that fateful night, your wounds have healed cleanly, and the only reminders of them are a fading scar and the limp in your stride after long days or over strenuous terrain. You remember the first time you insisted on walking instead of riding Stranger—a great black, unruly destrier. When you slowed, Sandor Clegane slung you over his shoulder like a sack of flour before depositing you back on the horse and complaining about the slow pace. Arya Stark was particularly amused by it all. 

Disappointment is all that awaits you all at the Bloody Gate of the Vale. Lysa Arryn is dead, and her young son and named protector, Petyr Baelish, will not accept visitors—not even one of Lysa’s own kin. So at the point of arrowheads and tips of steel blades, the Hound turns back, and you and Arya follow, trekking through the Vale and back to the Riverlands, unsure of what to do and where to go. Arya says they should go north, to the Wall—she has a brother in the Night’s Watch—or across the Narrow Sea.

There’s a small village not far, and you take a handful of silver stags and copper stars in hopes of replenishing your stock of ointments and bandages—especially with the now festering wound on Sandor’s neck, a nasty bite from a rogue—and maybe a decent bottle of wine or ale too. But by the time the sun is beginning to set and you return to Sandor and Arya, they’re not to be found. 

The campsite is empty. The fire still burning. The bedrolls laid out for the coming evening. You look around the craggy landscape, feeling panic seize your heart and stomach—mind racing. “Arya!” You shout, but there is no response from the girl. “Sandor!” And again, there is nothing but silence.

If not for the fading evening sun glinting off tarnished pieces of silver armor, you think you might not have found him. You stumble over to him, kneeling at his side, fearing the worst. But his chest still rises and falls, and he starts when you touch his cheek, hand wrapping around your wrist, leaving a thick smearing of blood. 

There’s something in your eyes, not pity, but he’s not seen that look before —almost doesn’t want to think of what it could be, could mean. Sandor’s grip goes slack, and he grimaces, each breath a ragged rasp. You look over his mangled shoulder, the bruises and scrapes on his face, the muscle-deep cuts on his palm, and his lame leg. These wounds are beyond your skills, and there are not like to be any travelers on this path for days.

The Hound tugs free a dagger from his belt and places it in your hand. "Go on,” he rasps, nodding toward the knife, resigned to his new fate. “Get on with it." The Stark girl wouldn’t put him out of his misery for the hatred she still bore toward him, but maybe you would. 

Your fingers curl around the hilt of the blade, grip tightening, but frozen in place—unwilling and unable to move. "I can't," you breathe, fervidly shaking your head. I won’t. He curses you when you drive the blade into the hard earth and not his heart. Sandor Clegane saved you from certain death, and now you’ve a chance to return the favor.

You wet a strip of cloth and dab it over his bloodied face until he turns his head to look at you. "If you think I'm some wounded pup you can redeem, you're stupider than I thought, woman,” he snarls like an aggrieved dog. 

But you don’t pay any mind to his hateful words. “Be still,” you chide, gently, going to collect the pack of supplies from Stranger’s saddle. The Dornish strongwine eases the pain, and he lets you clean the rest of the cuts and bruises to the best of your abilities —his broken leg, though. You aren’t sure what to do, but you know if something isn’t done soon, Sandor Clegane won’t be using that leg again in this lifetime. You lose track of how many times you have to wander down to the nearby stream. All you know is the limp in your step has come back. By nightfall, the wine and pain claim him, and you’ve said your prayers to the Seven, asking them to spare your poor wounded Hound.

There’s a dim lantern on the dark horizon, steadily drawing nearer and brighter, and then you can hear the rattling of a cart and the braying of a mule. You rise from your post and go to intercept the rickety cart thumping along the winding trail. The mule comes to a halt—the path forward blocked. 

The driver has a kind face, rounded from smiles and wrinkled with wisdom, and eyes that are deep and thoughtful but speak of the horrors of the world. “A lady and her knight,” he muses, sparing a glance at the makeshift medicinal supplies illuminated by faint firelight and the state of the brutish man sleeping—half-dead more like.

“Can you help us?” You ask. “Please.” And the broken plea strikes something deep down in the man’s heart.  

He thinks on it for a moment. “Aye,” the man says, “I can try.” If he couldn’t, the others on the Quiet Isle could—especially the Elder Brother. His dusty brown robes dust across the rocky ground as he goes to the Hound’s side. It takes all your strength combined to lift Sandor Clegane into the cart—even with the weight of his armor gone. Then you clamber to the front of the cart next to Sandor, letting his head rest in your lap, and with a snap of the reins, the mule walks on again, heading south along the bumpy road—it would be a long night.

Weary and exhausted, you look between the Hound and the driver. “Who are you?” 

“You can call me Ray,” the kindly man says. “I’ll take you both to the Quiet Isle. The Elder Brother can help.” You’ve heard tales of the isle—where men go to atone for their sins and take vows of silence. Some even say those who reside in the Bay of Crabs live in a world unlike the one ravished by war and pain. Brother Ray can see the growing trepidation on your expression. It’s nigh common knowledge women are not allowed to dwell on the Quiet Isle. “Won’t force you and your knight to be parted,” he tells you. 

“He’s not a knight,” you murmur, eyes trailing from the road ahead to Sandor, knowing he doesn’t like being called a knight—and for good reason. 

“No, but it seems he’s your knight,” Ray says with a chuckle, sparing a wayward glance back at you and the Hound. You flush at the thought and turn your gaze to Sandor, his head resting on your thigh.

A FEW MONTHS pass and Sandor is as well as he’ll ever be. The damage done to his leg makes him limp after long distances or strenuous tasks, but no one would be able to say such injuries made the Hound a feeble man. Even now, you’ve never seen a man split firewood with so much power and anger. Sometimes, you wonder if he hates you for not ending it when he pleaded for the blade’s mercy. But on the day when the brothers let you see him again, he wore a fleeting smile, soft and weak—the first time you’d seen such a sight. 

Storms roll in for the night, and lightning flashes through the window—thunder rattling your featherbed. You pull the covers tighter, squeezing your eyes shut, praying for sleep to come. It feels childish to be afeared of a storm, but it’s a reminder of the night the Lannister men destroyed your home and family and put an arrow in your leg. Rousing from the uneasy rest, you pull on your dressing robe and wrap the wool and linen blanket around your shoulders before setting off in search of company. 

His bed is empty, and you frown. Disheartened, you turn back only to bump into a solid wall of flesh and muscle. No man his size had a right to move around so quietly. “What are you doing awake, little dove?” Sandor asks, and you’re unable to meet his gaze with your flushed cheeks as you search for a valid answer. “Can’t sleep?” He surmises, and grateful he spake first, you nod sheepishly. The hand that wraps around your wrist is warm and calloused, yet his touch is light—as though you’re some bird with a broken wing. But wordless, you climb onto the bed next to Sandor, still huddled under your blanket, but not alone, and even with the storm raging outside, within these walls with him, you’re safe. 

The morning light breaks through the small window—only glowing embers remain in the hearth, not enough to chase away the chill in the air. You wake to find yourself alone, and it sends a strange pang of sadness through your heart. Making your way back to your chambers, you change into a plane shift and stride from the cottage to find him—the wet grass tickling the soles of your feet as you head down a winding path toward the water’s edge.

Sandor is sitting down on the rocky shore of the island, his dusty brown cloak fluttering in the wind. You go to him and sit on the weathered rock next to him. The morning is cool, and the spray of waves breaking against rocks in the bay kisses your cheeks. Wordlessly, the Hound pulls his cloak free and drapes it around your shoulders. In comfortable silence, you pull the coarse material tight and rest your head against his arm, looking out over the water and the clear blue sky—as though the Old Gods had not unleashed their wrath upon the land last night.

After a long while, Sandor rises, knowing it’ll be time to head to the Sept and see what tasks the Brothers need help with today. You’re quick to follow after him, but before he can start up the rocky path again, you brush your hand against his with all the timidness of a mouse, daring to have a lingering touch as you gather the nerve to ask something that’s been festering in the pit of your stomach, in the darkest parts of your mind and the deepest parts of your heart. You take both his hands—rough and twice the size of your own—and look up at the Hound. "Sandor,” you breathe, his name like a birdsong in your voice, “will you kiss me?"

He laughs—thinking you are playing him for a fool. No sane woman would ever wish to have his touch or his kiss. “With this ruined mouth?” He mocks. But the next jape dies on the tip of his tongue when you fist your hand into his woolen tunic, hauling him down with all your strength to just the right height where if you stand on the tips of your toes, you can kiss him. And you do. Sandor is surprised at first, but his hard exterior fades, and then a strong arm curls around your middle, hoisting you up and then off the ground entirely. You pull back for only a quick second and smile for him.

“Little dove,” he rasps when you move your hands to hold his face, thumbs stroking over his cheeks—one marred by the flame—and down into his thick, wiry beard. He half expects to find a shred of fear or disgust in your eyes, but there isn’t any. There never had been. You kiss him again, softer and sweeter this time, and he returns it in full. 

Reluctant to part, he places you back on the ground but is quick to pull you into his side and hold you close in the golden hour of the morning. And for the first time since he can remember, Sandor Clegane has a handful of happy memories, and perhaps, in the end, he's found something even sweeter than killing.

[Game of Thrones taglist: @certifiedlittleshit / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @hereforreadandwrite / @hc-geralt-23 / @holysmokesblog / @Idkjj04 / @lady-stark-winter-rose / @mikariell95 / @misskatiewrites / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @nyotamalfoy / @rigshak / @savagemickey03 / @xinyourdreamsx ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Game of Thrones taglist, or any other taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

[charliedawn]

"Marry me."

How I think marriage proposals would go for those characters.

Sandor Clegane:

"…Wanna get married ?" You asked as both you and Sandor were sleeping side by side in the forest. Sandor blinked—half asleep. He had back pain and a headache. He had hoped that the wine would help him to fall asleep quicker, as to not have to hear you say any other crazy thing or request for the day. But, of course. He was mistaken.

"Huh ?" When the information seemed to eventually settle in his brain, his whole face seemed a perfect depiction of confusion. He finally turned around and you could see in his eyes that he wasn’t exactly sober either. You decided this was the perfect moment to ask—since he would probably not even remember you asked the next morning. It gave you courage to ask again.

"Wanna get married ?" You repeated with a little more determination and this time, he answered.

"No."

"Ah."

"…"

"…"

"…You. Wanna get married ?" He asked this time—more because he was curious than awaiting an actual answer. But, you took your chance and answered truthfully.

"Sure."

He was momentarily surprised by your confidence before he huffed a laugh and wrapped an arm around you.

"…Fine. We’ll get married in the morning. Now, hush."

There was then a moment of silence before you both bursted out laughing. Just two drunks having the most normal conversation ever. You knew that by tomorrow, he would have surely forgotten all about tonight. But for now, you were satisfied with the knowledge that his subconscience hadn’t said no.

Oberyn Martell:

"Would you like to marry me ?" You asked Oberyn while he wad writing and whose lips curved slightly into a small smirk at the request. He was used to your rather straightforward nature. He liked it even. It made him laugh and enjoy your presence at parties. You were curious and completely unashamed or afraid of any consequences your requests or demands would bring. This is why he always caved. But, he could also be playful and this is why he answered with a small grin:

"No."

He was curious to see your reaction, but his smile slightly faltered when he saw the hurt in your eyes at his rejection. It was the first time he had seen you so upset and he immediately regretted his words.

"Oh. Okay then." You were embarrassed and turned around quickly to get back to your own private quarters. But he was by your side in an instant and wrapped his arms around you from behind.

"I was only kidding. I would LOVE to marry you, sweet peach."

He then kissed the back of your neck lovingly. You let out a sigh of relief as you leaned back against him.

"…Really ?"

He chuckled.

"Yes. Really."

He then kissed your temple and you stayed in his arms for a while before he started nuzzling the back of your neck.

"But what brought the subject, sweet peach ?"

You sighed before closing your eyes.

"…You’re the only one who truly enjoys my presence. You laugh and smile at me, even when my words are nonsense. So I thought…why not ask ?"

Oberyn seemed taken aback for a moment before his smile widened and he pressed your back further against him to kiss your shoulder and whisper in your ear.

"Let me tell you a little secret. I would marry you for your nonsense, my dear. Because your nonsense makes more sense to me than this whole world does…"

Tyrion Lannister:

"Do you want to marry me ?" You asked Tyrion one night and the man was so stunned that he spilled his cup of wine.

"What ?"

Tyrion was the most decent between all the Lannisters. He had helped you more than once and there was no doubt in your proposal. You would never find better husband.

"You heard me."

He stayed silent again and made you nervous. Would he refuse ? Would he tell you that he has already found someone ? Would he tell you that he has no interest in you ? But, he didn’t. He simply sighed.

"…Why ?"

Why ? You could tell him a thousand reasons why. Because he was one of the few good men you knew. Because you had no intention of marrying any other. Because you knew he could be gentle. Because he was funny. Because he could be brave. Because he had the heart of a true lion…but no. You wouldn’t tell him like that. Because even if you did, he wouldn’t believe you.

"Because I want to." You settled for instead and his eyes widened slightly in surprise before he smiled a little and shook his head.

"Why would you want to marry an imp ?"

"It is not an imp that I am marrying, but a prince." You retorted. You both stared at each other and his gaze softened as he started actually considering it for a moment.

"You would be miserable." You frowned in incomprehension at his words.

"Why ?" He glanced away for a second.

"Because I am not a good man."

You huffed a bitter laugh at his words.

"Haven’t you heard ? There are no good man left, my prince."

Tyrion seemed taken aback, but he couldn’t deny the truth behind your words and drank a little of his wine.

"Tell me, Tyrion. If I was to become your wife/husband. Would you hit me ? Would you abuse me ? Would you lie to me ?"

He shook his head with a small smile. No. He wouldn’t. You smiled back and Tyrion finally nodded understandingly. It wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about finding a good man. It was always about finding the one who wouldn’t hurt you…And hence, he understood and maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a wife/husband ?

Jaime Lannister:

"Jaime…" You sat down next to him at the feast prepared for the Lannisters and even though you could feel Cersei glaring daggers at you—you grabbed his hand. He didn’t react, but you could feel his fingers slightly curving to hold yours.

"Hello, buttercup." He finally greeted you in a whisper and you couldn’t help but smile weakly. You knew of his heart and his loyalty to his sister. It wasn’t really your business to interfere, but you didn’t like how Cersei was treating him. And, you also knew that his heart could maybe be won over.

So, you did the most nonsense ever and challenged him. You stood up and faced him—catching the attention of everyone in the room as you declared loudly.

"Jaime Lannister. I challenge you to an arm wrestling competition !"

That ought to have gained his attention as his eyes finally met yours and what he found in there made his eyes widen in surprise. You were determined and even though he was a knight—you didn’t seem scared of losing. He tried to laugh and wave it off as a mere joke—but you didn’t back down and even provoked him.

"Are you perhaps not a lion ? But a scared chicken ?"

That oughta do it. He was up before you could even pronounce another word and the fury in his eyes made you smile. He had taken the bait.

"If I win, you must agree to one single demand of my choice without knowing what it is !"

"And if I win ?" He quickly shot back and you bit back a laugh.

"Then I will give you whatever you want."

In a matter of minutes, everything was settled and you were both in position. Everyone assumed you were mad or had consumed too much wine to challenge Jaime Lannister—but it couldn’t be further from the truth. You had planned it carefully. You had trained and trained your body and your mind. You had worn big sleeves to hide the muscles hidden underneath. This could be the most important challenge of your life and you wanted to win. More than anything.

The moment Jaime gripped your hand, his eyes stared straight at you as he realised what you had done. This was not the strength of the Y/N he was accustomed to…but it was too late to stop and in a matter of seconds—Jaime Lannister was on the floor.

Everyone was stunned.

But, you only gracefully stood up from your seat and looked down at him before smirking.

"…I will be waiting for that marriage proposal." And with that, you were out of the room—leaving a very confused Jaime and a very angry Cersei behind. But, you knew that a lion never backed down from his word. And Jaime would be yours.

Petyr Baelish (Littlefinger) :

"Marry me." Littlefinger didn’t even seem surprised by you sudden demand. Everyone knew that your father wished to marry you off to Ramsay Bolton. And even though Littlefinger wasn’t sure why you would come to him with such a request, he didn’t show it.

He didn’t even look up as he simply asked.

"Why ?"

You huffed a bitter laugh. The man would sell mother and father for a throne. And he dared to ask why ?

"Does it matter ?"

He licked his thumb to turn the page of the book he was reading nonchalantly, even though you knew that he was secretly weighing the pros and cons of such an alliance.

"Depends. What will it bring me ?"

You looked away.

"Don’t pretend not to realise how advantageous it would be for you to be a part of the Lannister family. You’d have an easy access to the iron throne."

He hummed and pretended to think about it. It was true marrying you would be a fast way to get access to all the nice advantages of being a part of the so-called prestigious Lannister family. But, it had its own set of disadvantages to consider. He would become more than just a little man in the shadows that no one would deem worthy of being a threat, he would become a lion. A black lion.

"…Tell me why you would lower yourself to such an alliance with me. Surely, there would be one handsome young man who would say yes to such a proposal without even blinking. Why go to me, princess/prince ?"

You hesitated before sighing in defeat.

"…Because if I am to marry a snake, better be one I know than one chosen by Tywin Lannister."

At that, Petyr finally dignified you with a glance. You held his gaze and after a few seconds, he smiled.

"Very well, my beauty. Lead the snake to the lion’s den then."

Sansa Stark:

You and Sansa had been longtime allies and friends. You were maybe the only friend she had ever had after the almost complete destruction of House Stark. You had developed feeling for her over time and knew that asking her for her hand wouldn’t be easy—but you were willing to try.

"Please, Sansa of House Stark." You knelt on one knee before her with a rose in your hand and the other hand on your heart. "Would you marry me ?"

Sansa was surprised by the proposal. She had married twice and both marriages weren’t a success. She had lived through nightmares and pain out of such a dream as marriage. She used to want to get married with someone she loved so badly, but not anymore.

"My heart is not so easily won by a rose and pretty words anymore." She replied instead—thinking that she would succeed in breaking your resolve. But, she was mistaken.

"I know. I know that I may never be worthy of even your eyes on me. But…I am a fool, and my heart beats for you. And if you want it ? Then it’s yours. And even if you don’t want it. Let me fight for you. And prove my loyalty to the most beautiful and strong lady the North has ever seen." You pleaded and Sansa was rendered speechless.

She looked into your eyes and saw only love and adoration. She then glanced down at the rose you offered her and after a moment of hesitation, she finally took it.

"…You may try to win my heart, Y/N. But, I cannot promise you success."

You smiled and shook your head.

"Just having you acknowledge my feelings is enough for hope to enter my heart."

Sansa smiled back.

Maybe…romance wasn’t utterly dead.

Jon Snow: (Before the tragedy 😭)

"Marry me." It was said with such confidence that Jon himself was stunned as he looked up at you with widened eyes.

"What ?"

"You heard me."

There was a moment of silence before Jon smiled and he suddenly pulled you into his arms. There was no yes or no. Just a moment of pure euphoria as he couldn’t stop laughing as he buried his face in your chest. He was so happy, he forgot to form words.

When he was finally calm once more, he kissed you passionately.

"Yes. Yes. Yes, I will."

You both started laughing together and Jon even fell back on the snow as you held him tightly.

Daenerys:

"Marry me." You demanded and Daenerys looked back at you. She didn’t seem surprised or even mildly confused by the demand. She knew of your feelings for her—and she was more than happy to reciprocate.

But, marriage ?

Marriage meant boundaries. Marriage meant attachment. Marriage meant she would have to think about you and a possible future where she wasn’t all powerful.

She sighed before stroking your cheek and offering you an apologetic smile.

"My dear Y/N…If only I could, do not believe for a second that I would say no. But, as the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms…I cannot."

You closed your eyes and a few tears rolled down your cheeks. You had expected such an answer of course, but still…your heart ached.

"I…understand." You forced yourself to say and Daenerys nodded. She was a queen. A khaleesi. And you were just…human.

Ser Jorah:

"Please. Marry me." Ser Jorah was stunned at the unexpected request and turned towards you with widened eyes. He was about to answer when you quickly added.

"Love me. Hate me. I want you and you want her. But, I am not asking for your love. But for your protection, kind ser Jorah." He closes his mouth and seemed to think about it for a moment. He knew that you were a young lady/man who had left her/his family to join Daenerys. He had no idea you held such feelings for him…

"You can have my protection, but why go to such lengths to have it ?" He finally asked and you sighed before taking his hand in yours.

"Because it is not only physical protection I seek." You then laid his hand flat upon your heart and Ser Jorah seemed taken aback once more. He looked at you and you didn’t shy away from his gaze.

You knew Ser Jorah was honourable and even if he would never return your feelings, he would make a far greater husband than anyone you ever knew. He would respect you and your heart. And that was more than you could ever wish for…

Ser Jorah accepted.

After all, it was only his name that you were going to bear and his sword that would protect you. You would call him husband, but only in name.

[castieltrash1]

hiii since you're taking got requests and i saw sandor is one of your faves: there's this post that's like "submissive like a guard dog is submissive" (i hope this makes sense even if you don't know what i'm talking about) and it always makes me think of him bc he's. you know. the hound. so what i'm saying is anything sandor-related with a dom reader would be very appreciated since i've never really seen anyone write him like this before :] if that's not your thing, that's totally fine though !

oh dw anon u came to the right place <3

sandor clegane x gn!reader; smut, dom/sub dynamics, dog motif, the hound is ur beaten and battered guard dog <3 mentions of violence, strong language, etc.

it doesn’t matter how you meet. maybe he serves your family. maybe he’s kidnapped you. maybe you’re just some lowborn whore whose face he pushes into the mattress to avoid looking at when he’s fucking out his anger. at some point, regardless of the roots of your relationship, the hound begins to heel. it’s not always obvious -- especially if you’re not some little lady/lord he’d be beheaded for lifting a finger to -- but it’s there. he’s already spent most of his life like this, and being with you is no different. you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.

once he (somewhat) lets you in, the dynamic shifts. you’re not just his liege, his captive, the prettiest face at littlefinger’s silk street brothel -- you’re his. and that makes him yours, he thinks. it means taking care of you, giving you as much comfort and safety that he can offer in this hellish life. it’s the least you deserve for picking him, since now he’ll never let you leave. you’ve resigned yourself to a cruel, cold, and crass beast; who cares if he has to behead a man or two to keep you fed or hold an entire inn hostage just so you can sleep on a featherbed for the night? he’ll never say please or thank you, but he’ll always stand in front of you. he’ll always lean against the door in case someone tries to break in.

he’s not gentle. he’ll growl when you tug his hair, a makeshift collar threaded between your fingers, urging him between your legs or bringing him back up to your mouth. he’ll bark about breaking you in, splitting you in half, vulgar words foaming at his mouth the longer it goes on. and when you lock eyes with him, he’ll always crumble under the weight of your gaze, lowering his head in some twisted form of obedience. he’ll eat out of your palm and you’ll know there are mutts in volantis better fed than him.

“sandor?”

you could hear the resulting sigh from a mile away, the sound of his armor clanking as he heeds your call. when your eyes lock on his figure, he rolls his shoulders back, masking the way he bows his head as if it were nothing more than loosening a crick in his neck. it’s hard to tell when he’s blushing, but you swear there’s a hint of flush blooming down his neck. you think if you asked him to kneel right now, he might even do it.

“i’m hungry,” you say instead, making your way toward him with a small, knowing smile. “let’s go eat.”

+ you’d be better off never mentioning it, but the similarities between sandor and your average dog aren’t too far off. he sleeps like one, always either curled into a ball or sprawled halfway out of bed; huffing and kicking with night terrors. he slurps out of bowls and licks his plates clean. he’s good at sniffing out enemies, even better at finding their scent on you, teeth bared as he asks where you’ve been and who with. he loves being pet and, if you catch him in a good mood, he'll sometimes nuzzle against your hand. and when he’s got you on all fours, clawing at the sheets or floor while you scream his name, it’s not hard to see he's always been more animal than man.

game of thrones weekend (reqs open!)

[axelsagewrites]

Main Masterlist Here

House of the Dragon Masterlist Here

Warnings/Guides

【P】Platonic【P】 🆇Smut 18+🆇

Request Line Up and Request Rules

♡ Jon Snow ♡

🆇What he's like in bed🆇

Blind date

🆇Milady🆇

🆇Home Alone🆇

🆇Price of My Secrecy 🆇

Relationship Moodboard

🆇Couldn't Resist🆇

♡ Robb Stark ♡

Best Friend

Marriage night

🆇Dream🆇 🆇part two🆇

Frey Girl 🆇part two🆇

🆇I miss you🆇

Cloak

Honey Cakes (cloak part two or standalone)

Comfort

Sweet Girl

🆇NSFW Alphabet🆇

🆇Good girl🆇

Yearbook

Don't Die For Me

🆇Little Secret🆇

🆇Can't Catch a Break🆇

Goodnight Dear Husband

♡ Sandor Clegane ♡

Most People Say Goodbye Part One - Part Two

🆇Brat🆇

♡ Beric Dondarrian ♡

Home

♡ Thoros of Myr ♡

Favourite Friend

♡ Brienne of Tarth ♡

【P】Queen in the North and South【P】

♡Ned Stark♡

🆇MiLord🆇

🆇Wife🆇

♡Ramsay Bolton♡

🆇My Father Would Kill Me🆇

🆇Catch You🆇

🆇How Far Would You Go🆇

🆇Appreciate You🆇

🆇Bath🆇

🆇Little Mouse🆇

♡Roose Bolton♡

Perhaps

Not Yet

♡Edmure Tully♡

【P】Who We Call Family【P】

My Queen My Love

♡Theon Greyjoy♡

Dream of Sweet Memories

🆇Give it back🆇

♡Sansa Stark♡

Roommates

🆇NSFW Alphabet🆇

🆇What's This?🆇

Surprise Visit

♡Podrick Payne♡

🆇Praise🆇

♡Daenereys Targaryen♡

🆇My Queen🆇

♡Jamie Lannister♡

🆇Extra Credit🆇

♡Oberyn Martell♡

🆇Duty🆇

♡Margaery Tyrell♡

🆇Ropes🆇

♡Cersei♡

🆇Morning🆇

♡Tormund♡

🆇Real Man🆇

🆇Use your words🆇

♡ Yara Greyjoy ♡

Flirting

Preferences/Multicharacter

🆇Company🆇 - Yara and Ellaria threesome

🆇What they're like in bed🆇 – Robb, Jon, Sandor, Podrick

How they react to teasing – all

🆇What They're Like in Bed🆇 – Margaery, Sansa, Danny, Yara

Share pt1 🆇Competition pt2🆇 🆇Wait p3🆇 - Robb and Jon

🆇Hook ups🆇 - Theon and Jon

Love Languages - Jon, Robb, Bran, Tormund, Podrick, Oberyn

Thanks for any support I appreciate it all xoxo Sage

Dividers from here and here from @saradika

Post topper made on Canva

[m9yaa]

── .✦INNOCENCE; PETYR BAELISH ⟡˖ ࣪

part 1, part 2, part 3

⟡˖ ࣪ pairing: petyr baelish x fem!stark reader

⤷cw: mature content, innocence/corruption kink?, unprotected sex, age gap, power dynamic?, aged up characters, groping (non con kinda), sexual tension, sexual innuendo,

⤷summary: in which, petyr baelish seems to take an interest in you, catelyn’s and ned’s eldest daughter after the hand of the king’s arrival at king’s landing.

REQ! also not proof read!

⋮

with the help of serene, you finished getting ready.

your hair was kept simple, a half up half down style.

the dress choice of today was a pink gown with floral stitching and embroidery etched into the shoulders, neckline and mid way down your arm sleeve. it was a simple choice but a very classy and elegant one at that.

heading downstairs, the soft clinking of silverware and murmurs of conversation greeted you as you entered the dining hall. Your family was already gathered, seated at the long wooden table. They barely noticed your arrival, busy with their morning meal.

“Good morning, milady,” a servant greeted, giving you a small bow. You nodded in acknowledgment, trying to keep your composure, though inside you couldn’t shake the unease from the night before.

As you made your way to your seat, your gaze flickered over to where Lord Baelish was seated at the far end of the table. His eyes met yours for a brief moment, and the intense, knowing look he gave you made your stomach flip. You quickly averted your gaze, feeling the warmth of your face spreading.

“You seem quiet this morning,” your father remarked, raising an eyebrow as you sat down. “Something on your mind?”

You forced a smile, trying to push down the swirling thoughts in your head. “No, nothing at all,” you replied, your voice softer than you intended.

Breakfast passed in a blur of conversation, but you were distracted by the strange tension in the air, and the way Lord Baelish occasionally turned his gaze toward you. You couldn’t help but notice how his attention seemed to linger longer than it should, and the air around you seemed to grow thicker.

Finally, as breakfast came to a close, your father rose from his seat, signaling that it was time to leave. The javelin match was about to begin, and you would be accompanying the family to watch the contest. It was an event that promised excitement, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that your mind was elsewhere.

You pushed open the door, stepping outside into the crisp morning air, hoping the fresh air would clear your head. Your thoughts remained jumbled, swirling in confusion. Had it just been the proximity? The heat of the moment? You didn’t know. All you knew was that you felt unsettled, and it was a feeling you couldn’t ignore.

As you joined the others, Lord Baelish’s gaze once again met yours. This time, it was even more intense than before, as if he knew exactly what you were feeling. But how could he? You didn’t even know what was happening to you.

As you approached the horses, your thoughts still swirling, you heard the soft scrape of boots behind you. Before you could turn, a firm hand wrapped around your waist, lifting you effortlessly. Your breath caught in your throat as Lord Baelish gently but assertively placed you atop your horse. The unexpectedness of his touch sent a sudden wave of warmth through your body, and you instinctively pressed your thighs together, feeling an unfamiliar tension between them.

His hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary at your hips, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your dress before sliding down your thighs, giving them a pat.

You could feel the heat of his touch even through the layers, and it made you feel strangely... exposed. His eyes met yours, dark and knowing, but you couldn't read the expression in them. He said nothing, just stepped back, giving you space to adjust yourself in the saddle.

You swallowed, unsure of what to say.

The action, though simple, had shaken you in a way you couldn't explain. You had never been touched like that before even as innocent it may be, at least not so deliberately, and it left you feeling vulnerable yet... something else.

There was a fluttering in your chest, a confusing stir that you couldn't place.

You quickly looked away, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

"Are you well?" His voice was soft.

this being the first thing he’s said since yesterday.

You nodded, the words escaping you.

You weren't sure what was happening to you, and the last thing you wanted was for him to notice the way your heart raced or the flush creeping over your skin. You gripped the reins tightly, desperately trying to focus on the horses and the path ahead, but all you could feel was his presence lingering too close.

As the rest of the group mounted their horses and began to move, you followed, trying to ignore the burning heat that had settled in your chest. Lord Baelish rode alongside you, his horse moving at a steady pace, his gaze occasionally flicking to you from the corner of his eye.

The ride to the match seemed longer than it should have been. You couldn't shake the feeling of his touch, the way his hands had held you with such confidence and ease. And the strange, confusing fluttering that still hadn't subsided.

As you rode alongside Lord Baelish, the sounds of hooves striking the earth were the only things that seemed to fill the silence. The javelin match was drawing near, but your mind was elsewhere, preoccupied by the strange sensations still lingering in your body. Every time your horse’s stride shifted, you felt a light pressure between your legs, an awareness you had never experienced before. The thought of it made you flush, and you quickly looked away, hoping no one could see the heat spreading across your cheeks.

Lord Baelish, always so calm and composed, rode just a few paces ahead, his dark eyes occasionally drifting to you. You could feel his gaze even when he wasn’t looking directly at you. It made you restless, as though his very presence was pulling at something inside you that you couldn’t understand.

A sharp tug on the reins brought you out of your daze. You looked up to find the match grounds ahead, the field bustling with activity as crowds gathered in anticipation. The momentary distraction helped ground you, but the feeling of his touch from earlier still hung heavily in your chest. Your mind kept drifting back to it, and you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his hands had gripped you with such assurance.

‘one little interaction with a man and this is how i’m reacting!’ you think to yourself.

As you dismounted, Lord Baelish was once again there to assist, his hands warm on your waist as he gently guided you to the ground. His touch was gentle, yet possessive, and you felt that strange ache stir again deep inside. “thank you,” you smile politely. before stepping away from him quickly, trying to focus on the spectacle unfolding before you—the shouts, the cheers, the clash of weapons. Anything to distract yourself from the disorienting feelings inside.

You stood next to your family, but your gaze kept flitting to Lord Baelish, who was speaking with a few others nearby. His eyes met yours once again, and that familiar look passed between you. It was almost as if he could see through you, as though he knew what was stirring within you, though you had no words for it yourself.

A voice beside you broke your focus. Your sister, sansa, noticing your distraction, asked, “What’s on your mind today? You’re not yourself.”

You forced a smile and turned to her, trying to push away the fog of confusion. “I’m just… thinking,” you said, though you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking about. Your mind and body were still reacting to Lord Baelish in ways you couldn’t explain.

you opt on moving a little further back in the crowd, away from your family as you don’t want them to keep continuously asking you series of questions.

And so, you stood there, the javelin match playing out before you, but your attention was split—part of you focused on the competition, the other part still uncertain, still trying to understand why that one, small interaction between you and Lord Baelish is consuming you with thoughts of him.. ‘and his attractive face.. toned body.. an-’

Then, a collective gasp rose from the crowd. "Oooof!" The sound echoed through the air, followed by an eerie silence. You glanced up just in time to see one of the men crumple to the ground, the wooden pole of the javelin buried deep in his throat. Blood poured from the wound in thick streams, staining the sand beneath him.

You winced, the brutal image searing into your mind, but it was the reaction of the crowd that truly unsettled you. They seemed almost thrilled by the violence. It was as if they took pleasure in the life being extinguished right before their eyes. The man's body was quickly dragged away by a few servants, but the roar of excitement from the spectators didn't falter.

You shook your head, a mixture of disgust and disbelief creeping into you.

"I'll never understand how people enjoy watching this," you muttered, mostly to yourself, but loud enough that anyone nearby might hear.

To your surprise, a smooth voice replied almost immediately. "Some enjoy the thrill of it. Others simply enjoy the.. spectacle."

You turned to see Lord Baelish standing beside you, his face unreadable, though his eyes held that familiar, knowing gleam. He wasn't looking at the man being dragged away, his attention was focused entirely on you.

"You seem disturbed," he continued, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "But tell me, have you never considered that there's something rather... exciting about watching someone fight for their life?" His tone was casual, almost teasing, as though the death of the man meant little to him.

He didn't even glance at the scene unfolding before you. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on you, studying your reactions.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of his stare. "I don't think excitement is the right word," you replied, your voice tight. "It's... unsettling."

He tilted his head slightly, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Perhaps. But there's something exhilarating about power, isn't there? Watching someone take control, even at the expense of another." His words were smooth, almost suggestive, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

You glanced away, but his presence seemed to loom over you, his voice still echoing in your ears. There was something in his tone, something that made your stomach twist in a way you didn't quite understand. It was as though he was subtly pushing at the edges of your innocence, drawing out feelings you had never had to confront before.

"You're far too innocent, my lady," he murmured, as if he could sense the conflict churning within you. "But don't worry... some things are better learned firsthand."

You quickly swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken. You didn't know what to say to that-didn't even know what to think. His words were like a puzzle, each one more cryptic than the last, but they had a way of making your heart race.

Trying to shake off the confusion, you glanced back to the field, hoping the match would provide some distraction and that the now beet face red of yours would somehow cool down in the short space of time you have.

The thought of the dead man being dragged away still made your stomach turn, but Baelish's proximity only heightened the strange sensations that bubbled beneath the surface. You wished you could focus, wished you could ignore the gnawing feeling in your chest.

But his gaze remained on you, sharp, hungry, and ever-watchful.

The match continued, but the tension in the air felt thicker now. You could hardly concentrate on the javelin throwers, each of them aiming their spears with practiced precision. Instead, your attention was pulled back to Baelish, who was still standing just a step too close, casually observing the scene. His presence was almost suffocating, yet you couldn’t look away. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks again, a flush that had nothing to do with the warm sun overhead.

“You know,” Baelish said after a long pause, his voice low, just barely audible over the noise of the crowd, “you shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss… what excites others. It’s not always what it seems on the surface.” His voice held a certain smoothness to it, as if each word was carefully crafted to provoke a reaction. And it was working. You felt a strange twinge of discomfort mixed with something else, something you couldn’t quite identify.

You tried to pull yourself together, to push the confused feelings back down. “I never said I dismissed it,” you replied stiffly, your voice quieter than usual. “I just… don’t see the appeal.”

He leaned in slightly, his mouth pressed lightly against your ear, his presence suddenly overwhelming, and for the briefest moment, you felt as though you were the only two people in the crowd. “Ah, but you’re not saying that you don’t feel something. That would be a lie.” His words sent a ripple through you, leaving you breathless for a second. He was watching you so intently now, his gaze softening, like he was examining you in a way you didn’t quite understand.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. His words had cut through your defenses with unsettling accuracy. Was it possible that he knew something about you that you didn’t? The way he looked at you—it made you feel like an open book, your every secret laid bare for him to see.

“Does it… bother you?” you finally whispered, your voice shaking slightly. You hadn’t meant to ask, but the question was out before you could stop it.

His smirk deepened, and he straightened, his tone shifting to something more playful. “Not at all,” he said smoothly. “But it does make things interesting when you find someone who isn’t quite so… aware of what’s stirring inside them.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the familiar heat spreading across your body once more. The way he spoke, the way his words seemed to caress the air between you, made your chest tighten. It was almost as if he was inviting you to acknowledge something you weren’t ready to face, something that terrified you and thrilled you all at once.

The noise of the match returned with a thundering cheer as one of the competitors scored a direct hit, but it was distant to you, muffled in comparison to the pounding in your own chest. You barely even noticed the people surrounding you, the way the world seemed to continue moving around you while you stood still, caught in the weight of Lord Baelish’s gaze.

he moved himself closer behind yourself. “You really don’t understand it yet, do you?” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, as though sharing some dark secret.

his body was pressed up against yours, you instinctively stiffened, but he didn’t pull away, his fingers lightly pressing against you, as though marking his territory in the most subtle way.

he’d rock his hips slowly against yours, so subtle you might think you’re imagining it. his fingers danced on the small of your back, away from the sight of any bystander.

You shook your head slightly, trying to regain control, but his presence only seemed to heighten the confusion, the disorientation you were feeling. Was this just a game to him? Or was he playing with you, testing your limits? You weren’t sure, but what you did know was that his words, his touch, they were unraveling something deep inside you, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

“I—” You stopped yourself, biting your lip, unable to finish the sentence. What could you possibly say to him?

Before you could gather your thoughts, the final javelin was hurled with a sharp, whistle-like sound, its force sending a man crashing to the ground, an unfortunate casualty of the match. The crowd’s reaction was a mixture of gasps and excited shouts as the fallen competitor was dragged off the field, lifeless, with the javelin still lodged in his throat.

You stood at the edge of the arena, unable to tear your eyes away from the scene.

“Quite the display, don’t you think?” His voice came low, just behind your ear. There was no sign of discomfort in his tone—only a quiet satisfaction, as if the death of the man meant nothing at all to him.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus on his words instead of the way his touch was making you feel, the way your pulse quickened at the proximity. “It’s… terrible,” you managed, your voice more fragile than you wanted it to be.

Baelish’s hands didn’t move, but his fingers tightened just slightly, as if he knew exactly what your discomfort was. “People enjoy it because it’s a reminder of power,” he said, his words soft, his tone deceptively casual. “A reminder that at any moment, your life could be taken from you. It makes them feel alive, even as they watch someone else die.”

You turned your head, your eyes wide as you met his gaze. You hadn’t expected him to speak with such indifference, to make such a chilling comment with no hint of empathy. But then again, Baelish had always been a man of cold calculation, never one for sentimentality.

“It’s… disturbing,” you whispered, your thoughts scattered as your chest tightened. His touch still lingered on your back, his presence too close, too overwhelming. It felt like an invisible thread was pulling you toward him, one you didn’t know how to resist.

Baelish’s lips brushed your ear as he spoke again, his voice now a tantalizing whisper. “You don’t like it. But you can’t deny it has a certain… pull.” His breath was warm against your skin, his tone taking on an almost teasing quality. “You feel something, don’t you? Even if you don’t want to.”

You stiffened, has he found you out..?

“I don’t…” You started to protest, but the words faltered as his touch remained firm, the pressure of his hands against your back both soothing and intrusive. “I don’t know what you mean.” you play coy and stupid.

His smile was faint, but it was enough to make your stomach flip. He didn’t respond right away, instead allowing a beat of silence to hang between you, before he spoke again, his voice now soft, coaxing.

“you know what i mean, just don’t be too quick to dismiss your own feelings.” His hand shifted just slightly on your back, fingers brushing against the curve of your waist. “what you’re feeling is natural, don’t push it away.” petyr says as his hands now move further down south, running his hands over your ass, groping the flesh subtly.

You felt a flush creep up your neck as you let out a soft yelp at the sudden attack, not only that but the words hitting you like a splash of cold water.

Before you could find your voice, Baelish lightly guided you away from the arena, his hand never leaving your behind. The sound of the crowd, the cheers, the dying echoes of the match, seemed to fade into the background as you followed him, still reeling from the strange combination of emotions swirling inside you.

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hellooo! i was planning on making the smut part in this part but i felt like i rambled on too much and it’d be too long to add the smut part in now so it shall be in the next chapter, sorryy :(

anyways, thank you for reading and if you enjoyed it, don’t hesitate to like, share or reblog this post. thank you!

- maya 🪼

[auxmodi]

hi darling, how're you? could I please request shy reader x sandor clegane? he has a soft spot for her and has always been fascinated. maybe a little bit of fluff, angst & smut??? I know you'll do it justice because your writing is just 🤌

hi anon !! i'm doing fine thank you for asking!! i've been busy this week so i'm sorry if this took a little long! AND THANKYOUSMUCH i hope you like it! here it is :

sandor clegane x shy! reader drabble

my masterlist

summary: in the cold war room of winterfell, you sit alone, focused on maps while sandor stumbles in, drunk and amused by your quiet presence. his teasing pushes you into a nervous silence, but he can’t seem to help himself. the more you shy away, the more he lingers, enjoying the way you make him feel like he's the one stirring things up.

word count: 1.1k

tags: drunk sandor, sexual tension, teasing, unspoken feelings, swearing, slightly suggestive themes

the war room was colder than usual, the fire in the hearth doing little to fight off winterfell’s ever-present chill. you sat at the table, pouring over the map jon had assigned to you. logistics, supplies, troop movements, it all needed to be meticulously planned if they had any hope of surviving the dead. you worked quietly, as always, preferring the calm to the chaos outside.

and then the door creaked open, and you heard his heavy, uneven footsteps.

“still at it, girl?” sandor’s voice cut through the silence, rough and hoarse, as if he’d been drinking. when you looked up, you could see the flush on his scarred face, eyes bloodshot and unfocused. he dropped into the chair across from you with a grunt, the wood groaning under his weight. a half-empty tankard clutched tightly in one hand.

“what’s there to look at? it’s the north. just snow, more snow, and a bunch of frozen arses waiting to get fucking eaten by corpses.”

you bit back a small smile, your focus still on the map. this wasn’t new. late nights spent in here, you working, sandor stumbling in with his usual drink in hand, and sitting across from you with that dark humor of his. teasing, pushing you to react.

“you know,” his voice broke the stillness again, “i’ve always liked the quiet.” he leaned back in his chair, creaking under his massive frame, eyes narrowing slightly as he stared off into the room. “like the dead. they don’t whine, don’t bicker. they just stand there and rot. might be the only thing i don’t fucking hate about them.”

you couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped you, and his eyes sharpened, catching the sound.

“ah,” he murmured, his lips pulling into that teasing smirk, “so you do make noise.” he leaned in slightly, his gaze catching yours. “was starting to think you were mute.”

you looked down at the map quickly, trying to hide the flush that was creeping up your neck. it was always the same, him pushing, poking at you just enough to get a reaction. but it wasn’t like you minded. or maybe you did.

"what’re you so focused on, anyway?” he asked, leaning forward with a creak of the chair. “markin’ where to put the chickens?”

you blinked at him, confused. “the… chickens?”

“aye,” he said, deadpan. “gotta feed the army somehow, don’t we? i’d fight better if I knew there was a roasted bird waitin’ for me after.”

you bit your lip, trying to suppress a smile. “i don’t think that’s part of the plan.”

“shame,” he said with a mock sigh. “would’ve been a good plan.” he leaned closer, his voice dropping slightly. “better than sittin’ here, thinkin’ about supply routes and waitin’ to freeze to death.”

you shook your head slightly and turned your focus back to the map, hoping he wouldn’t see the heat creeping up your neck. he didn’t miss it, though.

“ah, there it is,” he muttered, a smirk tugging at his scarred lips. “the little bird can blush.”

his words made your cheeks burn even hotter, and you ducked your head, pretending to study the map with renewed focus. you could feel his eyes on you, heavy and unrelenting, as if he were trying to draw more of a reaction from you.

“you’re too easy to rile up,” he said, his voice softer now but still teasing. “most people’d snap back by now, but you just sit there. quiet as a bloody mouse.”

the words hung in the air, like he was waiting for you to react, to do something, anything. the tension between you thickened, and you felt your heart beating faster than before.

sandor leaned forward then, his massive body making the chair creak under his weight. the air between you seemed to shrink, the space between your eyes and his electric with tension. his smirk deepened, something predatory in the way he watched you.

“i’m not that easy to rile up,” you said, the words coming out steadier than you expected, a challenge hidden underneath.

“you think you’re not?” he rasped, low and slurred. “i’ll figure you out, girl. don’t you worry.”

your breath hitched at the implication, and you looked back down at the map, fingers tracing the edges as though it might steady you.

“i’m just trying to figure out the best supply route,” you murmured, your voice quieter, almost drowned out by the heaviness in the room.

“supply routes,” he repeated, his tone skeptical, almost mocking. “sure, that’s what you’re thinkin’ about. nothin’ else?”

you glanced up then, his eyes piercing into yours. the intensity of his stare made your heart race, and the words slipped out before you could stop them.

“what else would i be thinking about?” you asked, the question softer than you intended, but it carried something else beneath it.

sandor’s smirk widened, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the way the tension stretched between you. he leaned forward, his forearms resting on the table, and the space between you closed even further.

“plenty,” he said, his voice dropping even lower, filled with implication. “things that’d keep you warmer than that map, i’d wager.”

your breath caught, but this time you didn’t look away. his words hung in the air, heavy with implication, but instead of shying away, you tilted your head, meeting his gaze with cautious curiosity. “and what would those things be, sandor?”

his eyebrows lifted slightly, clearly not expecting you to say anything at all, let alone that. the corner of his mouth twitched, the ghost of a smirk. “what, now you’ve found your tongue?”

you shrugged lightly, though your heart was pounding. “seems fair to ask if you’re going to say things like that.”

he stared at you for a beat, and then a rough laugh escaped him. “you’re full of surprises, little bird,” he muttered, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair, clearly amused.

and then, with a shift of his weight, he leaned back in his chair, the tension breaking just enough for you to breathe again. but you couldn’t ignore the undercurrent of something still crackling in the air between you both, thick and undeniable.

you wondered how long you could keep pretending like you weren’t both caught in the same tangled web of words, glances, and unspoken things that lingered in the corners of the room.

it was dangerous, this game, but neither of you seemed willing to back away from it.

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird and The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 6 ✿:+ Free Fields

1-2-3-4-5-_-7

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: ALL SMUT MDNI, afab reader, virgin reader, P in V sex, oral sex (mutual), fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it up cuties), creampie, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence. 

A/N: I am posting early this week, giving the girls what they want in one long smut scene. Everyone say thank you Bambi. 

Word Count: 3467 

You had ridden most of the night, but once the daylight began to rise in the sky you felt sleep take you. Sandor tied Lika to Stranger and Sandor held you as he rode. You insisted you didn’t need the sleep but he insisted in the opposite direction. He’d ridden most of the day holding you against his chest, wrapped in his cloak. 

You’d woken up in the forest. The light that peaked through the gaps in the leaves of the trees above you began to shine in your eyes. A cold breeze traveled through them, waking you up even more. You looked to your side through half open eyes. You sat up quickly, realizing you were laying on the soft grass alone. You looked around and saw Sandor was watering the horses, and you were wrapped in his cloak. 

“‘M right here.” He said looking over his shoulder at you then back to the horses. 

You looked around and never felt so alone, there was no one for miles. But again you never felt so free. 

But you couldn’t help but feel somewhat awkward. You’d never been alone with Sandor like this. There was hardly any chance of anyone stumbling upon you, your time was not limited, and now everyone must have known. Known that he took you with him. 

You sat up and held your knees closer to your chest, you noticed how the red gown the Lannisters had made for you was already wearing thin, the fabrics tearing slightly. You ran your fingers over the ruined fabric over your knee. You noticed the pattern of the fabric was lions and roses. As your fingers ran over the lion's tail you couldn’t help but feel a pit in your stomach. 

Tyrion. 

You didn’t love him, that was true. But you were fond of him. And maybe at some point if you were married you could have. He wasn’t like his family, and he tried, he really did try to make your cage a comfortable one. But he did not open that cage for you, he didn’t even seem to want to. Sandor did. 

Sandor looked over his shoulder at you again, noticing you examining the fabric. 

“You can’t wear that out ‘ere.” He said gruffly as he stood and walked towards Stranger. 

You looked confused, 

“Somebody comes along and see’s you in that bloody thing you know what they’ll do?” He asked, as if he was testing you. Wanting to know just how cruel you knew the world could be. 

“Something like those men during the riot did.”

“No.” He huffed while rummaging through the sattles bag “No one’ll ever touch you like that again.” He said pulling out some clothes and walking towards you, “But they’ll know who you are. Where the fuck you came from. Lannisters would find us faster.” 

“You don’t think they’ll know who you are?” You asked as he handed you the clothes, 

“You can change that fuckin’ dress but I can’t change my face now can I?”  He said in a gruff voice that you ignored as you looked at the clothes. There was a white cotton tunic, a thick gray wool sweater that was like a dress on you. a pair of tall black leather boots, a thick black leather belt with a satchel attached to it, and a pair of dark brown trousers that were too tight for you but would have to do. 

“where’d you get this?” You asked looking at the clothing,

“Stole it, while you were sleeping.” You looked up at him with a look of surprise “They didn’t want them, fucking left them outside.”

“Were they on a line?” He didn’t respond to you, just stared at you with guilty eyes, “They were hanging to dry. You can’t do that.”

“I’ll do what I have to, for you.” he whispered that last part, “You’re very kind. That’ll get you killed out here.” His voice was hardened and cold, “Change.” He said walking back to the horses by the river. 

You shrugged off his hardened words. running your fingers through your hair. You realized how dirty the journey had made it. Not to mention the dirt that had gathered on your hands, feet, and knees. 

Your eyes wandered towards the river, the water rushing looked inviting. You looked around, there was no one, at least for the next thirty miles. Then you looked back to sandor who was tending to the horses, he was strangely attentive and fond of the horses. It made you feel warm inside, seeing him be so gentle, after you’ve seen him kill and maim men for little reason. 

You stood, as you did you began to remove your gown, Sandor could hear the fabric of your gown being discarded. He pretended not to notice it as he kept his back turned.

Your gown fell around your feet as you stepped out of it, your underclothes with it. 

You walked towards the river, you dipped your foot in the cold water. It wasn’t like the warm baths in lavender oil that you were used to. But it was what you needed. The water was much deeper than you expected.

You plunged into the cold waters, let yourself stay under the water for a moment. The coldness of the water surrounded you, like it was holding you. It reminded you of the cold winds of the Eyrie. Before you could daydream even more you were pulled out of the water by your arm. 

You gasped for air as your head finally reached the surface. 

“Fuck are you doing, girl?” He barked at you, you pulled your arm away, 

“I was dirty.” You said with a smirk as you were catching your breath.

“Er clean now, out.” He said pulling your arm again but you pulled away and out of his grasp. He huffed, you noticed that he was still covered in blood, it was faded but it was still there. 

“You’re still all bloody.” You said and he tisked at you while he pulled on your arm again. “Stop it.” You said pulling your arm away before swimming closer towards him. “Come here.” You commanded softly. With a gruff sigh he gave in, kneeled towards you. You wiped the blood from his brow, his cheek, then his scarred cheek. When you touched it he winced a little. “Does it hurt?” You whispered, he shook his head. 

“Are you finished?” He rasped, you nodded. He stood and walked back and away from you. “Get out of there before a man comes along.” He rasped once again, as he sat by a small fire he’d built. No doubt with a great deal of courage, he mainly built it for you. 

So you did as he said, you climbed out of the water, you threw on your under clothes to cover your nakedness, though your body was still so wet the clothes became almost transparent. Sandor looked back at you while you rang out your hair. He’d seen you naked before, but this felt all the more intimate. The glamor had worn off, and you were reduced to skin and bone. Not a noble woman but a human. Your cheeks felt red and you looked away, but you felt his gaze linger. 

“Dress yourself.” He commanded in a growl “If a man comes,” 

“There's no one for miles.” You interrupted him, walking towards him, your hair still dripping wet. 

“Stubborn girl.” He growled as he drank water from a flask, pissed that it wasn’t wine. But you continued your steps towards him. You knelt by his side and began to undo the clasps of his armor. He grabbed your hand “Fuck are you doing?” 

“You’re covered in blood, your armor- it’s covered in blood.” You said but he didn’t let go of your hand “We can’t attract attention like you said. You being covered in blood would attract just that.” He let your hand go, and you continued. Undoing each clasp until he was left in his tunic and slacks. 

You sat by the river and washed each piece with your hands, taking small amounts of water and rubbing it onto the silver armor. Making sure not too much water touched it, you didn’t want to ruin the material. 

Sandor watched you as the sun began to set, it made him think about what he offered you in your room the night of the battle of Blackwater. He’d build you a home. And he would. He thought of you washing clothes in a river like what you were doing now. He thought of sharing a home with you, not a grand one like the Eyrie but a small home made of wood and stone. He thought for a moment of you carrying his babe. But he was not one for chivalry, tradition, or ceremonies. But he wasn’t one for love either but here he was. 

You walked back with his armor, the fire illuminated his face handsomely, you tried to put it back on him but he took it and placed it on the ground. His eyes softened strangely, but his face was still in that scowl he always had. He placed his hands on your hips and his eyes ran over your body. 

“If another man saw what I am looking at right now, I would kill him.” He grumbled. 

“How many men have you killed?” 

“Killed my first man when I was twelve. I lost count since then.” His voice was cold, and his eyes reached yours searching for any ounce of fear. Finding none. “I don’t frighten you?” He barked as if he was trying to frighten you, trying to get you to come to your senses. 

“Never.” You spoke softly, your soft words always gentled the rage within him. He felt so much for you he almost resented you for it.

He grabbed you by your jaw, “Have you ever made a man feel this way before?” He growled, 

“I don’t know.” You said, still not scared of him, you knew he’d never harm you. 

“I know you have. How could any man not? I know that Imp, he wanted you.” his voice was so low it rumbled in his chest. 

“I never felt love for him, nor lust.” You spoke softly, his grip on you loosened. 

“What of that pretty boy,” 

“Loras?”

“Aye.”

You let out a small giggle at the thought of Sandor being truly jealous of Loras, a man who couldn't love a woman. “Rumors of Loras are true. He did not like the touch of a woman.” 

“He was a cock sucker?”

“Stop that.”

“What, you love him do you?” His grip tightened once again but still not hurting you.

“Not the kind of love you mean.” 

“You said you promised someone you love to take the Eyrie. Who?” He growled, you knew that this was the only way he’d be able to tell you he loved you. By interrogating you on who you loved.

“My mother.” His grip loosened completely, “And my father.” His hand began to rest on your neck, “I promised my mother on her child bed, to keep her house safe, and her son safe. I failed at one I can’t fail both.” 

“Oaths and promises are for cunts.” 

“You’ve sworn a promise to me.” 

“Aye.” He said, his eyes scanning down your body once more. 

“What are you looking at?” 

“The fuck do you think I’m looking at.” He rasped as you noticed his hooded eyes lingering on your breasts, hardly covered by your soaking wet under clothes. You pulled the top half of your under clothes over your head. His eyes snapped to yours.  

“You’ve never been fucked by a man?” He rasped, he knew you hadn’t, he knew you’d already told him this, but he needed to be sure. You shook your head. “Never had a man's fingers in your cunt?” You shook your head again, “Never had a man’s tongue in your cunt?” He rasped, 

“Only yours,” You whispered. Those words only encourage his throbbing cock.

“You sure you want this?” He grumbled, his large rough hands going to your breasts. They were rough and almost hurt by how course they were. They were so large that they engulfed your breast completely. Your mind then turned back from that to the question he asked, 

“I am.” Your words are soft and sweet. 

“Lay back,” His voice dropped and rumbled in his chest, it made you clench your thighs together. You laid back as he asked you. You laid back on the green soft grass. As you did he pulled his tunic off and over his head. He loomed over you, his hands ran from your jaw, to your sternum, to your stomach, to your pelvis. He toyed with the fabric of your under clothes covering your sex. 

“You can’t take it back.” He rasped. You nodded, and you pulled your under clothes down and over your knees, he took them off from there. 

He positioned himself between your legs, and leaned down. He kissed you deeply. Sucking on your lips as if they tasted of wine. His rough hands roamed your body, they were so rough they almost scratched at your skin. You moaned into his mouth as his hand found its way to your cunt. 

His large middle finger began to play with your clit. His finger circled your clit a few times then teased your entrance, just a little, adding some pressure then going back to your clit. Your sweet moans only encourage his throbbing bulge in his trousers. 

Your hand gripped a chunk of his hair at the back of his head, deepening your kiss. Your other hand roamed his back, littered with scars. 

He kissed down from your jaw, to your neck, to your collar bones, your chest, breasts, nipples, stomach. He sucked and bit at your side making you jump a little and mewl. He continued on and kissed your pelvic mound. 

He lifted your legs up and over his shoulders, kissing your inner thighs and biting them gently. The feel of his beard scratched at your thighs. Your back arched at the feeling. 

Finally, replacing his fingers with his tongue. He licked at your sensitive clit, sucking on it, and biting on it lightly, enough to make you moan his name, which in turn made him moan into your cunt. The vibration of it made the sensation all the more pleasurable. 

At this point you were soaking wet, you heard lude sounds from him, a mix of growls and slurping. 

You gripped a handful of his hair again scratching at his scalp. 

His fingers returned to your cunts entrance, not fully entering it, just applied pressure teasing you horribly. 

He kissed your swollen clit and came up for air, He looked at your cunt, empty but clenching around nothing at all. It drove him mad, as he looked up at you, you looked down at him. “I’ll be gentle, but it’ll hurt.” He said with a low raspy voice. 

You nodded, “Please,” you whined. 

He kissed your inner thigh as his thick ring finger began to enter you. Your back arched and you let out a groan as you threw your head back. It burned a little, and the pressure was uncomfortable, and yet felt so good. His finger continued inside of you, and his eyes watched you making sure you didn’t want it to stop. Then you felt him hit something, it made you wince. He stopped, 

“Take a deep breath, little bird.” He said oddly gently. He sucked on your clit as he continued and you felt a snap inside of you, it hurt, 

“Nmph!” You groaned, let out a sharp breath. 

“It’s alright now, it’ll feel better now.” He said moaning into your cunt. 

And he was right, the pain and the burn stopped, and was replaced by pleasure. You moaned as his finger pumped in you over and over again. He added another finger as he sucked on your breasts. You held his head and kissed the top of it whilst he did so. 

He pulled his fingers out of you and sat up on his knees. You sat up as well. 

Your eyes looked at his fingers, covered in your slick mixed with blood. Your cheeks lit up red with embarrassment. 

“It’s alright, little bird. I fuckin' love it, you've got no fucking idea how long I've wanted to do this to ye.” He comforted you, you weren’t used to it. You tried to ignore your embarrassment and focus on what you wanted. You started to undo his trousers, he didn’t stop you this time. You pulled his trousers down with some resistance from his large cock. Once you got them down his cock bounced up, standing straight. You looked up at him waiting for any resistance, met with none once again. 

You took his cock in your hand, it made your hand look so small in comparison. He let out a deep groan, which only encouraged you more. You kissed the side of his cock, and kissed your way to the tip. You licked at the precum that was seeping from his tip. 

It was salty and bitter but you couldn’t get enough. However, that was his last straw. He pushed you back onto the soft grass and pulled your legs around his waist. He kissed you, tasting himself on your tongue as you tasted yourself on his. 

He lined himself up with your soft, warm, and soaking wet entrance. He slowly pushed his way inside of you. You both let out a loud moan, but you tried to cover your mouth, not wanting to risk others in these forests hearing you. Sandor wouldn’t have that though. He grabbed your wrist and pulled it away from your mouth, 

“Don’t you fucking dare. I want to hear all of it.” He growled at you, “I’ve waited too long to hear it.”

“What if someone hears?” You tried to say without moaning but failing miserably 

“I’ll strangle them with their own guts.” He said like an angry dog, “I’m the only one who can see you like this, hear you like this.” 

He pushed further and further into you until he hit your spongy cervix, making you almost scream out in pleasure. Sandor gritted his teeth and he shouted “Gods!... (Y/N), you feel so fucking good!” as he slammed his lips onto yours kissing you with a hunger you’d never known. He let himself warm inside you for a moment, letting you get used to the stretch. 

All the things you’d heard about sex finally made sense. The pleasure of it, and the pain of it. But you never knew how fulfilling it could feel. How the satisfaction would feel within you. You hadn’t even cum yet but you were a woman happy nonetheless. 

He began to move again, in and out of you pumping. You gripped the grass at the sides of your head. As he pumped in you your breasts bounced, his eyes couldn’t stop but admire your body. Every inch of it unique to you and you alone. All those whores he paid who looked like you weren’t like this. They didn’t feel as good as you did, they didn’t fit around him the way you did. 

“I’m not ‘urting you am I?” He asked through gritted teeth, you shook your head as you moaned loudly, “Good.” He said as he pumped harder and faster. He leaned down more and ravaged your breasts, you knew there would be marks on them tomorrow. His hands gripped at your hips so tightly you knew there would be marks there as well. 

“Take it, take it, take it, take it-” He grumbled into your neck over and over again. 

You felt the pressure in your belly tighten, you knew you were going to cum. “I feel ya’ tightening around my cock, do it, cum around my cock.” He said into your ear as he nibbled at your lobe, then moving to bite at your jaw. 

“Fuck!” You moaned loudly, “Sandor!” You yelped as you felt yourself cumming all over him. 

His arm wrapped around your waist tightly pulling you up and close to this chest. While his other hand held your jaw in place, having you look him in the eyes. 

“Cum in me,” You pleaded breathlessly, his eyes widened, he couldn’t believe that you’d ever want him to do such a thing. It pushed him over the edge and he didn’t have time to question if it was truly what you wanted as he melted into you.

"(Y/N)!" He shouted as you felt the hot ribbons of cum filling you deep inside of you. His grunts were like war screams, as if he were impaling a man with a sword. In a way he was. It out of nowhere made you cum again, pushing some of his cum out of your cunt, overflowing around his cock still in you. 

As he collapsed beside you, and you both laid there naked covered in sweat in the cold air. You tried to catch your breath. 

“(Y/N)” He said in a husky growl you could hear the rumble of his tone, you turned to look at him. “I would die for you.” 

NOTE:

Hi girlies. I made this with the intention of making it just one scene in a multiple scene chapter but it was already so long and we have a lot more to get to so enjoy this little freebie. 

Also I am working on a new series, might take a min tho so I am not going to announce who it is about but it is also GOT related.

Also also double points for anyone who caught the Laufey lyrics

My Beloveds: If you want to be added to the tag list comment telling me so!

@dontfollowjuststuff @helpmeescapethisreality @merfic

[thebookbutterfly]

Hey there! Could you possibly write a Sandor Clegane x gender neutral reader where Sandor has a soft spot for reader and reader feels the same? He tries to hide it but one day reader get’s hurt and he patches them up and maybe confessions come out?

🦋 Little Bird— Sandor Clegane x gn!Reader

Summary: You get injured in an ambush. Sandor carries you to safety and takes care of you.

Tags: #so much hurt/comfort, #a teensy bit of angst, #fluffy ending, #potentially OOC Sandor Clegane but personally I think he is pretty baby girl, #request

Warnings: Gender Neutral, no use of Y/N, descriptions of blood and injury, mentions of death, cannon compliant threats of violence, no beta and no ‘ragrets' [1,371 words]

AN: This is a request by @agender-wolfie. I really hope that this is what you were looking for! It came out a bit longer than I intended, but I am such a sucker for hurt/comfort tropes I really shouldn’t be surprised lmao. I wrote this all in one sitting and I haven’t done any editing so please excuse any errors. Happy reading! 🦋 Love BB

If you like this work my requests are currently open! So please give me your ideas ;)

You hissed a curse, gravelly and threadbare, as Sandor sidestepped another fallen tree.

A jumble of vulgar expressions that barely registered to you as they left your mouth. Almost all of them taught to you by the giant man holding you to his chest. The hound cradled you surprisingly gently, but his tension was evident. It was written all over him.

His scarred face, which you so rarely got the opportunity to study, was pulled into a broken grimace. The rest of him taut like a wire ready to snap beneath his armour. If you weren’t bleeding all over him, you might have reached up to prod the furrow of his brow. A silly attempt to smooth away Sandor’s permanent scowl.

The thought shattered as another wave pain tore through your ribs. Every bump in the path sowing fresh agony in the ruined skin and muscle.

Sandor ran a calloused thumb over the side of your knee in apology. Uttering clumsy noises of comfort as he picked up the pace.

“We’re almost there. Hold on just a bit longer, little bird.”

His gruff voice was cut with a noticeable amount of panic. Your brow scrunched at the unusual sound. You had gotten used to many things about Sandor as you travelled North with him. His rough sense of humour, bitter attitude, scarred face and huge stature were familiar to you by now. Underneath those things, his kindness and his softheartedness had become apparent to you too.

All the vulnerable pieces of himself that he smothered and choked beneath layers of vulgar humour and recklessness, had been presented to you in glimpses as you got to know him. But panic? Panic was new to you.

The farmhouse that Sandor had marked out in the distance finally drew into view. Up close it was a measly grey thing. The stone masonry looked haphazard at best but its chimney puffed with life. Behind it a barn lay with its doors open and rattling in the freezing wind.

You expected Sandor to head straight for the shelter of the barn but instead he strode to the front door. The family of four, seated around the dining room table inside, scrambled back as he slammed open the door with his usual subtlety. Which was to say— none at all.

You groaned as the sudden movement jostled your wound. Normally you would have chastised him for being so rude but your head was swimming. Too weak to lift your hand, you focused your energy on your eyes. Willing them to stay open, if not for your sake then for the sake of your worried companion.

An old man stepped forward to speak but Sandor cut him off, “One of you better be a healer, because if they die I will mount all of your heads outside on sticks.”

It was an ugly threat and they paled. The youngest boy whimpered looking suddenly ill. A younger woman with dark hair and a generous smattering of freckles stepped forward. She gestured a slightly shaky hand towards the table before him, before turning to her family.

“Clear the table, quickly. We can lay them down here,” her attention shifted back to the massive man standing in the doorway, “I’m not a healer by profession but I’ll do everything I can.”

Sandor seemed pleased enough by this answer. The rest of the family had been wise enough not to put up a fight and so Sandor stepped forward. He eased his grip and lay you down on the hastily cleared surface.

He moved to step away and let this stranger do her work but you whimpered. Fingertips clutching at air until he shifted back into reach.

A leather belt was stuffed between your teeth as your tunic was torn up the side. Unfamiliar hands grasped at your arms and legs. Holding you down with a bruising grip. All the while, Sandor brushed his bloodied fingers over your forehead and through your hair. The warmth of his skin a small consolation for the pain you were about to endure.

The woman lifted a needle and thread. With a glance at Sandor and his affirming nod she began to count down and you closed your eyes, unable to look.

Three.

Two.

One.

Fire. Your body was on fire. You arched off the table. Trying to escape the agony, the needle slowly piecing your flesh back together. The table shook as you thrashed but the hands holding you down didn’t falter. Sandor’s gravely words of comfort were the last things ringing in your ears as the world went black.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first thing that you noticed when you woke up was the lack of pain. Your side still ached, the wound tender, but it was a dull throbbing now. No longer, the screaming torture it was as Sandor carried you away from where you were ambushed.

The second was the warmth. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been this warm since you and Sandor had journeyed across the border into the North. Sandor.

You opened your eyes slowly. The lighting was dim but from what you could tell you were inside the barn. The door was closed now though and soft orange candlelight illuminated the space.

You lay on your good side underneath a thick layer of blankets, and next to you lay the man your eyes sought for. His arm tucked you to him, large calloused hand resting somewhere on your lower back.

His heart thudded rhythmically beneath where your head lay on his chest. His even breathing and faint snores filled the quiet. Despite your inner protests it was the most comfortable you had been in years.

You gazed up at him, not wanting to wake him just yet. Sandor didn’t sleep nearly enough and you were content to watch the way the candlelight danced across his skin. It caught on his scarred cheek. Shadows flickering on the panes of his face.

Unable to resist you lifted a hand to his cheek. Your touch was featherlight but his eyes snapped open. Sandor’s gaze flicked to you immediately. Scanning you for distress and finding none, his body relaxed.

“Seven Hells, I thought you were going to die. Never do that again,” he said gruffly. His cheeks were flushed but he made no move to shift away from you.

Your voice was cracked from screaming but you still managed to mumble, “M’Sorry.”

Sandor sighed, “It wasn’t your fault, little bird.” He reached into his pack and pulled out a water-skein. Unscrewing the top he held it out towards you.

“Here, drink. Then you can go back to sleep,” he said.

“Thank you.”

The moisture eased the pain in your throat and soon you were snuggled back up under Sandor’s arm. The wind howled through the rafters and you both sat in silence for a little while.

Your thoughts broke the quiet, “Thank you for carrying me here. Thank you for staying.”

Sandor’s eyes met yours, they were unguarded and soft in a way that seemed reserved for you. Reserved for these conversations in the dark.

His voice was low as he replied, “I would have carried you to the ends of the earth, little bird.”

You studied him, the scars that mottled his skin, the cut on his brow and the curl of his mouth. Something deep within you settled, like a cat stretching out on a rug.

“You’re a good man, Sandor Clegane,” you said.

The conviction in your voice hit him harder than any blow on the battlefield ever had. The tidal wave of emotions that followed threatened to take him under but he swallowed them down.

You pretended not to notice his watery eyes and he lifted his spare hand to stroke your head. “Go to sleep, I’ll keep you safe.”

You nodded sleepily, too tired to fight it off any longer. A few seconds pass before you feel it. The soft press of his lips on your forehead. They linger there for a while before he pulls back, the warmth that they leave behind searing like a brand on your skin. You smile as you drift off, lulled to sleep by his warm embrace and steady breathing.

“Goodnight, little bird.”

[a-hound-will-die-for-you]

Like father, like son

“FUCKING HELL hen, get back here! I’ll gut you BLOODY!”

Your four-year-old stomps furiously through the snow-covered training yard, raising a short wooden sword over his head as a terrified hen flaps away for its life.

You frown, then shift your gaze to your husband. He is leaning against the stone wall, watching the boy with unmistakable pride. The second he senses your glare, he glances your way and his smirk fades instantly.

“Alright,” he mutters before calling out to the boy. “Oi, brat! Watch your FUCKING tongue!”

“Sandor!” you scold.

“What?”

The baby girl in your arms giggles and reaches for her father with chubby little hands.

“He’s just a child; he shouldn’t talk like that,” you sigh, watching your firstborn continue his wild chase across the yard.

“And you,” Sandor says as he takes the girl from your arms, “shouldn’t be carrying weight in your condition.”

You smile, and your hand rests over your round belly while your husband's lips press a kiss to your forehead.

...............

Someone help me!!! I have fallen hard for this man and can't stop writing!