#sandor the hound clegane

[silverwingxox]

born to marry him, forced to read fanfics about him

[azulolivart]

An unequal marriage in Westeros.

[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.

[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. 

[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

[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. 

[witchthewriter]

𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭/𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫 𝐂𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

Also this is 18+ ... we acting like grown ups.

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑨 = 𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆 (𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚’𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒙)

Sandor isn’t the softest man, but he does take care of you afterward, even if it’s in his own grumpy way.

If he sees you’re exhausted or sore, he’ll grunt, roll over, and pull you against him. "Tired, are ya? Hmph. Should’ve thought about that before beggin’ me for more." (Yet his rough fingers are already rubbing soothing circles on your back.)

He always stays, even if he doesn’t say much. His way of comforting you is holding you close, resting a heavy arm over you like a shield.

𝑩 = 𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 (𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂��𝒔𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒓’𝒔)

𝑂𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓: Sandor doesn't exactly...like his body. Well, that's not completely true. He does like how big and strong he is - he takes pride in it. But what he likes the most is his voice and its affect on you. With a few words, he can make you shiver.

𝑂𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢: He adores your thighs. Doesn’t matter if they’re thick, thin, or somewhere in between. He grips them possessively and worships them when he’s between them. ("These legs? Mine.")

𝑪 = 𝑪𝒖𝒎 (𝑨𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒄𝒖𝒎 𝒃𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚)

He loves finishing in you; it’s primal. Watching it drip out of you? He nearly loses his mind. If you’re on your knees? He grabs your jaw and makes you look at him as he finishes. His voice is low, husky; "Fuck, just like that. Gods, you’re perfect."

𝑫 = 𝑫𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 (𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇-𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚, 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓𝒔)

Clegane does like to command you. Snarling in his heat, grabbing at your body, telling you what to do.

𝑬 = 𝑬𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 (𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚? 𝑫𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚'𝒓𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈)

He’s somewhat experienced. Most of his encounters have been rough, quick, and impersonal. But with you? He learns patience. He learns what you like. And gods, when you whimper his name, he learns that he enjoys worshipping you.

𝑭 = 𝑭𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝑷𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 (𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝒂 𝒗𝒊𝒔𝒖𝒂𝒍)

Doggy style, always. He loves gripping your hips, watching your back arch as he fucks into you. But he also loves taking you against a wall, pinning you there, making you feel just how strong he is.

𝑮 = 𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒇𝒚 (𝑨𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒔, 𝒆𝒕𝒄)

Sandor is not a smooth talker. He’s gruff, sometimes awkward, but his dry humor sneaks in. "Yer gonna be the death of me," he mutters, staring at you sprawled out beneath him, breathless.

𝑯 = 𝑯𝒂𝒊𝒓 (𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍-𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚)

Very hairy; chest, arms, legs. Doesn’t care to shave much and he doesn't touch his pubic hair either.

𝑰 = 𝑰𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒄𝒚 (𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝒂𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕…)

Not great with words, but his actions say everything. He grips your hand in the middle of it, presses his forehead to yours, and when he’s feeling particularly soft, he kisses the crown of your head after.

𝑱 = 𝑱𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝑶𝒇𝒇 (𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏)

If you aren't around ... he obviously does. But he does have patience.

𝑲 = 𝑲𝒊𝒏𝒌 (𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔)

Breeding; he wants to hear you say it. How much you want his pups. That one sentence makes him go completely and utterly feral.

𝑳 = 𝑳𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 (𝑭𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐)

Anywhere secluded—he’s not big on risks, but he loves the thrill of taking you somewhere unexpected.

𝑴 = 𝑴𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 (𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒐𝒏, 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈)

Watching you submit to him, knowing you trust him. That makes him hunger for you like nothing else.

Grabbing him by the belt, and tugging him closer to you? Mhmm...mhmm

𝑵 = 𝑵𝑶 (𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏’𝒕 𝒅𝒐, 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒔)

He would never hurt you. He may be rough, but he’s not cruel. Not to you. Never to you. And he will not share. The thought of another man touching you? He’d rather burn the whole kingdom down.

𝑶 = 𝑶𝒓𝒂𝒍 (𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍, 𝒆𝒕𝒄)

Loves receiving; seeing you on your knees, eyes pleading for his fat cock. But gods does he fucking love giving even more. He pins you down and devours you until you’re a trembling mess.

𝑷 = 𝑷𝒂𝒄𝒆 (𝑨𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉? 𝑺𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒂𝒍? 𝒆𝒕𝒄.)

Fast and rough most times. He loses himself in the moment, grips your hips, pounds into you like a man possessed. But when he’s feeling softer? Slow, deep thrusts while he watches every expression cross your face.

𝑸 = 𝑸𝒖𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒆 (𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒙, 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒐𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒏, 𝒆𝒕𝒄.)

Not his favorite, but if he’s starving for you? He’ll fuck you up against a tree, growling in your ear, making you keep quiet.

𝑹 = 𝑹𝒊𝒔𝒌 (𝑨𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕, 𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒌𝒔, 𝒆𝒕𝒄.)

Sandor wouldn't mind tying you up, especially when you've been a brat all day. He'd enjoy takng you to the edge, and then leave you there, left crying for more.

He might let you take control; if you can catch him completely off guard.

𝑺 = 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒂 (𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒈𝒐 𝒇𝒐𝒓, 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕…)

Insane stamina. He can go for hours if he wants, especially when he’s desperate for you. One round? Never enough.

𝑻 = 𝑻𝒐𝒚 (𝑫𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒐𝒚𝒔? 𝑫𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎? 𝑶𝒏 𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔?)

No, no experience with toys... I mean lets be real here - Westeros doesn't have them? But he wouldn't mind using them if they were created.

𝑼 = 𝑼𝒏𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓 (𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆)

Smirks when you beg, because he knows no matter how much you tease him; he can physically control every move you make. He's that much bigger, taller, stronger.

He wants you near pleading. But as soon as you whimper, he's undone.

𝑽 = 𝑽𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒎𝒆 (𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆, 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆)

The noises he makes are fucking filthy. Deep groans, growls, low grunts. And the first time you moaned his name? He growled so deep it made your legs weak.

𝑾 = 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝑪𝒂𝒓𝒅 (𝑮𝒆𝒕 𝒂 𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒎 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆)

Loves watching you sleep after. He’ll never admit it, but his eyes soften, his fingers trace your bare skin, he presses his lips to your forehead and takes in your scent.

𝑿 = 𝑿-𝑹𝒂𝒚 (𝑳𝒆𝒕’𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕’𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔, 𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔)

Big. Thick. Heavy. Enough to stretch you open, make you feel every inch. And when you think he can't be any bigger, surely he's fully inside you, he pushes further.

𝒀 = 𝒀𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 (𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒙 𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒆?)

Sandor would never verbally say it but he is constantly yearning for you. He daydreams about your smell, the way you squirm beneath him, grabbing his arms, sucking on his fingers...he basically makes himself hard.

𝒁 = 𝒁𝒁𝒁 (… 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒂𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔)

He stays awake long enough to make sure you're okay, then falls asleep until sunrise.

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound Chapter links

yes, i know that the first few chapter links are broken please refrain messaging me about it hahah I’ve been working on getting the links working again and here they are!! These are all the links up to the most recent chapter. More will be added as the story progresses.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

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Safe Keeping | 2

Part 1 2 3

"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."

Sandor Clegane x Reader | 5k+ | cw: fem!reader, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, smut (dub con, primal play, PIV, rough sex), emotional unavailability, The Hound being abrasive, canon typical casual misogyny, baby fever, typos, etc.

A/N: you guys, i dont want to edit the summary from p1 so i wont. also for future me here are the asks i got for this fic [x] [x] [x] which is like 🤯 cos i thought id get 5 notes on this tbh HAHAH originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds

I refused to leave my chambers when I woke.

Not only had I cried myself to sleep, but I had woken with puffy eyes and ended up crying all over again. I was glad that my doting handmaiden was so fiercely loyal to me. Lucy didn't think my weeping childish. She was understanding and eternally on my side. I am immensely grateful for it; I don't know what I would have done without her.

She helped me bathe and dress and eat, then entertained me with gossip from the servants. For a while that was enough.

As the day passed though, my thoughts muddled and left me restless. I could not do anything but obsess over the fact my husband left me after wifing me up.

"Do you think he will come back tonight?" I mutter as I stare blankly at my reflection on the mirror.

Lucy ceases combing my hair and takes my chin in her fingers. Paired with a hand on my shoulder, she silently urges me to straighten my back from my seat. I do just that. She smiles at me through the mirror, "my lady, if you wish it, I will look for him and make him come to you."

I release a breath, "don't be ridiculous."

"I am not being ridiculous," she sets the brush down, "I am being serious."

I feel my throat tighten. My lips quiver but I refuse to break down in tears again. I shake my head rapidly, unwilling to speak, for I knew I would crack if I did.

Lucy frowns in concern then kneels down on my side, grabbing my hand, "my lady, I would die for you."

I screw my eyes shut and break into a whine, "please-"

"I owe you my life," she clasps my hand with hers and brings it to her cheek, "you freed me from my chains. You clothed me, fed me, and showed me kindness none of my masters have ever shown me before," she looks up at me with a solemn expression then repeats, "I would die for you."

I shake my head and lean into her, "live for me, Lucy. I've forgotten what's it was like before you and I don't want to remember."

She kisses my hand and presses her forehead on mine before standing, "I shall do as you command."

She stands behind me and gathers my hair back. She strokes my locks and offers me a smile through the mirror once more. I smile back at her this time around.

The comfort she offers me finally seeps through me as she massages my shoulders.

"I pray the gods will swiftly bless me with a child so that I will have other things to do than await my husband so helplessly and forlorn."

"Well, you said that he pleasured you," Lucy tilts her head, "women who have not been pleasured still bea-

Lucy is cut off by the crashing open of the door. She and I both whip back, hearts in our mouths as we stare at our Lord Clegane, who was staring right back at us.

"What's wrong with you?" he demands. The metal of his armor clanks. I eye the one Lucy tidied to the side, the one I undid the night before, and turn back to him. His brown eyes look at me with such intense accusation.

I feel my hands tremble. I cannot for the life of me find the words to speak. 

What did he even mean? How could he ask me this?

"No one has seen you all day," he says, "have you not left this room once?'

"She 'asn't," Lucy snaps, "milady has been feeling-"

"I wasn't talking to you, wench," the Hound does not turn to her when he says this. His eyes are very much still fixed on me, "I'm talking to my wife."

My wife. I look away. That's right, all that I am now is forfeit to him.

I gasp and turn back when I hear him marching over. Lucy places a protective hand on my shoulder and I find myself cowering into her touch. I clench my jaw and gulp when he stops in front of me.

He gazes upon me for the longest second of my life. He furrows his brows, "what's wrong with your fa-"

I flinch when he reaches out to my cheek.

Instantaneously, Lucy tightens her grip on me and blocks him, and Sandor cuts himself off and recoils before he can even touch my skin. He steps a few paces back then clenches his hand as if he'd gotten burnt.

We both evade each other's gaze. Sandor's eyes finally land on Lucy, "has she been crying?"

Lucy's blood boils. She hisses, "yes," then harshly pronounces, "milord."

Sandor turns away and twitches. He rolls his shoulders back and stretches his hands. He knocks on his chest plate. He looks to no one when he asks, "are you hurt?"

Lucy takes no care in masking her scoff or sigh. I take her arm and she watches me shake my head disapprovingly.

I do not look at anyone when I reply either, "I cannot say I'm not... lord husband."

A thick silence builds in the room within a moment.

When I dare too look at the Hound, he is already looking at me and suddenly speaks, "leave us, wench."

I turn to Lucy. She does not move an inch.

I give her an urging shake, but she is steadfast in her spot. Our Lord Clegane turns to her and grinds his teeth, "you will find I do not make habit of repeating myself."

I shoot up from my seat when Lucy presses forward and quips, "and you will find that I will not allow you to treat milady like this."

"Lucy!" I admonish, yanking her back.

Lucy glares daggers at him as I attempt to pacify and persuade her to leave us. Her eyes do not leave him as I sweep her out the room. I instruct her to walk around the gardens for a while then close the door after.

I press my back against the wooden surface as I look back to the man I was now alone with.

Sandor watches me expectantly. I do not say a word, for I did not know what he wanted to hear.

He finally breaks the silence, "you walk well enough."

I am dumbfounded by his choice of words. I dare not respond when I feel my lips quiver; instead, I nod quickly.

Sandor deeply furrows his brows. He shifts on his spot and chances a step in my direction, "why didn't you come out your room then?"

I lick my lips and shake my head. I turn away from him and mutter, "do I appear like I am in the state to be walking around when I look like this?"

"Like what?" he draws nearer.

I whip my head, "THIS!"

Sandor stops in his tracks. He looks at me, expressionless, "this what?"

I scoff in disbelief, feeling tears immediately soak my face. I whisper, "look at me."

"I am, with both eyes."

"And you see nothing?" I mutter shakily, "feel nothing?'

"Should I feel something?"

My chest sinks; it feels like it's caving in. He might as well gut me and spit on my bones. I turn to my feet and wipe my cheeks, "no. I suppose not."

Sandor curses under his breath. He rips at his collar, suddenly feeling his armour weigh down on him. He feels unbelievably hot. He clears his throat, "it hurts."

I look up at him.

"It hurts the first time, usually," he clarifies, "or in times you're not wet enough." He nods, "you were wet enough."

My entire being burns at his words, at his nonchalance. My face is searing in embarrassment and shame.

I want to scream at him, want to hurtle into him and demand to know why he left me, why he was so removed, but then I find the answers in my head. It dawns on me that he acted carelessly because he didn't care. He didn't want this. He didn't want me. All of it was forced. And so I hold my tongue.

Instead, I calmly explain, "my hurt is not bodily, Sandor."

Sandor's stomach rolls at the sound of his name.

"I was," I turn to space between us, "hurt that you left me. And-" I shake my head as tears rush from my eyes, "I've realized now that it's wrong of me to be."

I put a brave face on in spite of my weeping and hold his stare. The man is as stoic and hard as ever. I scoff at myself for feeling this way.

"Worry no longer, Hound," I open the door, "I will not cause you trouble again."

I step back and make way for him to exit.

He looks at me for what feels like an eternity then marches out the door.

"And have you-"

Lucy and I gasp and turn at once.

"-named it yet, Lady Clegane?"

I chuckle guilty, "Lord Varys."

The man nods to me in regard, "good morrow to you."

I curtsy to him, as does my handmaiden. Lucy lifts her skirt as inconspicuously as possible in hopes to block what was behind her.

Varys catches this and waves his hands, "there be no need for that, my dear. The stray is an obedient one, isn't it?"

I share a look with Lucy before we step back and reveal the dog behind us. Daisy was panting and wagging her tail. She had her front paw bent, for it had been broken and healed that way. I had a maester examine it. In the end, he said it was pointless to put a split because it would not fix her leg and Daisy just kept chewing it anyway.

Daisy closes her mouth and sniffs the man.

"Ah," Varys smiles at the creature, "may I pet it?"

Lucy nods and eagerly explains, "she's Daisy; she is incredibly sweet, milord."

Varys cheerfully scratches the crown of the dog's head.

Though he laughs, my own face contorts into an opposite expression, "please make no note of it to my husband."

Varys looks at me exaggeratedly, as though he was offended.

I continue, "she makes me happy."

"One does not need to be told that to know," he presses his lips together. He links his hands, "I imagine you must be rather heavyhearted since the arrival of your womanly bleeding."

I drop my gaze upon hearing this. The master of whispers truly knew all. Lucy turns to me, then back to him, "milord, it's not proper to mention these things."

Varys measures my reaction before turning to Lucy, "yes. I suppose one such as myself has no business speaking of such things." He raises a finger, "still, if you should ever need assistance with that or your stray, know that my services are available to you, my lady."

I smile at him and nod, "I thank you for it, Lord Varys."

With that, he walks away.

"Do you think he will tell him?" Lucy asks as she grabs my arm.

I sigh and turn Daisy.

I've only had her for few days but she's given me purpose. I named her Daisy because she turned up from a bush of daisies while I read in the gardens. I was shocked, puzzled with how she got there, and a little scared she would bite me. When I noticed her injury, I figured she must be very weak and offered her food. She had my heart the moment she licked my fingers.

It was fate, I figured. I had not read in the gardens since the Hound berated me for it, and she came out of nowhere. When I imagine what would have happened to her if anyone else found her, I dread to think of the fact she could have been struck dead. The gods must have sent her to me, to remedy my sorrow and fill in for the absence of my Hound.

I was meant to save Daisy, and she was meant to save me.

I shake my head, "I'll have someone keep her tonight."

The Hound stops in his tracks when he witnesses what he does from afar. A blazing fury engulfs him as he watches two women walk away. The guard, who was spoken to, ogle their figures as they did.

Sandor laughs under his breath, but of course, nothing about this situation was funny to him.

He immediately charges when the guard is left alone, stupidly attending to an open crate-- he'll fucking bash it into his skull.

The guard goes back to his post and spots the approaching giant. At first, he is unfazed by the Hound but fear quickly finds him when he realizes he was heading straight for him.

He does not speak. The Hound simply grabs him by the chest plate, lifts him up and slams him on to the stone wall. He was angry-- worse, he was irrational.

"Why was she speaking to you?!" he snaps, "what business do you have with her?!"

The guard does not waste a second in spilling his guts, "Lady Clegane paid me to watch her dog!" He sounded like he was about to piss his pants.

"What?!" he seethes.

"The crate! The crate! There's a dog in the crate!" 

Sandor shoves him away and walks toward the crate. Lo and behold, the Hound sees the mutt, fur a light shade of brown, tongue out as it pant, right arm curled up.

He draws his sword.

Lucy and I head back to my chambers after eating supper. Our chattering is abruptly cut when he step in and see the Hound's hulking figure.

To say I am shocked is an understatement. I am terrified. He has not come to my chambers since the day after our wedding night, and now, here he was after Lord Varys confronted me. I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat, "my lord, I-"

"Don't you have one too many dogs now?" he growls.

Lucy is unable to hide the sound that leaves her mouth. My eyes begin to water as trepidation rips up my neck. I whisper, "Sandor."

Sandor flinches. He huffs, "what were you doing with it? You playing dolls with it, girl?"

"I saved her!" I explain with a shaky voice. "I fed her, gave her water-"

"Its leg is broken. You keep it in a crate. It's mercy for me to kill it."

Lucy gasps. My stomach drops and I run up to him, "no. Please. Please, tell me you didn't-"

I start when I see something move on the bed. I let out a shaky breath when a bark echoes in the room. I had never been more relieved to see Daisy than now.

Sandor growls, "OFF!" He marches to the bed and charges at the her. I shriek and grab his arm, holding him back. Of course, I nearly shoot forward for what was my strength against his? Still, he turns back to me and huffs. Daisy jumps down the bed and comes to my side.

Lucy grabs her and leads her to the corner of the room.

I continue to beg, "please, don't kill her. Please, I beg of you."

"You pay the guards to watch the mutt," Sandor yanks his arm away; the action hurts my hand. He seethes, "you're better off selling the bitch to a butcher as pig food."

I wail, "it was only this time! I have kept her with me since before." I drop to my knees, "please, I will ask nothing more of you," hot tears burn down all the way down to my chest. "I beg that you just let her live."

Sandor steps back and looks down at me. I can see how pathetic he thinks I am at this moment, and yet I find myself unable to care.

"You will ask me nothing more, aye?" he scoffs. His lips curl, "don't you want a child?"

My expression drops.

"You would rather save the bitch than have a babe?"

I am unable to speak. 

Why is he doing this to me?

"Well?!" he demands.

I screw my eyes shut when some of his spit sputters to my face. I turn to the floor, "she's been keeping me company in your absence. She's-"

"Ah, so that's why she feels so comfortable on the bed. You sleep with her."

I look up at him, about to explain that she sleeps on the floor and has never done that before. I do not have the chance.

"Well then keep your stray," he scoffs, "and have it fuck a babe into you."

The Hound storms off right after.

He grips his hand and his hilt as he marches away.

He should have killed it, he shouldn't have hesitated. The only reason he did was because it didn't flinch at his sword. The mutt was so dumb it had no fear. It even propped on the crate and tried sniffing the steel. Brainless.

His insides feel like they were boiling.

He knew the little girl would weep if he killed it, yet he didn't and there were tears anyway. He curses loudly. It reverberates in the hall.

He should have killed it.

Now it was too late.

"I see you make friends even with stray cats now, my lady."

I look over my shoulder after the cat I was petting runs off because of the voice. Lord Baelish comes up to me, sparing a quick glance to the orange feline that jumped down the wall. He turns back to me with a smile, "pardon me, Lady Clegane, I did not mean to frighten the kitty."

I shake my head, returning a soft smile. I wrap my arms around myself, still not entirely used to the light fabric and freeness of the dresses I've been wearing lately, "it's alright, my lord. The cats do not like people."

Baelish walks in front of me and smiles wider, "they must see you their goddess then."

I shake my head and give a soft chuckle.

"Where is your hound?" he asks.

I stiffen.

He clarifies, "I mean the one with the broken leg."

I release a breath and look out to the view, "I had my handmaiden bathe her."

"Mmm," Baelish looks out to the view with me, "thus why you sought the cats."

A breeze brushes past us.

I do not turn to him, but I know he turns to me. He speaks, "one such as you should not be left alone or unaccompanied."

"Why? Would you hurt me, Lord Baelish?"

He chuckles, "and risk getting mauled by the Hound? I would not."

I watch as a flock of birds fly overhead.

"Other things perhaps," he says.

I do not respond to him.

A moment passes with nothing but looking and silence.

I feel his hot breath when he sighs deeply, "I remember clearly the day I first met you."

Baelish speaks my first name and it's enough to finally make me to turn to him. In truth, my name sounds foreign to me. Who I was has been long overshadowed by Lady Clegane... or, more accurately, the Hound himself.

"You were a vibrant flower. Your fragrance wafted through the room the moment you stepped in," he says, taking one step closer. "Being around you was a privilege; conversing with you, a prize."

I blink at his words, taking in the lines of his face, "and now," I clasp my hands together, "I've withered away, have I?"

His Baelish-blue eyes appear to be solemn. My lips part when he takes my hands in his. He speaks under his breath, "you are more radiant than ever."

I do not move an inch.

"Take heart," he speaks my name again, "hounds are crushed under heels of goddesses."

I pull away from him and shake my head, "do not speak blasphemy with me."

He laughs, bringing his hands behind him, "ever devout and god-fearing." He raises an arm, "shall we part ways by the stables? I will be heading out of the keep."

I debate for a moment. Ultimately, I offer polite smile and decide to agree.

We walk with no sense of urgency. I never knew Petyr to be one for small talk, and so I am surprised that he asks me about my dresses. In truth, I really shouldn't have been.

"Your dresses are Dornish, are they not?" he raises a brow.

"Dornish-like," I clarify, "it was my usual tailor that made my new dresses. I feared if I asked a Dornish tailor for a modest silhouette, I'd be colder than I am now."

We share a soft laugh.

He shrugs, "the style suits you still," he smiles. "Undoubtedly, the Dornes would love to dress you in their more traditional clothing."

I purse my lips and raise my brows, "wouldn't you like that, Petyr?"

He chuckles, slightly in disbelief by the casual referral. He raises his hands, "I said the Dornes. I am not Dornish, my dear."

When we reach the stables, I stop in my tracks, not because we're about to depart, but because his words freeze me in my spot.

"Surely, our Lord Clegane finds it hard to keep his hands off you."

I do my best to stay neutral, to not give myself away. Baelish holds back a smirk.

"Wouldn't you like to know what me and Lord Clegane get up to?"

Baelish laughs, "if I'm being honest, I do."

I roll my eyes at him and nod dismissively, "farewell, my lord."

He nods back with a chuckles, "and you, my lady."

I promptly head to my chambers after this. As I walk on, however, I remember that another day has passed with me not seeing Lord Clegane. I am unsure if it was deliberate or coincidental, but it was the fact either way.

It had been a handful of days since my monthly bleeding passed. I was never a regular bleeder, and when it came this time around, it stayed longer than usual. I was glad with his absence then, in not needing to explain myself to my him. The moment it had finished, however, I expected I would at least see him once.

I did not.

This lead to my decision to be more... seductive.

And, well yes, or course, he yelled at me and told me to have my bitch fuck me instead-- truly, there was a large pit of dread in my stomach because of this, but people say a lot of things in anger, things they don't mean. He could not have meant that.

I rub my belly, willing the dread away.

I refuse to believe he meant that.

I suck in a breath and decide to head to the king's chambers.

Besides, I've been assured over and under that men really like making babies.

My breath hitches when I catch sight of the Hound, guarding the door. I see him do a double take when he spots me, and yet he gazes into space in the end.

"Good evening, my lord," I curtsy at him.

He grunts with exasperation, "what are you doing here?"

"I wanted," I measure my words carefully, "to request you not stay out late tonight."

The man turns his head fully to me, "what?"

I feel my throat itch. I clear my throat, "I was hoping that you come to my chambers before too late."

Sandor shifts in his spot. He eyes me up and down. I feel like I am being burned alive under his gaze.

He looks away and shifts back in place.

I open my mouth but I don't get to speak at all.

"Dog. Dog! Come inside, I-" King Joffrey calls but then ceases when he steps out of the room and sees me. 

I immediately curtsy, "my king. Good evening."

Joffrey raises a brow and demands to know why I'm here, referring to me by the house I was born into.

I offer him a smile, "I wanted to speak to my lord husband, your grace."

His face contorts in deep bewilderment. He opens his mouth and raises a finger, "why would you come h-" he turns to the Hound and stops himself. He breaks into a laugh. He laughs so hard that he clutches his stomach, "oh!" He wheezes, "oh, I've forgotten about that!"

King Joffrey calms down with a sigh. He from to his Kingsguard then to me, eyeing my attire. He chuckles under his breath as his eyes rake me down, "I see your wife has dressed to seduce you, dog." His looks up to my face, "or wouldn't that make you bitch?"

I do not respond for a moment, put on the spot by his malice, but then my wits finally meet me. I curtsy to the king, "I am what my king makes me to be."

Joffrey laughs airily. He shakes his head, "my, dog," he turns to his guard, "I've truly matched you well," he pats his shoulder plate, "too well, in fact."

He then retreats into his chambers, calling out as he did, "you're dismissed, dog. Breed your bitch as you like."

The door slams shut.

I release a breath once the king leaves, clutching my belly as I did so.

Sandor does not move an inch from his spot. He does not look at me.

I begin to get nervous all over again. I try, "husband?"

"You think I'll answer to your whistle just because you're dressed like a whore?"

My face hardens. I look away from him. I mean I expected as much.

I swallow the lump in my throat, "I only wanted to please you-"

He scoffs.

I look back at him, "I will dress more modestly if it is what you'd like."

"I'd like not to see you whoring around."

I am unable to withhold my scoff, "I am what my lord makes me out to be."

The Hound finally spares me a glance. I glare at him as I curtsy, "apologies for the impertinence." I turn on my heels and walk away. My anger and vexation gets the best of me. I cannot help but jeer, "if my dress angers you so, take it off me then."

Sandor shifts on his spot.

I continue down the hall.

His lips curl as he growls lowly, "run."

I do not hear anything but my own grumbling.

"Run, little girl!" he barks, making me jolt and turn back to him with a scowl. The irritation is apparent in my face as I stop at the end of the hall, "what?"

The Hound begins to march over. My heart races as I hear him warn, "run, if you know what's good for you"

I begin to shuffle back.

"I'll tear that shit off your body when I catch you."

I break into a sprint at the sound of his threat.

I don't look back. I heave heavily as I rush down the halls. I don't hear him chasing after me, though once I'm far, I see him treading fast as the times he's dragged me by the arm. My stomach flurries with anxiousness and regret.

When I reach my chambers, I mentally debate whether or not I should lock the door. I gulp at the idea of him breaking it down. I decide I do not want a memory such as that to be branded into my brain.

I gasp when he bursts into the room. I grip my skirts from the edge of the bed where where I sat.

The Hound locks the door before walking over to me. He grabs my shoulders and shoves me down on my belly.

I squeak when he grabs my skirts and rips it all the way up my ribs. He scoffs, "fucking parchment."

I hear him grab something by my vanity. I do not dare to look at him. I proceed to hear him undo his armor and his clothes.

I hear a pop. I yelp when he grabs my smallclothes and yanks them down. I groan into the cushions when I feel his fingers toy with my folds.

"Don' fink you nee' vis," he speaks like something was in his mouth. He pulls his hand away and suddenly the smell of my lavender oil assaults my senses. I hear a squelch. Something is thrown to my side; it's my vial.

I squeak when he grabs my hips. He sighs, "you're ready on your own." We both make noises when he begins to thrust into me. The Hound growls, "little girl likes to be chased."

I am shoved into the cushions. My entire body tenses.

"You want to dress like a whore," he taunts, "I'll fuck you like a whore."

His tempo is brutal and harsh. He does not relent or give me leeway. It's strange and shameful that my body even feels tingles of pleasure.

I cannot help the screams that rip out of my throat. Had I not been faced down on the cushion, I fear that I would have woken the dead.

I call out his name when he hoists my hips up. My toes could no longer touch the floor. He begins moving faster. My hands dig into the sheets. I feel my eyes water.

The Hound howls. He shoves me down and suddenly my feet are on the ground. He plunges deep, it makes my eyes roll back. His thrusts become increasingly irregular and after with a few more slaps, he stops.

I catch my breath, thanking the gods he's shown mercy.

I whine when I feel him pull away. I gulp and shift on my spot. I anticipate his next movements. I hear a rustle. I lift my head up and look back at him, confused by the sight of him tying himself up.

Was... was it done?

"Don't think to have that dress mended, girl," he pants as he grabs something from the floor. I roll on my back, feeling uneasy because of the wetness between my thighs. I watch him unlock the door and slam the door on his way out.

All hells were breaking loose. King's Landing was under attack, the castle was on fire, and Stannis Baratheon was winning.

All the women and children holed up in the queen's retreat chamber spilled out to gods know where.

My mind was racing, yet all I could think was: run, flee, Lucy, Daisy, Hound.

I was already running. I was already fleeing. I was doing both with Lucy in my grip. I had Lucy, but I did not have Daisy.

We were running up to my chambers. I left Daisy there, my poor Daisy. We were fleeing up the stairs in haste, sparing no time to catch a breath.

I had no idea what we were to do. We could bar the door, block it with our bed. Lucy and I could manage it, I think. Was it a good idea? Would it guarantee our safety? There was only one way we'd know.

I quickly open the door and lock it once Lucy and I are inside.

We take a moment to finally catch our breath. Lucy grabs my arms and I grab hers. I can feel her shaking. I rub her skin, "it will be alright. No harm will reach us here."

Lucy shakes her head, "milday, you and me both know that's not true."

My heart shatters when I catch the way her eyes water. "Shhh," I pull her into a hug, "have I ever failed you, Lucy?"

She seals her arms around me and whispers, "no."

"Nothing will happen to us," I rub her back, "I will protect you."

"And I, you," she pulls away, "as will Daisy," she wipes her tears before they fall, "and the 'ound."

We scream when we hear a voice in the room. We press our back against the wall and turn to the bed. A figure is sat on the floor by its side. What was said was, "your mutt is stupid."

Lucy and I clutch each other for dear life. I recognized that voice. I muster the courage to tiptoe towards the figure and breathe out shakily when I confirm the presence, "Sandor?"

The man turns to me as we walk up to him. Sandor had Daisy on his lap. She looked up and blinked at me before closing her eyes. She was being pet a bloody hand and did not mind at all.

"She was jumped on me when I walked in. She looked excited," he turns to Daisy, "stupid bitch. Anyone else would have chopped her up."

I find myself releasing a breath of relief. Here now was Daisy, and Hound. I had nothing left to think about.

I walk up to him, kneeling on his side. He turns to me. I examine his face, dirtied and bloodied, "are you hurt?"

He looks at me for a moment. I watch him slowly raise his hand. He cautiously touches my cheek. I clutch his wrist in my hands. He swipes his thumb on my skin, "save your tears." I didn't even know I shed them. "None of the fuckers got close enough to try."

He draws his hand back. He grunts as he gets to his feet. Daisy moves back, wobbling on her three legs; I move back too.

"Take your valuables," the Hound grunts, "we're fucking leaving."

I pull my head back. I watch the man survey the room.

Lucy runs up to my side and she wipes my cheek with her skirt. She watches the red collect on the fabric and wonders who it belonged to. She wagers it's not from her lord.

I shake my head in confusion as Sandor grabs a satchel and stuffs my jewelry in it, "I don't understand. Aren't you going to fight?"

"Fuck the fight," he quips as he shoves objects down and raids through the drawers and closets.

Lucy finishes wiping my face. I walk off and grab all my hidden pouches of gold. I hand it to Sandor, "what about the king?"

"Fuck the king," he takes the pouches and stuffs it into the bag, "fuck him especially."

Sandor then chucks the satchel to Lucy, who grunts when she catches it.

"The stupid fuck's done nothing but fuck around," he picks up Daisy, propping her front legs on his shoulder, "no good thing's come from that fuck." He takes me by the hand and mumbles, " 'cept for one."

He releases me only to unlock the door and hold me again. He does not let me go until we reach the outside of the keep.

The whole lot was in disarray; dead bodies, debris, and fire littered the scene. He hands me Daisy, and I struggle slightly to carry her, considering she was not a small breed. He walks not too far off and brings a wandering horse over.

It's a wonder we do not encounter anyone on this side of the castle, more so that we find a horse.

Sandor takes Daisy and puts her down before helping me mount the steed. My stomach rolls with how his touch lingered on my thigh once I was on.

Next, he took the satchel from Lucy and handed it to me. He then eyed her when she stepped forward, as if debating whether or not he wanted to bring her along. Before she or I could speak up about it, Sandor is already helping her climb up behind me. Lucy takes the satchel from me and eyes him after. He rolls his eyes.

He picked up Daisy and tried handing her to me. However, she struggled too much and could not fit in my arms, so he cursed and threw her back onto his shoulders. He grabbed the horse's reins and started walking.

"Fucking bitch, fucking wench, fucking horse, fucking war, fucking-"

[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!

[novaursa]

The Hound She Loved (the princess)

- Summary: You loved him and he loved you, but he had to leave you behind. 

- Pairing: baratheon!reader/Sandor Clegane

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 1

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The air is filled with the stench of ale and sweat as Sandor and Arya approach the rundown tavern. Its warped wooden sign creaks in the breeze, announcing its name—something worn and illegible. From inside, the sounds of rowdy laughter, clinking mugs, and muffled jeers spill out into the dirt road.

Sandor pulls up short, his sharp eyes narrowing as he motions for Arya to stay close. “Keep your mouth shut and your nose clean, girl. Places like this don’t take kindly to little wolves.”

Arya smirks, her hands resting on the hilt of Needle. “I can handle myself.”

He mutters a curse under his breath and pushes open the door, his broad frame filling the entrance. The tavern is low lit, the smoky air obscuring most of the faces inside. Sandor scans the room out of habit, noting the handful of patrons hunched over tables, while a group of Lannister soldiers in tarnished armor lingers near the bar. They’re loud, drunk, and jeering at a cloaked figure sitting in the far corner.

“Come on, love,” one of the soldiers drawls, leaning closer to the figure. “No need to be shy. Let us see that pretty face of yours.”

The cloaked woman says nothing, her face obscured by the shadow of her hood. Her body is still, but Sandor’s practiced eyes catch the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her hands are clenched under the table.

“Sandor,” Arya hisses from beside him, her voice low. “Something’s not right.”

Sandor grunts, his eyes still on the scene. The soldiers press closer, their laughter turning meaner. One of them, bolder than the rest, reaches out to tug at the edge of the woman’s hood. The fabric falls away, revealing her face.

The room falls into a stunned silence as the soldiers step back, their drunken bravado replaced with shock and recognition.

“It’s her,” one of them breathes, his voice tinged with awe and fear. “The princess.”

Sandor’s heart lurches in his chest. He freezes, his mind reeling. He’d recognize you anywhere—the sharpness of your eyes, the set of your jaw, the fire in your expression. You’re a ghost, a memory he thought he’d buried, now standing flesh and blood before him.

Arya notices his reaction immediately. She glances between Sandor and you, her sharp eyes narrowing. “Is that her?” she demands, her voice quiet but insistent. “Is that your princess?”

Sandor doesn’t answer, his focus locked on you. You’re already moving, your chair scraping loudly against the floor as you rise. The soldiers hesitate, their initial shock giving way to determination.

“We’ve got orders to bring you back to King’s Landing,” one of them growls, drawing his sword. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you step forward, your movements fluid and purposeful. One of the soldiers lunges, but you sidestep him with ease, grabbing his wrist and twisting until the sword clatters to the ground. With a sharp kick, you send him sprawling into a nearby table.

The tavern erupts into chaos. Chairs scrape against the floor as patrons scramble to get out of the way. Another soldier charges at you, his blade swinging wide, but you duck beneath it, driving your elbow into his gut. He staggers, and you follow up with a swift strike to his head, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Sandor finally snaps out of his stupor, his instincts kicking in. “Bloody stubborn woman,” he growls, stepping forward as if to intervene.

But you don’t need his help. You’re a whirlwind of movement, disarming and incapacitating the soldiers with ruthless efficiency. The last one standing hesitates, his sword trembling in his hand. He glances at his fallen comrades, then back at you.

“Go ahead,” you say, your voice cold and steady. “Run back to your masters. Tell them I’m not going anywhere.”

The soldier doesn’t need to be told twice. He drops his sword and bolts for the door, stumbling in his haste. You watch him go, your chest heaving as you catch your breath.

For a moment, he simply stares at you. The noise of the tavern fades into the background, the world narrowing to just the two of you. Then, without a word, you pull your hood back up and dart for the back door.

“Wait!” Arya calls after you, but you’re already gone.

Sandor curses under his breath, shoving past a toppled chair as he makes for the exit. “Come on, girl,” he snaps at Arya, his voice rough. “She’s not getting away that easy.”

Arya doesn’t hesitate, falling into step behind him. “Why is she here, Sandor?” she presses as they burst out into the night. “Shouldn't she be in the capital?”

Sandor doesn’t answer, his focus on the faint trail of footprints in the dirt leading away from the tavern. His jaw is tight, his thoughts a chaotic mess. You were here. After all this time, you were here—and you were still fighting, still defying the world that sought to control you.

“We’re catching her,” Sandor growls, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And then we’ll both get our answers.”

Arya doesn’t respond, her eyes gleaming with curiosity and determination as they set off into the darkness, following the trail of the princess who had just turned their world upside down.

The night air is cool and damp as Sandor barrels through the woods, Arya quick on his heels. The faint rustling of leaves and the crunch of dirt beneath their boots are the only sounds that fill the silence. He’s close. He can feel it in the pounding of his heart, in the way his body moves without hesitation, driven by instinct.

“There!” Arya hisses, pointing ahead. A flicker of movement, a shadow weaving between the trees.

Sandor pushes forward, his long strides eating up the distance until he sees you—a flash of your cloak, the glint of moonlight on your hair as you dart through the underbrush. You’re fast, but Sandor is relentless, and within moments, he’s upon you.

He grabs your arm, his grip firm but not rough, spinning you around to face him. “Stop running, damn it!”

The two of you freeze, the world narrowing to just the two of you. For a moment, neither of you speaks, your breaths mingling in the cold night air. Your eyes widen in recognition, and he can see the disbelief etched across your face, as raw and vivid as the moonlight illuminating your features.

“Sandor?” you breathe, your voice barely audible.

Before he can answer, your surprise twists into something else—anger. Without warning, you pull your arm free and swing your fist, catching him square in the jaw.

“Seven hells!” Sandor staggers back, his hand flying to his face. He scowls at you, half in pain, half in confusion. “What in the bloody—”

“You!” you shout, your voice trembling with fury. “You left me! You just—left!”

Arya, standing a few paces away, bursts into laughter, clutching her stomach as she watches the scene unfold. “She hit you!” she manages to choke out between giggles. “The big bad Hound, brought down by a princess!”

Sandor shoots her a glare before turning back to you, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t have a choice,” he growls, his voice low and rough. “I left to keep you safe.”

“Safe?” you snap, stepping closer. Your hands ball into fists at your sides, and your eyes flash with anger. “You call abandoning me safe? Do you have any idea what it’s been like? The lies I’ve had to tell, the people I’ve had to fight just to stay free?”

Sandor flinches at your words, though he quickly schools his expression into something harder. “And what was I supposed to do?” he bites back. “Take you with me? Drag you into the mess I was running from? You think you’d be better off with a target on your back?”

“I already had a target on my back because of Joffrey!” you shout, your voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t need you to protect me, Sandor—I needed you to stay.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and raw, as if you’d ripped them straight from your chest. Sandor stares at you, his scarred face unreadable, though his eyes betray a flicker of something—regret, guilt, longing.

Arya, still watching from the sidelines, crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. “So, this is your princess?” she asks, her tone light but curious. “The one you couldn’t stop talking about?”

“Shut your mouth, girl,” Sandor snaps, though there’s no real heat in his voice. His focus remains on you, his large frame blocking out the rest of the world.

You glare at him, your chest heaving as you try to reign in your emotions. “Why are you here, Sandor?” you demand, your voice quieter now but no less intense. “Why now?”

His shoulders slump slightly, the fight draining out of him. “Because I saw you,” he admits, his voice rough but honest. “And I couldn’t… I couldn’t just let you go again.”

Your anger wavers, your gaze softening as you search his face. For all the frustration and hurt bubbling inside you, there’s something else too—relief. After all this time, after everything, he’s here.

“I hate you,” you mutter, though the words lack conviction.

Sandor snorts, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You always were a terrible liar.”

Arya, now leaning casually against a tree, watches the exchange with keen interest. “So, are you two done, or should I go find some food while you figure out your feelings?”

You glance at her, startled as if remembering her presence for the first time. “And who’s this?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“This is Arya Stark,” Sandor says gruffly, his hand falling away from his still-sore jaw. “She’s my… traveling companion.”

“More like captor,” Arya quips with a grin.

You blink, the name sinking in. “Arya Stark? You’re supposed to be dead.”

“And you were supposed to be locked up in a castle,” Arya retorts, tilting her head. “But here we are.”

The corner of your mouth twitches, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through your tension. “Fair enough.”

Sandor clears his throat, his rough voice breaking the moment. “We can stand here all night, or we can get moving. Those Lannister bastards won’t stop looking for you.”

You nod, the weight of the situation settling back on your shoulders. “Fine. But we’re not done talking,” you warn, your eyes locking onto his.

“Didn’t think we were,” Sandor mutters, already turning to lead the way.

As the three of you set off into the woods, the tension between you and Sandor lingers, unspoken but felt. Arya walks beside you, her curiosity barely contained as she studies you with sharp eyes.

“So,” she says after a moment, her tone light but probing. “What’s it like being in love with a dog?”

Your head snaps toward her, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I am not—”

Sandor groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Seven hells, girl. Shut up.”

Arya just laughs, her amusement echoing through the trees as the three of you disappear into the night.

[azulolivart]

❤️‍🔥Just two beings kissed by fire❤️‍🔥

I am literally obsessed with this scene, and with them. I feel that it is an important moment that represents a lesson for both the characters involved and the reader.

In the books, Sansa teaches Sandor a lesson with her song. Violence is not the way. Things are not taken by force. Even people like him, whose life is full of resentment and anger, have a chance to redeem themselves.

In the TV show, it is Sandor who teaches Sansa a lesson. Looks are deceiving. She is afraid of him because of how he looks and is unable to look at him but he tells her, in his own way, that she will encounter people in life much worse than him and that she will have to look at them. In that moment, Sansa understands what he meant and sees through his horrible burned mask. That's why she says: "You won't hurt me".

Both versions seem like a poem to me and I needed to make a fanart of it. I love this scene, and I love the interactions they both have. I hope that at least in the books they’ll have a worthwhile reunion and that they can thank each other, or if GRRM allows it, something more. It would be such a beautiful thing to read that she sings to him again, actually wanting to sing a song for him. Of course, that’s if Sandor is really alive.

[auxmodi]

drunk sandor being jealous

A/n: WWOFOWOWOOFFOWOOF i almost died writing this.

summary: sandor gets jealous and tells you how you wont be able to handle him (HEEHEEEHEHEHEEHEE)

alcohol consumption, cursing, tension, smutty talk (no actual smut).

word count: 1391

Sandor’s been nursing a cup of wine for hours now, but “nursing” doesn’t mean slow. His movements are heavy, clumsy, as he downs another gulp and scowls into the cup like it’s offended him. He’s not drunk, not properly, but the edge is off, and whatever’s left of his restraint is slipping.

You don’t see him watching, but he’s been glued to your every move since you started talking to that lordling. Sandor’s not subtle about it either, his dark eyes following you, the sharp twist of his mouth whenever the bastard leans in too close. It’s the wine, or at least he tells himself that. Wine makes his blood hot, makes his tongue loose, makes him feel like hell itself is clawing at him when you laugh at the other man’s joke.

The moment the lordling reaches for your hand, Sandor’s chair screeches back against the stone floor. It’s a sound that turns heads, but he doesn’t give a shit. He doesn’t storm over, he staggers, more like. His broad shoulders cut through the crowd easily, the heavy stomp of his boots loud against the quiet hum of the hall.

“Oi,” he growls when he’s close enough, his voice rough and thick from drinking. The lordling looks up, startled, and Sandor doesn’t even bother with words before waving a dismissive hand at him. “Fuck off.”

The poor man stammers, his gaze darting between you and Sandor, but the sight of the Hound’s massive frame looming so close makes him rethink whatever courage he might’ve had. He mutters something that sounds like an apology and makes a hasty retreat, leaving you standing there, wide-eyed.

“Sandor!” you hiss, your voice low and chiding. “What are you doing?”

“What does it fucking look like?” he snaps, his words slurred but his glare sharp. "Saving you from some wet little whelp who couldn’t tell his arse from a sword hilt."

“I didn’t need saving,” you reply, crossing your arms.

His jaw clenches at that, and for a moment, he just looks at you, his dark eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for something. The tension is thick, stifling, made worse by the slight sway of his broad shoulders as he steps closer.

“You shouldn’t be talking to men like that,” he mutters, his voice quieter now but still rough, the words brushing against your skin like grit.

“Men like what?” you ask, genuinely confused.

His eyes flick to yours, then lower, skimming over your lips before snapping back up. “Men who don’t deserve to be near you,” he says, almost spitting the words. His hand twitches, the one holding the cup, and he tosses it aside without care. “You don’t fucking see it, do you?”

“See what?” you whisper, your heart pounding, the heat from his body warming the small space between you.

His jaw works, his teeth grinding as he glares at the empty space where the lordling had been standing. “The way they fucking look at you. Like you’re something to take, something to conquer. Doesn’t matter what you say, what you do, they’re already thinking about what you’d be like under them.”

The words make your breath hitch, your eyes widening. “Sandor—”

“They’re not thinking about you,” he continues, his voice gravelly and low, burning with something between anger and restraint. “Not your smile, not your laugh. Just how they’d fuck you if you let ‘em close.”

Your cheeks burn, the bluntness of his words stealing the air from your lungs. But his gaze doesn’t waver, it’s locked on yours, unrelenting and raw.

“And you?” The question slips out before you can stop it, your voice trembling slightly. “How do you think about me?”

He sneers, lips curling with a bitter edge. His voice drops low, rougher, like he's trying to hold back some violent urge. “You really want to know, huh?” His eyes flick to your lips, then lower, scanning your body with a predatory hunger that makes your stomach tighten.

“I’m no fuckin' better,” he mutters, his voice a low growl, his hand twitching at his side. His gaze dips again, before snapping back up. “But at least I’d fuck you like you deserve. Not like those little boys who wouldn’t know what to do with you if they had the chance.”

The words are harsh, possessive, but there’s something almost desperate in the way they escape him. He hates himself for it, hates how much he feels this way, but it’s too late now. 

Your heart pounds, the weight of his words settling over you like a storm. “Sandor…”

He straightens suddenly, his face twisting in frustration, and takes a step back and turns around. “Forget it,” he growls, running a hand over his face. “Just… stay the fuck away from the likes of 'em.”

You can feel it, desire and something darker curling in your stomach, a pull toward him that you can’t ignore. "show me..." you breathe, the word a whisper, trembling on your lips.

He freezes, his broad back stiffening, and for a heartbeat, you think he might look at you the way you want him to. But then his face twists, frustration and something more volatile flickering behind his eyes.

He turns slowly, his gaze locking onto yours with a ferocity that takes your breath away. The air between you is thick, charged with something neither of you can escape. "Don’t," he warns, his voice low and harsh. "Don’t think you can handle me, girl. You have no idea what you're asking."

Your chest tightens, but you can’t stop yourself from stepping closer, the magnetic pull of him too strong. "I can handle you," you say, your heart racing, body aching with the need to feel him, to give in to whatever this is.

His lips curl into something close to a snarl, and in an instant, he’s right in front of you. You take an instinctive step back, but his eyes never leave yours, sharp and dark as they bore into you.

His breath is ragged now, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. "No, you can't," he spits out, his voice trembling with raw honesty. "I’ll break you, little bird. I’ll fuck you until you can’t stand, until you’re beggin' for me to stop. You won’t be able to handle it. You’ll crumble beneath me."

His words hit you like a slap, hard and brutal, but there’s something in them, something dark that makes your chest tighten with both fear and need. "I’m not afraid of you," you say, your voice trembling. You want him. You want all of him, even the parts that will break you.

He laughs, but it’s bitter, almost pained. "You should be," he mutters, his eyes flickering to your lips and then back to your eyes, as if he’s debating whether to pull you closer or push you further away. He doesn’t move, but the tension between you is evident.

He leans in, his face inches from yours, and for a moment, you think he might kiss you, might finally close that distance. But instead, he whispers, the words sliding like poison from his lips, "You won’t survive me. You’ll fall apart, and I won’t care."

Your breath catches in your throat, every inch of you aching for him in a way that makes your head spin. His words are a warning, but they only make you want him more, want to prove him wrong, want to feel the breaking of it all, just to know how far you can fall.

"I don't care," you whisper back, your voice barely audible, trembling but desperate. "I don’t care if it breaks me."

He steps back, shaking his head slowly, his face hardening with something close to regret, but something darker still swirling beneath the surface. "Then you’re a fool," he mutters, his voice rough, as if the very thought of what he’s about to say is tearing him apart.

Without another word, he turns, his broad shoulders tense with frustration, and stalks toward the door, leaving you standing there, breathless and trembling. His words, those brutal, honest words, echo in your ears like a curse. I’ll break you.

And still, you yearn for it, even if he'll destroy you.

[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.”

[catsteeth]

request of Sandor smut with a chubby!fem reader?? pls pls🥹

The Maiden

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Drabble✿:+ 

CW: MDNI, SMUT, P in V Sex, Plus Size Afab reader, mention of breast play, mention of insecurity, major body worshiping.   A/N: Girl yes the fuck you can-Yes the fuck you cannnn!!! I would like to make it known that in my personal head canon Y/N in both the Sandor and Podrick series is chubby. so sue me, 🫣SO LOCK ME UP!

Word Count: 420 (lol)

Sandor took his duty as your husband seriously. He needed you well fed. Three meals each day. He loved the thickness of your thighs, your belly, your hips, your ass, and of course your breasts. He ogled you since the first time he saw you working in a tavern in Winterfell. When you bent over to fill his cup, you caught him staring at your breasts. And before you knew it he had his cock between them.

And even now, he still ogled you just as he did before. He loved your softness, your plumpness, and your scars. 

He loved it best when you let him watch you bathe. His cock twitched in his trousers as his eyes ran over your naked body covered in oils, soaps, and bubbles. He loved how the fat of your belly slightly rolled in on itself as you sat up in the bath. It was as if you were a manifestation of the maiden herself right in front of him. Not a bit of you was masculine, you were a true symbol of femininity in his eyes. 

He couldn’t help it but pull his length out and stroke it as he watched you run your expensive perfumed oils over your body. The oil caught the light of the moon so perfectly, it only highlighted every curve of your body and the dip of your hips.

And if you ever dare complain about your body, he would teach you to love it. One brutal thrust of his hips at a time. The water spilling out the sides of the tub mixed well with the sounds you make as his cock pulsed inside of your aching cunt. 

But of course he’d punish you for thinking such terrible things about the love of his life. 

So naturally he’d make you ride him. He’d be unable to help himself from bucking his hips into you harder, making your breasts bounce, your belly shake, and your ass jiggle, all while you held onto his shoulders for support. The slight is enough to make him fill you quickly with his release. 

As the heat of it engulfs your body, you remember how beautiful you are. How much 

power you hold. 

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[poisonousrain222]

hands 🤤