#sandor the hound clegane

[rokonrrc2]

Learn More

born to marry him, forced to read fanfics about him

[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.

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

SECOND ROUND: 35th Tilt

Hugh Beringar, Cadfael (1994-1998) VS. Sandor “The Hound” Clegane, Game of Thrones (2011-2019)

Propaganda

Hugh Beringar, Cadfael (1994-1998) Portrayed by: Sean Pertwee Defeated Opponents: - Prince John [Claude Rains], The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938) - Father Beocca [Ian Hart], The Last Kingdom (2015-2022)

“The One True Hugh! He deserves much support. I love Sean Pertwee's portrayal of the saturnine, intelligent Hugh, and the way he captures the character's warmth and humor and the frequency with which he is just Done. Also those cheekbones could cut glass, good LORD.”

Sandor “The Hound” Clegane, Game of Thrones (2011-2019) Portrayed by: Rory McCann Defeated Opponents: - Sir Lancelot [Nicholas Clay], Excalibur (1981) - The Sheriff of Nottingham [Peter Cushing], The Sword of Sherwood Forest (1960)

“Sandor Clegane is a very handsome man, dark, mysterious, and badly scarred which makes him way more attractive and desirable. His sense of humor is very dark, yet hilarious, and the way he protects those he cares for is heartening. He also loves a good chicken or two!”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Hugh Beringar:

“Idk what Sean Pertwee had going on in 1994, but whatever it was, I am HERE for it. The way he turns the keen gaze of those piercing blue eyes on you, and stands there, arms folded, back arched, intimidating yet approachable. Mmm! What crimes must a girl commit to get My Lord the Sheriff’s Deputy to give her the third degree? He’s not only stern and intelligent but he’s also so noble, and chivalrous, and he got his position by killing his predecessor in trial by single combat as the only way to settle a charge of murder and also preserve the dignity of his lady love. He’s a KEEPER.”

For Sandor Clegane:

[azulolivart]

An unequal marriage in Westeros.

[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. 

[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.”

[just-some-random-blogger]

Safe Keeping | 1

Part 2

"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 (wedding night, loss of virginity, mild dub con, PIV, biting, praise kink), emotional unavailability, The Hound being abrasive, baby fever, typos, etc.

A/N: what do we say to big scary murderers? all together now: i can fix him. the smut is at the end so just keep scrolling to the bottom if you wanna pass (: originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx

A collective gasp resonates in the hall upon the utterance of the proclamation. The blonde boy basks in the reaction. I release a breath, hand on my churning belly, as I stand there in front of the Iron Throne. The agitation that filled me threatened to spill from my lips when I curtsied to the king. But by the gods, I manage to mutter, "you have honored me with such a decision, your grace."

King Joffrey smirks, "yes," he shifts in his seat, "I have." He stands from the throne and raises a beckoning hand, "dog!"

All eyes turn to one corner.

The rustle of fabric and the clink of steel fill the hall. I watch as he walks towards me. I watch the large man, clad in darkness from head to toe, hand on his hilt, face adorned with a large burn, come to my side but pay me no mind. He turns to his king, "your grace."

"My king," queen Cersei mutters to her son, "he is a member of the Kingsguard, he cannot--"

"My word is law, is it not?" the boy says.

His mother looks at him then us, and says no word.

Joffrey grins, "I present your new ward," he raises his arms, "orphaned at war, parents and brothers dead, house left with no heirs. She turned to me for counsel," he points to his chest, "for she would die on her own. And now I give her you," he clasps his hands, "to have and to hold in holy matrimony."

The room is dead silent.

"Consider it a gift for your loyal service," he turns to me, "a rather generous one, given your infliction," he turns back to him.

The man on my side nods once.

"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 father."

A loud and shrill laugh echoes in the chamber, demanding everyone's attention. Joffrey wheezes until he's red and tumbles back into his metal chair. He catches his breath and nods, "he- mmm, he would," he chuckles.

The king settles himself and waves us off, "go forth and make arrangements then, my lady. Your protector awaits."

I flinch at the way the wooden door is opened. Sandor stands before me, in a dress shirt and a scowl, leaning against the opening of his chamber door. I look away and curtsy, "good morrow, Lord Sandor," I steal a quick glance at Lucy by my left, "I've had my handmaiden prepare f-"

"Hound." 

I lift my eyes to his face. The sour expression he held is amplified by the scar on his side. His eyes burn into me. "They call me the Hound," he grunts, "y'know that?"

I clasp my hands in front of me and open my mouth before muttering, "yes. Yes, I do."

"Then save me of this lord business," he straightens up and walks off inside his chambers. I watch him as much as I can from where I stood outside his room. I pipe up when he is no longer in eye's view, "may I come in?"

"Door's open, isn't it?"

I look at Lucy hesitantly, motioning she stay outside. I push the door wider and walk in, seeing Sandor was now getting dressed.

I stare at him for a moment, pressing my hands closer together, "would you like for me to he-"

"I'm not the king who has a bitch for every task."

I clench my jaw at his icy words.

Sandor begins to do his clasps, "why are you here, girl?"

He does not look at me after asking. I purse my lips before replying, "I am heading to the tailor to pick fabrics and-"

"Why isn't the tailor coming here?" he asks, still focused on dressing himself.

Sandor finally turns to me after fixing his top. I look up at him, feeling a dread build in my belly, "I wanted to go outside."

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head. He takes steps closer.

My lips part. I blurt, "the palace is too stuffy."

"Stuffy?" he retorts, "I wonder how large your house is if you find it stuffy here."

I shake my head, "I did not mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?" Sandor says, tilting down to look upon me once he is close enough. I am unable to withhold myself from stepping back. I mutter, "there are many... looming presences. It's overwhelming."

"Looming, she says," he grumbles. "Well, little lady, you're going to be shackled to me, and I'm shackled here. You'll have to get used to these looming presences."

I turn away from him and take a breath. Must he speak to me like I'm a child?  "I understand that."

"No, I don't think you do," he says.

I look back at him. His gaze is as hard as ever.

"The moment a thing like you is outside the castle walls, thieves and rapists will fight to getcha," he walks off, "get your footman to escort you right in front of the shop and back."

I furrow my brows as he heads to the door, "wait, what about you?"

He stops right in front of Lucy and turns back, "what about me?"

"I'm going to the tailor to be fitted a dress for our wedding," I explain, "I came here to bring you along with me," I point to the woman at his side, "Lucy has made food for you to-"

"Why would I go with you to a tailor?"

Will he ever let me finish speaking? I hold back my annoyed expression, "you need to be fitted for your wedding at-"

"I'm not your dress up dolly," he grumbles, face pinched in disgust, "I'll be wearing my armor and that's that."

We stare at each other for a moment. I watch as Lucy glares at Sandor from behind. I clench my jaw tightly before curtsying, "as you wish, my lord-"

"Hound," he barks.

I look at him in shock, "you wish me to call you hound?"

He narrows his eyes and scoffs, "it's what I am-- what you're marrying, isn't it?"

I debate his words, unsure if he meant it or if it was a trick, a reason for him to be angry at me, "may I call you by name?"

He feels disdain burn up from his belly to his throat, "what? Too good to admit that-"

"That is not what I said!" I quip hotly.

The hulking man is rendered silent. He did not expect that. Still, he decides not to respond and walks away.

I scoff when he does so.

Lucy makes a face at him before coming up to me, offering a remorseful look, "he's a brute, milady! Rugged and ugly and mean!"

"Lucy," I warn as she takes my arm and escorts me out. She closes the door on our way and makes a face, "he's a thickheaded oaf!" she glares behind her to no one, "he's lucky-- blessed by all gods to be promised to a lady like you, and he treats you as though you were the degene-"

"Lucy!" I quip, yanking her by the arm.

She is finally silenced because of this. We both halt in our spot.

I hiss, "if someone were to hear you, if he were to hear you..." I shake my head, "he is my lord now. He is your lord."

Lucy grumbles.

"If it could be, I would not marry anyone," I tell her under a hushed voice, "but you know that cannot be."

We begin to walk down the hall. I continue, "I had thought I'd end with an old lord, eager to inherit my estate and esteem," I shake my head, "shocking as it was to be thrown like a bone to him..." I look out the open windows, "at least... the Hound... can protect me," I look back to Lucy, "protect us."

Lucy's face falls solemn. We hold each other's gaze for a moment. She then offers, "you're right. Them forest monsters will cower in fear at the mere sight of the 'ound."

We head to the castle gates, "do you think the guards will let us-"

"We'll walk, Lucy," I reply.

"What?! But the Hound said-"

"He expected me to have footmen and you know well that I don't. I do not think it would be appropriate to instruct the servants here to go out of their way for us. Besides, the shop is not far, you know this."

"But, Lady, I- I can drive the carriage again!"

I shake my head, "don't be ridiculous, Lucy. Do you know how silly we'd look galloping in a carriage for just a few streets down the city?"

Lucy is unable to talk me into any of her ideas. We ask the guards let us through the gate then walk to the tailor.

Once there, I am greeted by the tailor and immediately attended to.

Lucy and I go through the fabrics together. I laugh at her sentiment that all the fabrics would look good on me.

"Here," the tailor says, placing a strip of fabric on my shoulder, "I think this would suit you well, lady."

I look at myself in the mirror just as Lucy says, "that's it! That's the one!"

"Lucy," I chuckle, "you've said that about all the fabrics thus far."

"And I meant it every time!" she retorts, "but this one, this one is truly better than all the rest."

I look at myself in the mirror, "this one is actually quite pretty," I agree, "it's a very pale shade of red, but I quite enjoy it."

"It is all the rage with the ladies at court," the tailor says.

I smile, "very well. I should like to have this for my wedding dress."

Lucy squeals and applauds.

"A fine choice, my lady," the tailor nods and finishes measuring me.

The moment Lucy and I exit the tailor shop, we are scared by a loud holler. We turn to our side and see the mighty Hound, leaned against the wall. He straightens up and marches towards me.

"My Lord Sand-"

"What did I tell you about going outside the castle?" he barks, glaring down at me. His nostrils flare. His jaw clenches. My stomach rolls.

I give him a look and push Lucy behind me, "there was no dange-

"That's what you think. But tell me, what do little girls know but to play dress up?"

I whimper when he grabs my arm and drags me like an unruly child all the way back to the palace. I do not try to fight him. I know I will only hurt and tire myself if I do.

"Maybe I should let the peasants have at you," he mutters, side-eyeing me hotly, "teach you a lesson."

"Let her go!" Lucy shrieks.

He threatens to strike her when she tires to pull me away. I shout in protest. Sandor huffs and decides to simply continue dragging me.

The moment we are past the gates, he releases me roughly, making me yelp. Lucy grabs my arm and checks if I am injured.

Sandor eyes every one of the men present, "I'll make a jump rope out of the entrails of whoever fucking lets her out again."

The Hound storms off, leaving me and my handmaiden reeling and everyone else uneasy.

Sandor walks down the halls across the keep. He notices a guard looking down from the window. He wonders if he should push him for no other reason than the fact that he can.

He doesn't. He goes downstairs. He furrows his brows at the sight of men huddled together, looking at something in the gardens. He realizes it's most likely the same thing the man upstairs was looking at.

He walks their way, because he has to anyway, but is, frankly, uninterested in whatever the fuck has these men gawking.

On his way to his insufferable master, he passes Baelish, who is seemingly chipper to see him. The man smiles, "greetings, Hound."

The Hound ignores him.

"Pretty little thing in the garden. A darling flower, ready to be plucked," Baelish smirks as he watches the large man pass, "our king truly blessed you with such a match."

His expression does not change but his ears do ring at that as he walks down the hall.

He wills himself not to think of it, Littlefinger is a leech, but by the end of the day, his words are still ringing in mind. How irritating it was, suddenly, that he did not look at whatever the fuck it was those men were gawking at.

He's fuming at the sight of more men flocked by the garden when he reaches that hall again.

"OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!" he growls, thrashing past anyone who was slow and stupid enough not to get out of his path in time.

Sandor's eye twitches as when he sees what the commotion is all about.

"So, the princess said to him, 'away with you. I would rather never feel your kiss than yearn for something I will never feel again.' " I read the last section of the page. I flip to the next part and offer a smile to the children leaned on my lap listening to my story.

"Why would she tell him to go away?" Benji asked me from my right.

Lucy, beside him, chuckles and brushes his hair back,

I offer, "well, the prince had to go away. I suppose the princess just wanted it to be done with."

To my left, Ophelia, the boy's younger sister, pushes the book in my hand down so that she can see the picture. I show it to her just as Benji says, "she should have kissed him."

I chuckle, "well, maybe she will. There are a few more pages le-"

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

I gasp and look up. A protective form of ire burns through me at the sound of Sandor's words. The two siblings in my arm squeal at the sight of him and cower into my breast. I glare at him, "there are children here!"

"I can bloody see that," he looks down with contempt, "what? Are they your bastards?"

Lucy takes hold of the children.

"They are not bastards!" I rebut, "they are my childhood friend, Lady Deena's children, who, mind you, travelled far to King's Landing for our wedding!"

"I don't give a fuck about Lady Deenas or Lady Danas. Couldn't you have read to the rats in your damn chambers, girl?"

I give my handmaiden one look and, immediately, Lucy takes Benji and Ophelia along with their fairytale book. They scurry away to their chambers as the children clamor.

I stand from the stone fence we had been sat on, "we wanted fresh air."

"You wanted attention," the Hound quips.

I am wholly offended by his accusation. Now that I was standing alone in front of him, my confidence from having something to protect dwindles. I don't get to ask from whom he thought I wanted attention because he's soon berating me all over again. He quips, "does it please you to know all the guards in King's Landing want to fuck a baby into you?"

I am appalled by his venom.

He grabs me by the arm and begins hauling me off. A squeak spills from my lips at his brute force. Part of me wishes to fight back this time; I do not want him to humiliate me by dragging me around again. And yet I find myself unable to do anything more than latch my fingers into his iron grip, trying to at least loosen it.

Sandor, of course, does not budge.

"Is it a crime to read to children?!" I whine out in frustration, finding it immensely difficult to keep up to with his wide strides.

He does not make a sound, save the sound of his boots on the stone floors. I pant as we hike up the steps, yet still, I find myself explaining, "I would have done the same to our children!"

I do not see that Sandor reacts to this because I am too busy trying to match his pace.

I thank the gods when he finally releases me. When I catch my breath, I realize I am in front of the door to my chambers.

"Do not stroll around as if you actually live here," Sandor quips, raising a finger at me.

"But I do-"

"Last time I checked, you're not marrying into royalty," he cuts me off.

I watch the large man walk off right after speaking this. I rub my arm as I feel my eyes water. More than his heavy grip, I was once again hurt by his jagged treatment. My voice breaks as I shout out, "wou-ld you at least tell me what exactly I've done to have angered you so?!"

He does not slow, nor does he look over his shoulder when he barks back, "I don't want to see you fucking reading to those children again."

Needless to say, I crumble into a fit of tears the moment I get into my chambers.

When Lucy comes to my side on my bed, he curses the Hound and does her best to console me. She rubs my back as I weep my woes out into my pillow, "oh, Lucy, he doesn't just despise me, he despises children!"

Lucy scoffs, "why am I not surprised."

She regrets saying this when I turn to her with wet cheeks and bloodshot eyes. She gives a guilty expression, "milady, I-"

"That's all I ever wanted," I sniffle, "all I ever dreamed of-" my lips quiver, "being a mother. Having children. You know this."

Lucy bites her lips tightly as I continue to sob. She mutters, "pardon my foolish words, lady."

"Oh, what does it matter-" I rub my philtrum, "you're right. This is not a surprising development."

"You can still get him to give you his babes! Men like making babies, not really taking care of them. And of course, I would never leave your side. I would help you raise your darlings, protect them from him," she speaks sincerely. I knew her words meant to comfort me but in truth, I don't think they do.

It seems she can tell that, which is why she's apologizing all over again.

I shake my head and place my hand on her cheek, "it's alright, Lucy... you needn't worry... it's all... going to be alright.

Sandor and I look starkly contrasting at the altar. He is dark and brooding, clad in hard armor and a perpetual frown. I am bright and jittery, wrapped in pale reds and nervous smiles.

The septon binds our hands together in fabric. We turn to each other as we speak our vows.

My heart races when we are told to kiss. I suck in a breath and get on my tiptoes to reach his lips. I crane my neck up; he makes no effort to lean down in return. Still, our lips meet and in that moment, I am his.

The audience applauds us, the sound of King Joffrey's laugh is apparent even through it. Our wedding was not a grand event; the king wanted it to happen in haste, and I could not afford to make it a grand anyway. There were also not so many people in attendance, and yet it felt like the whole world was watching me in this moment.

The celebration feast that came after was terribly tedious and severely unenjoyable for me, and for Sandor. Everyone else seemed to enjoy the merrymaking though, namely the king, and I suppose that was enough.

I did nothing but smile and thank my guest from my seat next to Sandor. He did not speak to me, let alone anyone who came up to us with congratulations on their lips. All he did was eat. I suppose it could be worse. At least one of us could stomach eating at this moment.

The only life I felt was when I was introduced to a babe of one of the ladies. The sweetling had only seen 4 moons and she was as sweet as can be. She was so precious. I just had to hold her. I was inspired to even stand and frolic a bit with her in my arms.

Her mother and I conversed much about babies and child rearing. My stomach rolled in a mix of excitement, dread, anticipation, and worry all at once, knowing this was to be the next part of my life now.

I enjoyed all the stories she told me. I was flattered when she said I would be a great mother, for her child in my arms did not fuss one bit and she was known to be quite fussy. I giggled at all the wonderful memories she had with her other children who, she said, were even fussier than her daughter. I nodded solemnly at her advice in child birth and breastfeeding, making sure not to let a single word go unheard.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Sandor was watching this all from his spot with the cup of wine before him. He did not avert his eyes once; he watched each and every move.

Well, it was unbeknownst to everyone excluding Lord Baelish, who was rather amused by it all, which was why he decided to act.

"Lady Clegane," Lord Baelish comes up to me and raises a hand, "might you spare me a dance?"

I turn form the babe in my arms to him. I smile a small one, "I'm afraid my darling friend here makes me unwilling to do anything but coddle her."

The child's mother on my left laughs, as does Baelish. He links his hands together, "well, judging from your darling friend's temperament, I'd say you would be a fine mother."

"I agree," the lady says.

I grin from ear to ear, heart soaring at the sentiment, "I would like to be nothing more."

Baelish presses his lips into a smirk, "may the gods bless you with many children then," he raises his hands "and may they all take after your sweetness, grace, and beauty."

The way Baelish speaks those words were intentional, as was everything was with him. The comment leaves an air of tension between us. The man basks in it and decides his work is done here.

"I-It is kind of the king to assign a larger room," I muster up as I walk into my new chambers-- our new chambers.

Sandor follows after me, locking the door behind him. He hums, "I doubt it was the king that thought of it. It was probably the queen."

I stand by the end of the bed. I brush the sheets with my hand. I mutter a correction, "kind of her to think of us."

When I turn, my breath hitches at the sight of Sandor standing right behind me. I suck in a sharp breath as I take in his expression. His face is barely visible in the dark. I can only see as much as the moon allowed. Still, I can tell he is stoic, hard, and predatory. This was it.

My hands tremble. I fiddle with my fingers, "shall I-" I bring my palms to his chest plate, "help you out of your armor?"

Sandor does not respond to me.

"H-husband?"

He takes my hand, taking a shaky breath from my lips along with him. He leads me to his claps and shows me how to undo them before releasing my hand to do it myself. I continue to undo all the claps until his armor is off him. When he is left in his shirt and trousers, he snatches my wrists before I can undress him any further. I freeze in my spot.

My belly churns at his touch. It is reminiscent of the times he has dragged me by the arm, and yet the firm grip is a notch gentler. The way is brows furrow is barely visible because of his burns, but I see it. He leans down and his dark hair spills over his scar, "do you know what's going to happen now, little girl?"

My breath hitches. I take a moment to even my breathing before responding, "yes."

He hums and lifts his nose, "what's going to happen?"

"You're going to fuck me."

Sandor laughs lowly. I am shocked when he swipes his thumb on my lips, "filthy mouth."

I look up at him with wide eyes as his own rake me up and down. I feel incredibly self-conscious under his scrutiny. I want to push him away and hide under the sheets. Yet still, I am rendered frozen in my spot.

"Tell me honest, have you ever done this before?" he speaks rather softly.

I feel my body burn. I shake my head, unable to speak.

Sandor allows me a second. He believes it yet finds it hard to believe. "I would not judge you if you did," he adds.

I shake my head faster.

He draws out a deep breath, "no, of course you haven't--" he grabs my ribs and spins me around. The action makes my heart hammer. He pushes my hair to the side, over my shoulder. I squeak softly when he begins to undo the back of my dress. He completes his thought, "-- you're a good girl."

Though he was loosening my ties, I was finding it harder to breathe. He very soon slips my dress off my shoulders, leaving me in my shift. After doing so, he begins to remove the pins in my hair. It takes a while for him to accomplish it. I count the clinks that come from him dropping the clips onto the floor.

When he is done, he gently combs through my locks and lets my hair run loose. It was then he nudges me, "on the bed. On your back."

I shudder and crawl on the bed. I watch him take his shirt off the moment I lie on my back. I immediately turn away and close my eyes when I notice his bulge. His hands undo the string of his trousers.

I press my thighs together. I feel my heart pound. It pounds intensely between my legs.

"Aren't you curious to see what it looks like?"

I curl my legs up at his words.

I gasp and flinch when he grabs my ankles, my eyes ripping open to see what he was doing. He straightens my legs out and pulls me down; I gasp once more when he does so.

I catch sight of his opened trousers. I see the way the hair on his wide, battle-scarred chest trails down to the thick, dark hair beneath his navel. I see the imprint on his pants clearer. I shut my eyes again.

I hear him pull his trousers down. I feel the bed dip as he crawls over.

My hands dig into the sheets as he knocks my legs apart. I am passive and obedient; I make room for him. I can hear my pulse from my screwed eyes.

Goosebumps form on my skin when Sandor's hot, calloused fingers brush up my thighs. He lightly kneads my flesh. The action almost makes me moan. He stops and pushes my skirt up when he feels something by my hips, "where did you get this?"

I feel him ghost over the deep scar on my left hip. I cover my face in the crook of my elbows, "I was attacked."

He does not respond.

"That was the day my family died."

Sandor feels bad for asking. He feels a bit more when the thought does not prevent his cock from hardening. He adjusts his grip, hiking my shift up higher. His hands claw on my hips but only one remains. His mouth waters.

I gasp and slap my thighs close, or at least try to, when I feel him brush something firm and damp against my pulsing core. He uses the sheer size of him to prevent me from actually pressing my thighs together.

"Shh, shh, shh, shh-" he tuts, "this is for your own good. Believe me."

My toes curl and my hands dig into my pillow as he fondles with me. The sensation makes my body twitch and the wet squelching sound that pierces my ears fill me up with an unnamable sensation. Soon enough though, I feel myself become undeniably aroused.

My hips begin to roll and my back begins to arch.

Sandor grunts and licks his lips, loving every moment of his private show, "good girl."

His words strike up my belly like lightning.

Lewd sounds begin to dribble past my lips. I feel my body begin to tingle. The sopping sounds intensify.

"Feel good?" he asks, "you like it?"

I find no room to deny it. I instantly respond, "yes."

"Good," he trails off.

My grip on the pillows loosen when he begins to slow. I bring my hands to the side when he falls to a stop. Just as I am about to look down to see what was wrong, my heart races all over again when he hooks his fingers behind my knees and nestles between my thighs. He positions against me. I feel him guide his hardened length into my folds.

I let out a loud groan when he slips into my wetness. He grunts and cusses as he sinks down, balls deep. My nails claw at his shoulders. He pushes my knees back to the mattress. Surprisingly, the weight of him is not suffocating, in fact, it was welcomed... it was delicious.

I whine viscerally when he begins to buck his hips slowly.

"Mmm, fuck," he pants, "so fucking tight. So pretty and wet and warm, my sweet virgin."

My jaw drops at his words.

"My sweet lady wife," he growls, "all," he drags out, "mine."

My breath strains and escapes my throat hotly. My sounds match each of his thrusts; they are deep and lewd. Sandor's male ego is through the roof because it if. He slowly picks up the pace.

I am a mess of whines at the feel his manhood stretching and prodding into me. My body shivers every time he collides with the tender spot in me. It feels so good; it's nothing I've felt before.

Sandor grunts and shifts on his knees. He adjusts me beneath him like I weighed nothing, and maybe I didn't to him. I slip out a scream when he batters into me with such delicious force.

"Shhhhh," he hushes shakily, hands forcing my hips down in place so I didn't shoot off as he snapped his hips into me. With every hit of flesh, his stones knocking into me, his wet skin, slapping into my dripping folds, I feel my body burn and tighten more.

"Don't be too loud," he scolds emptily, for in truth, he would love it if he got something even louder. He leans lower, "wouldn't want you to wake all of King's Landing." But please do.

His words momentarily push sense into my mind. It doesn't last. I can barely mask my loud cries and he fucks into me. My nails dig into his scalp. He lets out a sound because of it.

Sandor shifts again. This time, his buries his face next to mine. He presses against me, chest to chest, grabs the bed frame with one hand, my knee with the other, and rams into me so hard, the bed creaks and knocks into the wall.

My eyes roll back and my open mouth latches onto his shoulder. I naturally then sink my teeth in is taut flesh. It does wonders to muffle my sounds but it pulls out some from Sandor.

"Gods, girl. Yeah," he heaves, "sink your," he gives two particularly rough thrusts, "fucking teeth into me."

My breathing grows erratic after this. An intense pressure begins to build in my belly.

"S-Sandor- Sandor-"

He hums and maintains his intense pace, "come girl. Just a bit more. Come around my cock like a good, dirty girl."

His words push me on the edge. I crumble and convulse beneath him exactly like it, a good, dirty girl. My voice is just as shaky as my thighs are. My body bursts into an intense, burning pleasure. 

My body drips in sweat and slick and spit and tears, all purely out of bliss. All the air is pulled out of my lungs as I fall into this feeling.

Sandor curses. His thrusts grow erratic. I would scream if I wasn't so winded and exhausted. He stabs so roughly into me, I flinch because it feels like he's hitting the very depths of my mind. Then, he breaks into a growl and I feel him throb so strongly until his movements come to a halt.

Once he is still, I am obliterated. I cannot move. I can only feel heat and pulsing. I feel terribly sticky and so full. I love every inch of it.

I sigh and lean into him. I can imagine now why many paid for this pleasure, why people had so many children. My fingers scratch into his nape. I rub my face against his cheek; I feel the texture of his burn. Sandor stiffens.

The next moment, he pulls away, and it was then I realized doing that, nuzzling into him, was obviously a mistake. I gasp at the sudden lost of contact, the emptiness. I watch him jump out of the bed, as if I was fire and I had burned him. I press my thighs together and push my skirt down, feeling shame wash over me as I watched him tuck himself into his trousers like he was eager to leave me.

And he looked exactly like he meant to leave me at this moment.

"Where are you going?" I ask him, but my voice is so small and unsure that he doesn't hear it.

He grabs his shirt and puts it on. He heads to the door, unlocks it quickly, and insults me by saying, "good night."

[first-edition]

if you still take requests and ofc if you're willing to, could you please do a one shot of sandor clegane x f reader with lactation kink? like they're married & he survived (post got) and have children - type of scenario?🤍

OFCOURSE omg. Firstly thank you to @dat1angel aka my bestie for helping me figure this out as I’ve never wrote a lactation kink fic before but it was fun.

MINORS DNI

Cw- pinv unprotected, fem reader, pregnant reader, lactation kink, consumption of human milk, Husband a wife ,mother and father , with little plot, not proof reader sorry for any error as usual i write this shit at 3 am usually lol.

I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!

Sandor holds your waist as you grind against him. His cock has been buried in your cunt for over an hour and just being able to watch you riding him is enough to keep him hard and cum better than he ever has.

You’ve had the greatest honor in giving him two sons both of which are old enough to be riding thier own horses and exploring the village under the supervision of the guards you have at the castle and that is where they are now. Exploring the village as the festival goes on.

You’ve become pregnant with sanders third child only a few months ago your belly every growing as you prepare to give birth once again. Sandro cannot help the fact that he is utterly obsessed with your plump state. How you flesh grows softer and your body becomes rounder in support of the little life he helped create inside you.

Any chance he gets he. Has you strip and dance for him the new baby fat perfectly giving you more curves than before. Even now as he groans under you his large hand grips the flesh of your waist once in a while giving your apple ass a slap causing your cunt to clench around him as you jump.

You open your eyes only to see him lustfully starring back at you his hand exploring your sides feelign every inch of you. His actions and look of adoration makes you smile but that smile fade when you feel liquid secrete from your breast your face reddens as cover your chest gasps about to get off your husband in embarrassment.

But he grips you still and sits you looking you square in the eyes before he runs his thumb over your hardened nipple taking your breast into hand.

“Fuck…we cant let this go to wast now can we.” He speaks before dipping down and licking the liquid off. The sweet taste of your milk coating his tounge as he moves to the other.

He groans as he sucks on it wanting more. You moan out as he then turns your both over so he’s on top only to pull his lips away for one second to being fucking up into you relentlessly your tits begin bouncing up as he does.

He grips one and massages it causing more milk to seep out. He quickly laps it up and does the same with the other. Somehow keeping control as he roughly fucks you. Drinking up your sweet nectar. You clown at him and moan out as he continues to stimulate you.

“Fuck you taste like gold!” He groans deeply continuing to feast.

“Ah-ah s-Sandor i-“ you trail off as your toes curl and your pussy clenches. The sensation of your orgasm washed over you in shock causing your back to arch only giving your husband better access to your breasts.

Moments later his thrusts falter and hes cumming up in you making sure you get all of his seed despite being currently pregnant.

You pant as you stay in place for a moment. Sandro comes off your boob with a light ‘pop’ you look to him as his lips and chin are coated in a sheen as he licks off the access. You glance down at your chest seeing it littered with mini bruises from his rough suckling.

You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him too you kissing his lips deeply tasting your own on him. And fuck he was right.

You do taste like gold.

MY REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN SEND A NOTE IF INTERESTED.

[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. 

[ladyinwriting18]

A Gift For A Hound (Sandor Clegane x Reader)

Summary: Joffrey gives his faithful Hound a gift---you.

Words: 5,277 Warnings: PIV, Oral sex, Master/Slave,

The Hound walks down the long stone corridor that leads to his room. In his right hand he carries a wineskin filled with the first thing he could get his fucking hands on. Being the personal bodyguard to a cunt like Joffrey is no easy task. The little shit is ruthlessly cruel. Which is saying something coming from him. Sandor Clegane isn’t known for being kind hearted but he’s no Joffrey. The boy is sick in the head. He does his best to push it from his mind. The day is done, meaning he can forget the shit from the day and drown himself in wine alone until the numbness of sleep takes him. This is Sandor’s nightly ritual. One that he honestly looks forward to. But when he opens the door, he isn’t greeted by the usual solitude. Instead, there’s a naked woman kneeling on the floor beside his bed.

It takes him a moment to get over the initial shock, but when he does, his voice booms throughout his chamber. “What the fuck is this? What are you doing here?”  You lift your head to look at him, keeping your hands palms up on the tops of your knees. You’re as naked as your nameday, all except your neck. Tied around it is a yellow ribbon with three black dogs down the front—the colors and sigil of his house. “Hello, My Lord Hound.” “I’m no lord. So you can keep those meaningless titles to yourself.” You nod but stay silent. Sandor growls, nearly barking at you. “Well? Are you going to tell me what the fuck you’re doing in here?” You don’t even flinch at his raised voice, just answer him softly with a voice as warm as honey. “I belong to you. I am yours to do with as you please.” His brows pull together, not understanding the words that just left your mouth. “What?” You smile and patiently repeat yourself. “I belong to you now, for as long as you want me.” Your words have his eyes roam over your body for the first time. Every curve, the smoothness of your skin, and the way the chill in the room already has your nipples hard makes his cock twitch. “I’m a gift from King Joffrey.” That catches his attention. Joffrey barely spared him a glance. Now he was giving him gifts? “You’re…my gift.” You smile warmly. “Yes. Master.” That was new. No one had ever called him that before. He isn’t sure how to feel about it, but it’s far better than being called ‘my lord’. He steps over the threshold and lets the door shut behind him before moving closer. At his approach, you once again bow your head. There’s a gentle air about you. It’s something that isn’t a typical trait to the women found on the Streets of Silk. Not that Sandor was a frequent visitor. Most women couldn’t stomach looking at his scarred face. Even when he paid them, they struggled. What was the point of wasting coin on that?

You, on the other hand, are almost intoxicatingly feminine. It makes him want to press his nose to your cunt and breathe in your scent. He looks down at you, feeling more curious and less irritated than when he first walked in. “You said you belong to me?” You nod. “So, you’ll do anything I ask you to?” You keep your eyes downcast but respond without hesitation. “Yes, Master Hound. It will bring me great pleasure to fulfill your every request.”

A tension builds through his frame. Not out of anger, but anticipation. Anticipation to feel release that he often doesn’t get unless he takes his cock in his hand. “Look at me,” he commands. You do so eagerly, looking at him without a speck of fear. He searches your eyes for the lie, determined to find it. He is the Hound afterall. Usually he could smell a liar from yards away, but with you, he only sees devotion. As if you truly wish to serve him. Most were intimidated or afraid of him, but this is something different. It’s submission. It awakens his more animalistic needs. The part that wants nothing more than to fuck and claim and breed. His unscarred eye twitches as his hand moves to your cheek—to see if you’ll flinch at his touch. But, fuck, you lean into his palm and press your lips to the pad of his gloved tumb. Never once averting your gaze. He lets out a breath that he wasn’t aware he was holding. You’re all his.  He starts to pull his armor and clothes from his body. You sit up on your knees, helping where you can. You manage to pull the gauntlets from his hands and unbuckle his sword belt. But the rest he does. His fingers move too fast and he knows the armor like the back of his hand. You find other ways to make yourself useful, taking items from him and gently placing them down while he throws the rest on the floor. When he’s left in nothing but his pants and boots, your hand lightly runs over the bulge in the front of his pants. Involuntarily, he bucks into your touch, wanting more. However, you make no move to continue past teasing touches. He grunts impatiently, catching your attention. Your eyes meet, your head tilting to the side as you whisper the words…. “Command me, Master.” Command? Why the fuck would he need to do that? Any other whore he’d ever slept with always took matters into their own hands and rushed to get things over with. “Tell me how to please you. I just want to please my Master.” Your pleading tone shoots right to his already hardening cock. The corners of his mouth twitch into a grin while his hand moves to the back of your skull. He pulls you in, guiding you closer to his groin.

“Kiss it.” Immediately, you obey, leaving kisses along his clothed cock. Only the linen of his pants separates you, but still he can feel the warmth of your mouth. Sandor lets out a rough growl while undoing the knot at the front of his pants. “Don’t stop.” You coo as sweetly as a dove and your kisses become more passionate as moans escape your parted lips. You hold eye contact with him without fear, without disgust, without judgment. He can’t recall a time when even his fellow King’s Guard was able to look at him, let alone a woman. Everything about this is different. You are different. 

You look at him with desire. It only makes him more eager to sink his cock into you. However, once the cloth falls away to reveal his fully naked form, you sit back on your heels with your feet folded beneath you. You sit with your spine perfectly straight and your hands resting on your knees. You look more like a high born lady than a common whore. So submissive and pretty. “You’re waiting for my command, aren’t you?” His hand comes down to wrap around the length of his aching cock. Your eyes dart to the movement of his hand. You seem transfixed but still manage to respond, “My sole purpose is to give my Master pleasure. I’m your property to do with as you please.”

“My property?” he breathes and starts to slowly stroke himself. He does this more to tease you than himself. It clearly works because you only seem able to nod. A sly grin comes across his features. “You’re my property,” he repeats, louder to refocus you. “A beautiful…little thing…that belongs to me.” Sandor pants between words, stroking himself with a firmer grip.

“Yes, Master,” you moan with a lick of your lips. “I belong to you and only you.”

“Then be a good girl and come suck your Master’s cock.” You rise onto your knees so fast that you almost take him by surprise. Within moments, you’re pushing his hand away and wrapping your own around the base while your tongue traces over the veins in his shaft. “Your cock is so thick,” you moan out. Sandor isn’t sure if you meant to say that out loud but it hardly matters once you wrap your lips around the head of his cock. Your hand and mouth work in tandem—tugging firmly while lovingly sucking. That is…until you drop your hand away and swallow his cock whole. “Fucking Hells,” he swears and involuntarily bucks his hips forward. You hum, tightening your lips around his thickness as you pick up the pace and bob your head up and down. He watches you intently. Dark brown irises burn with lust as you suck him off like your life depended on it. “Filthy thing is enjoying this, isn’t she?” he pants, dick stiffening and pulsing in your mouth. 

You nod with a happy little hum, and Sandor can’t fight the smile that tugs at the corners of his scarred lips. Your mouth is warm and so fucking inviting, like his cock was always meant to be there. He wants more. His hand shoots out to grip the back of your head as thick fingers tangle in the locks of your hair. He moves you up and down at just the right pace. You obey his physical command, allowing him to fuck your mouth while you drool all over him. Sandor is by no means a small man and his cock is no different, but you handle it with skill. The sloppy, wet sounds of you sucking with such enthusiasm makes him feel drunk. The pleasure courses through him, all the way down to his toes. It’s almost too much. And your big, beautiful eyes don’t make it any easier. They’re full of affection while unshed tears prickle at the corners of your eyes from how wide your mouth is stretched open. He slams his cock into your throat, hitting as deeply as you can possibly take him. Your hands and nails dig into his thighs to hold yourself steady. “That’s it,” he grunts, “take it.” You moan and gag with your brows knit together. He would have thought you were in pain if it wasn’t for the blissed expression on your face.

Sandor takes all of you in, wanting to commit the image of you gagging on his cock to memory. So that when you were gone, he’d at least still have that. But that’s when he catches sight of you pressing your thighs together. The blood in his veins sings. You’re getting off on this.

On pleasing him. On having his cock in your mouth. On obeying. Suddenly, having you down on the ground isn’t enough. He forcefully pulls away, slipping his cock out of your mouth. You whine at the loss and lean forward to try and get him back in your mouth, but not even your alluring mouth will keep a man like The Hound from getting what he wants. Bending at the waist, he shoves his hands under your armpits and lifts you up from the ground before throwing you onto his bed. You yelp when your back hits the mattress. Sandor simply grins at your shock from being so easily manhandled.  “Is that cunt as pretty as your face, girl?” Blood rushes to your cheeks, coloring them, but still you open your legs, baring yourself. You’re a soaking, dripping mess. He’s certain he’s never seen a cunt as wet as yours is right now. It makes his throat feel dry…and in desperate need of a drink. Not willing to wait any longer, Sandor sinks to his knees and dives his face between your thighs. His tongue drags along your folds before it grazes your clit. Even at the slightest touch, you sigh and arch into his mouth. “More. Please, give me more.” Your pleas are sweet. So sweet that he’s no longer interested in teasing. He repeats the movement of his tongue but this time uses the flat of it to press firmer against your sensitive bud. You cry out, thighs closing tightly around his head. Sandor grunts, his arms sliding under your legs. He curls them around your thighs and uses his hands to keep your legs apart. With your movements restricted, he smashes his mouth against your clit. His lips wrap around it and suck. You buck and manage to throw a leg over his shoulder. Your foot presses against his broad back, using it as leverage to grind your hips towards his mouth. He smirks, proud that he’s the one eliciting such a response from you. While it’s true he rarely spends his coin on whores, this skill was something he learned long before his days at King’s Landing. In his youth, there had been a servant girl who worked in the kitchens. They had grown up together and thus she hadn’t ever feared his burned face. Exploring one another's bodies had felt natural. That’s how Sandor became acquainted with the taste of women. Once upon a time, they might have been married…if Gregor hadn’t found out and killed her in a jealous rage. Sandor forces the past from his mind. There’s no use in it when he has your cunt filling his senses. He savors the taste on his tongue, using it to flick your clit while sucking on it. You continue to buck and cry out, the pleasure clearly building for you. But he doesn’t want you reaching your peak just yet. He moves away, only slightly. His saliva mixes with your slick. They drip together making you all the more wet. It’s a delicious sight.

“Messy thing,” he praises, and he can feel the way your toes curl against his back. “You know,” he continues, “I usually spend my nights drinking but you’ve interrupted that.” Purposely, he pauses, letting you think he’s actually upset. You whimper, ready to apologize but Sandor speaks over you, his voice huskier than before. “Are you going to make it up to me, girl? And give me something else to drink?” You stumble over your words but still manage to speak, “Y-Yes Master, anything.”

Sandor hums from the back of his throat and swipes your clit with his tongue before answering. “Then be a good little slut and cum on my tongue.” Not bothering to wait for a reply, he runs his tongue to your slit, gathering more juices along the way. He probes your entrance before letting it fill you. You gasp in time with his moan. No longer can he taste the wine he was previously drinking. His taste buds are filled with nothing but your cunt. He vigorously pumps his tongue in and out of you. Your hands find his head, fingers tangle in hair in an attempt to tug him in deeper. “Fuckkkk, you’re so good with your tongue, Master!” Usually Sandor hates being touched without permission, but you’re so desperate it feels like he’d be committing a sin if he stopped you.

Besides, you’re dripping down his chin and giving him exactly what he wanted—a drink. But like a man starved, he wants more. He presses his thumb to your clit to stroke it. You throw your head back and sing. It’s the purest music he’s ever heard. 

The louder you moan, the harder his cock throbs.

For the next few moments, the only sounds are your cries of pleasure and his grunts against your core.

It isn’t long before you start trembling, to the point that even your inner thighs shake.

“I…I’m going to–”

You don’t need to finish your sentence for Sandor to know that you’re about to cum. He doesn’t let up the movements of his tongue or the pressure to your clit but still you try to force words out of your mouth. “P-Please. Please can I–?” Realization flashes through him. You were asking for permission to cum. Why you think you needed to ask, Sandor doesn’t know, but Gods if it isn’t the most erotic fucking thing. He moves away just enough to speak. “Go on, girl. Give me what I want and cum.” His tongue plunges back into your depths and you spasm around it. When your orgasm hits, your entire body goes rigid and breathy, unrestrained moans bleed from your throat. His cock twitches wildly in response, precum surely dripping onto the stone floor he’s kneeling on. You’ve coated his tongue with your juices, making Sandor wonder if you’ll do the same to his cock. He works you through your aftershocks while drinking from you, licking up every drop he can.   It's only when you fall limply back onto the mattress that he stops and removes his tongue and fingers from you. He sits back to look you over. You’re even more beautiful with a flushed face and glossed over eyes.

“Thank you for letting me cum, Master,” you murmur politely.

And just when he thought you couldn’t be any more perfect. Rising onto the bed, he grabs you by the back of the neck and hauls you towards him. His mouth crashes onto yours, forcing his tongue past your parted lips.

You return the kiss in a flurry of passion while your hands roam freely over his body. Starting from his shoulder, you trail your hands down his bare chest to his hip bones. He moans into your kiss, enjoying the feeling of your soft hands and the way you gently suck at his tongue.

Your hands continue downward until your fingertips brush against his still very hard cock.

He breaks the kiss with a smirk. “Something you want, Little One?” You brush your lips against his with a nod. “Make me belong to you.” “I thought you already did,” he teases gruffly with his hot breath in your face. “You’re my property, remember?” Color blooms across your cheeks, but whether it’s in satisfaction or embarrassment, Sandor isn’t sure. “I am. I belong to you, Lord Hound. I’m your—” He barks over you, cutting you off. “What did I say about that ‘my lord’ shit?” You instantly close your mouth, lips pressing into a thin line at your mistake. Fucking hells. He wanted to fuck you, not scold you. Sandor lets out a breath and forces himself to soften his tone. “I don’t need fancy titles, my name is good enough.” Your expression falls, the color draining from your cheeks. “King Joffrey only referred to you as ‘The Hound’. Is…Is that not your name?” You look upset, bordering on mortified but Sandor can’t stop the gruff laugh that bubbles from his chest. 

“I should have known that slimy little bastard would pull something like that.” You look thoroughly confused. His dark eyes look you over, your once pliable body now stiff as stone. However, it’s the ribbon of his house sigil that catches his attention. It doesn’t have the same appeal now that he knows you don’t know what it means. “And I’m guessing he didn’t tell you the meaning behind this?” he questions bitterly and starts untying it from around your neck. You shake your head ‘no’. “Just that it would please you to see me wear it.” He pulls the ribbon free, but before he can toss it away, you grip his large hand with both of yours. “Tell me? Please, Master, I want to know.” You ask so sincerely that it halts his movements. Your eyes meet, and all his willpower leaves him. “It’s the sigil for my house.” “House?” you prompt in hopes he’ll continue. 

“Clegane.” You smile bright, repeating after him so you could lock the information away forever. Sandor, on the other hand, is too distracted by the new rush of blood that pumps down to his groin. When he doesn’t say anything else, you squeeze his hand gently. “And my Master’s given name?” “Sandor.” “Sandor.” You take your time saying it, as if tasting his name on your tongue. “Sandor Clegane,” you whisper with a smirk, noticing how he starts leaning in closer. He doesn’t stop, forcing you to shift your position and slowly lay back onto the bed. “Master Sandor.”  You moan and he growls. Your legs part to accommodate him and he places a hand beside your head, trapping you beneath him. “You don’t need to call me Master.” Your smirk widens. “But you like it when I do.” He huffs because you’re right. “Fucking vixen,” he snarls and kisses you hard. Your arms wrap around his broad shoulders and your legs hike up to his hips, allowing his cock to press against your core. You’re still so warm and wet that it’s almost painful to not plunge himself inside. And maybe he would have if you hadn’t been so smug just now. “Beg,” he commands, while the hand not holding him up grips your neck. “And tell your Master what you want.” His fingers wrap effortlessly around your throat. He doesn’t do this to hurt you, just to apply enough pressure so you know who’s in charge. To his surprise, you moan and tilt your head back to give him better access. “That’s better,” he coos and rewards you by running his tongue from your jawline to the shell of your ear. “Brat just needed to be put back in her place, didn’t she?” His hot breath in your ear gives you goosebumps. “Yes, Master. I’m sorry, Master.” “Then prove it.” He gives your throat another squeeze before releasing it. “I’ll behave, I swear.” Your hands run from his forearms, over his muscular shoulders and down his chest until the swell of your breasts are pressed against him. “I just want my Master to claim me. Want to feel him inside.” You pause and rock your hips forward to grind your cunt against his length. “Please, Sandor? Please fuck me.”  It’s his name that does him in. He isn’t used hearing it, let alone someone saying it while asking him to fuck them. He straightens his back and guides your legs to fully wrap around his waist. You continue pleading but instead of giving you a verbal reply, he plunges balls deep inside of you. You both instantly tense. He, because of the tightness of your walls clinging around him, and you, because of the sudden intrusion of his cock demanding to be taken. “That’s it. Taking me so well,” he breathlessly praises, slowly moving out, then back in so you’d have time to adjust. He breathes out, watching his cock glisten from your juices when he pulls out a bit. Your head lulls to the side with a moan, feeling beyond stuffed full but also whole.

“Is this what you wanted, girl? To be speared on my cock and used?” “Yes!” you cry, trying to arch back to get his cock deeper. “Please use me. Ruin me for anyone else.”

At that, he slams into you, not being able to wait any longer. You yelp at the pressure, screaming and twisting your fists into the bedsheets. There’s no way he could keep his pace slow, not when you feel this good melting around his cock. 

You had said you wanted to be ruined. Sandor Celegane might not be a lord, or a knight, or a gentleman, but he could most certainly ruin you with his cock.

He repositions your legs, throwing them over his shoulders so that your feet are by his ears. He’s able to fuck you even deeper now, his balls smacking against you with every brutal thrust.

His rhythm is rough and steady. And with how tightly he holds your legs in place, you can do nothing but lay there moaning and clenching around him. 

“You’ll never forget this. When the next flimsy little knight comes along to fuck you, it’ll be my cock you think about.” 

Your eyes screw shut, the pleasure building in your lower belly. It feels like he’s everywhere, filling your cunt and taking over your mind and body. How you manage to nod in response is beyond you. But a nod isn’t good enough.

“Say. It,” he snarls, punctuating his words with even deeper thrusts. You curl your toes with a whine. “It’ll be your cock, Master! Only your cock.” “Mhmm, good girl.” He looks down at where your bodies are joined and sees his cock, hard, ribbed with veins and coated in your juices as it thrusts in and out of your wet hole. It’s a glorious sight and it has his orgasm threatening to hit, but there’s something he has to do first. And that’s making you cum. He reaches between your bodies and easily finds your clit. He rubs it, strokes it, and draws circles on it until he finds the touch that has you babbling in broken, indecipherable sentences.

“I want you to cum,” he speaks in labored breathing, rubbing your clit while still spearing you on his length. “I want you to cum for me now. ”

For a moment, you fall completely silent, but then it hits. The unfiltered, beautiful howls that accompany your climax. All the while your inner walls close around him in the most delicious way.

He curses, lurching forward as you gush and spasm all over him. It’s too much and he’s quickly following you over the edge, filling you with his cum. Like a cat having their head scratched, an almost purring like sound leaves you at the feeling of him filling you with his seed. It has Sandor feeling dazed as to why that would please you, but his focus is on steadying his breathing as he comes down from cumming for the first time in fuck knows how long. Your breathing is also labored, while your eyes struggle to stay open. It’s clear you’re fighting off sleep. He carefully slips out of you, even more careful not to jostle you as he sits on the edge of the bed. He finds his wineskin from earlier by the foot of the bed. Greedily, he drinks from it until his throat no longer feels dry. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of your naked form. If he was this thirsty, then your throat must be raw after all that screaming. He reaches for you, tugging you into his arms to help you sit up. You whine, eyes fluttering open, but relax when he pulls you to sit between his thighs and leans you against his chest. “Here, this will help soothe your throat.” He hands you the wineskin, which you graciously take. Sandor watches you take long, slow sips. A drop slips past your mouth and drips down your chin to land on your breast. He grins. He likes a woman who doesn't mind getting dirty. You’re just as beautiful now as you were when he first walked in to you demurely sitting on the floor. “Will you tell me your name?”

You lower the wineskin from your lips and say it with a smile. This time it’s he who repeats you, liking the way it rolls off his tongue. You nod, smiling at him before taking another drink. He stands and starts making his way to the basin of water set on a small table in the corner of the room. “Drink as much as you like. I can get more,” he says from over his shoulder as he starts washing away the sweat on his chest and the slick that you’ve managed to coat even his balls in. Afterwards, he puts on a pair of lightweight sleep pants. When he turns back to you, he expects to find you still drinking or dressing, but instead he finds you sitting on his bed and watching him. “Where are your nightclothes?” You fidget uncomfortably, looking away. Sandor grunts under his breath, he should have known this wouldn’t last. “If you don’t wish to stay, then just say so.” The bite in his voice is evident and you snap your head up in his direction. “I-It’s not that!” you protest. “I want to stay. I just…don’t have any clothes.” His brows pull together in confusion, “Joffrey didn’t leave your clothes here for you?” You shake your head ‘no’. That angers him. Joffrey was a callous shit but to leave you with nothing was just cruel. “No personal belongings? How the fuck did he expect you to get home after this?” You flinch, once again looking away. “The King said….” you trail off. “Nevermind, Master.” Your discomfort radiates off of you. Quietly, he fishes out a clean shirt out of a trunk at the end of the bed and makes his way over to you. “Arms up, Little One.”

You lift your head and see the shirt in his hands. You obey and he slips the shirt over your head and helps you dress. “This damn thing is going to look more like a dress on you, but it’ll do until morning.” You pull your knees to your chest while muttering a ‘thank you’. There’s still something bothering you and Sandor is determined to figure out what it is. “Look at me,” he commands, knowing you’ll obey. You do and he continues. “Do you know why they call me ‘The Hound’?” You stare at him in fascination and shake your head. “Because I can smell a lie as easily as I can breathe. So out with it. What’s upsetting you?”

You gnaw on your bottom lip before responding. “King Joffrey told me I didn’t need to pack anything because he bought me from the keeper of the pleasure house. He…” You falter, trying to find the bravery to continue. “He said that if you didn’t wish to keep me once we were through, that he’d pass me around to his other guards until they used me up. Or that maybe he’d kill me himself.” Rage boils in his blood. Not only because Joffrey put you through hell, but because he suddenly can’t bear the thought of another having you. “No one is going to touch what’s mine.” The threat of his words hangs in the air but you look relieved. “You…You mean you’ll keep me here with you?” Sandor nearly chokes because he hadn’t thought that far ahead. All he knew is that he didn’t want Joffrey or any other to get their hands on you. “Is…Is that what you want?” You smile bright, brighter than the summer’s sun. “Nothing would make me happier, Master.” As beautiful as you are, and as lovely as it sounds to have a warm cunt to bury himself in each night, the cold blade of reality cuts through. “Well don’t go making it sound like it’ll be all sunshine and lemoncakes. I’m not by any means a joy to live with and—” But you aren’t listening because you’re too busy crawling into his lap. You straddle him and nuzzle your face into the side of his neck. “Thank you, Sandor,” you whisper against his skin, melting against his body as you make yourself comfortable. No one had ever thanked him in his entire life. He isn’t sure how to handle it. The longer you lay against him, the more a warmth blooms inside his breastbone. He likes the way it feels having you close. It makes him feel things. Things he doesn’t have a name for. You let out a small sigh, seemingly starting to fall asleep while sitting up. He shifts and lays down on the bed with you still tucked against his chest. 

There was no way of knowing what the future held, but Sandor Celange did know one thing….. This was the best damn present he’d ever received.

[crazy-dane-art]

Gregor had inherited the keep, the gold, and the family estates. His younger brother Sandor had left the same day to take service with the Lannisters as a sworn sword, and it was said that he had never returned, not even to visit.

- AGOT, Eddard VII

Saying farewell to those who care.

[auxmodi]

kitchen visit 🧄

drabble

summary : you’re making soup for the guards at Winterfell, and as usual, Sandor shows up to complain. But as he sticks around, you realize there’s more to his grumbling than he lets on. #wholesome

a/n: idk why but sandor can DEFINITELY cook, like he would be the best husband.

word count: 743

The soup bubbled gently in the pot, filling the Winterfell kitchens with the rich aroma of herbs and roasted marrow. You stirred it with steady hands, checking the consistency and seasoning as you hummed softly to yourself. Feeding the guards was no small task, but it was one you’d grown to love, despite the grumbling and ungrateful looks you sometimes got.

The familiar sound of the heavy door creaking open didn’t even make you look up anymore. “Evening, Sandor,” you called without turning.

“Evening,” he replied, his voice as rough as the scrape of a blade against stone. “Smells better than what they served yesterday.”

You chuckled, glancing over your shoulder to find him leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his perpetual scowl firmly in place. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The thud of his boots followed as he crossed the room. You didn’t need to turn to know he was making a slow line for the worktable, the same way he always did. He liked to pretend he wasn’t lingering, that he wasn’t drawn here night after night by the warmth of the kitchen, the crackling firelight dancing on stone walls, or though he’d never admit it, you.

You turned back to your soup, expecting him to make a snide comment and leave like usual, but instead, you heard the soft thud of something being set down.

Glancing over, you saw Sandor standing at the table, pulling a small bundle of wild garlic from a pouch. He began peeling the cloves without a word.

“What’s this?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Stuff,” he muttered, already rolling up his sleeves like he planned to get his hands dirty. “Found ’em near the woods. Figured you’d need somethin’ to stop this soup from being a pot of piss water.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. Sandor Clegane didn’t “find” things for people, certainly not for you. The gruff, battle-worn man was many things, but thoughtful wasn’t one of them. Or so you’d thought.

“Thoughtful of you,” you said softly, your teasing tone replaced by something quieter.

“Thoughtful, my arse,” he snapped, grabbing a knife from the block and slamming a garlic clove onto the cutting board with a little too much force. “If the guards eat another pot of watered-down slop, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You laughed under your breath, shaking your head as you turned back to the pot. “You know, for someone who supposedly doesn’t care, you’re awfully invested in this soup.”

He grumbled something unintelligible, but you caught the faintest twitch of his mouth, like he was fighting a smirk. Sandor Clegane, the Hound himself, standing in your kitchen, smashing garlic with all the ferocity of someone cutting down enemies in battle. It was a sight you’d never thought you’d get used to. But here he was.

The scent of garlic filled the air as you worked together, neither of you commenting on how natural it felt. His rough hands, scarred and strong, moved with surprising skill, tossing the garlic into the pot without waiting for instruction.

“You’re not bad at this, you know,” you said after a moment, tasting the broth. “Maybe in another life, you’d have been a cook instead of killing people.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “What, chained to a kitchen, makin’ pies and stews for lords and ladies? I’d rather rot.”

“You say that,” you teased, “but you’re always here. Starting to think you might actually like it.”

His knife paused mid-slice, and for a moment, you thought he might snap back with one of his usual gruff retorts. Instead, he shrugged. “Better company than the courtyard,” he muttered, almost too quiet for you to catch.

You blinked at his words, a flicker of surprise crossing your face, but you kept your focus on the soup. Quietly, you grabbed a spoon and tasted it, the warmth spreading through you, rich and hearty with just the right amount of sharpness from the garlic. “It’s perfect,” you murmured, glancing at Sandor.

His boots already thudded against the stone floor as he walked to the door, pausing for a moment with one hand on the frame. “Eat your damn share before those idiots get to it,” he muttered, glancing back at you briefly before pulling the door open.

You watched him leave, the heavy door closing with a creak. A quiet laugh slipped from your lips as you looked back at the pot. For all his roughness, Sandor had a way of looking out for you that felt almost tender, though he’d never call it that.

[sandor-clegane-can-get-it]

So… Sandor Clegane is hot, am I right?

[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.

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird and The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 6 ✿:+ Free Fields

1-2-3-4-5-_-7

Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it. 

CW: ALL SMUT MDNI, afab reader, virgin reader, P in V sex, oral sex (mutual), fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it up cuties), creampie, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence. 

A/N: I am posting early this week, giving the girls what they want in one long smut scene. Everyone say thank you Bambi. 

Word Count: 3467 

You had ridden most of the night, but once the daylight began to rise in the sky you felt sleep take you. Sandor tied Lika to Stranger and Sandor held you as he rode. You insisted you didn’t need the sleep but he insisted in the opposite direction. He’d ridden most of the day holding you against his chest, wrapped in his cloak. 

You’d woken up in the forest. The light that peaked through the gaps in the leaves of the trees above you began to shine in your eyes. A cold breeze traveled through them, waking you up even more. You looked to your side through half open eyes. You sat up quickly, realizing you were laying on the soft grass alone. You looked around and saw Sandor was watering the horses, and you were wrapped in his cloak. 

“‘M right here.” He said looking over his shoulder at you then back to the horses. 

You looked around and never felt so alone, there was no one for miles. But again you never felt so free. 

But you couldn’t help but feel somewhat awkward. You’d never been alone with Sandor like this. There was hardly any chance of anyone stumbling upon you, your time was not limited, and now everyone must have known. Known that he took you with him. 

You sat up and held your knees closer to your chest, you noticed how the red gown the Lannisters had made for you was already wearing thin, the fabrics tearing slightly. You ran your fingers over the ruined fabric over your knee. You noticed the pattern of the fabric was lions and roses. As your fingers ran over the lion's tail you couldn’t help but feel a pit in your stomach. 

Tyrion. 

You didn’t love him, that was true. But you were fond of him. And maybe at some point if you were married you could have. He wasn’t like his family, and he tried, he really did try to make your cage a comfortable one. But he did not open that cage for you, he didn’t even seem to want to. Sandor did. 

Sandor looked over his shoulder at you again, noticing you examining the fabric. 

“You can’t wear that out ‘ere.” He said gruffly as he stood and walked towards Stranger. 

You looked confused, 

“Somebody comes along and see’s you in that bloody thing you know what they’ll do?” He asked, as if he was testing you. Wanting to know just how cruel you knew the world could be. 

“Something like those men during the riot did.”

“No.” He huffed while rummaging through the sattles bag “No one’ll ever touch you like that again.” He said pulling out some clothes and walking towards you, “But they’ll know who you are. Where the fuck you came from. Lannisters would find us faster.” 

“You don’t think they’ll know who you are?” You asked as he handed you the clothes, 

“You can change that fuckin’ dress but I can’t change my face now can I?”  He said in a gruff voice that you ignored as you looked at the clothes. There was a white cotton tunic, a thick gray wool sweater that was like a dress on you. a pair of tall black leather boots, a thick black leather belt with a satchel attached to it, and a pair of dark brown trousers that were too tight for you but would have to do. 

“where’d you get this?” You asked looking at the clothing,

“Stole it, while you were sleeping.” You looked up at him with a look of surprise “They didn’t want them, fucking left them outside.”

“Were they on a line?” He didn’t respond to you, just stared at you with guilty eyes, “They were hanging to dry. You can’t do that.”

“I’ll do what I have to, for you.” he whispered that last part, “You’re very kind. That’ll get you killed out here.” His voice was hardened and cold, “Change.” He said walking back to the horses by the river. 

You shrugged off his hardened words. running your fingers through your hair. You realized how dirty the journey had made it. Not to mention the dirt that had gathered on your hands, feet, and knees. 

Your eyes wandered towards the river, the water rushing looked inviting. You looked around, there was no one, at least for the next thirty miles. Then you looked back to sandor who was tending to the horses, he was strangely attentive and fond of the horses. It made you feel warm inside, seeing him be so gentle, after you’ve seen him kill and maim men for little reason. 

You stood, as you did you began to remove your gown, Sandor could hear the fabric of your gown being discarded. He pretended not to notice it as he kept his back turned.

Your gown fell around your feet as you stepped out of it, your underclothes with it. 

You walked towards the river, you dipped your foot in the cold water. It wasn’t like the warm baths in lavender oil that you were used to. But it was what you needed. The water was much deeper than you expected.

You plunged into the cold waters, let yourself stay under the water for a moment. The coldness of the water surrounded you, like it was holding you. It reminded you of the cold winds of the Eyrie. Before you could daydream even more you were pulled out of the water by your arm. 

You gasped for air as your head finally reached the surface. 

“Fuck are you doing, girl?” He barked at you, you pulled your arm away, 

“I was dirty.” You said with a smirk as you were catching your breath.

“Er clean now, out.” He said pulling your arm again but you pulled away and out of his grasp. He huffed, you noticed that he was still covered in blood, it was faded but it was still there. 

“You’re still all bloody.” You said and he tisked at you while he pulled on your arm again. “Stop it.” You said pulling your arm away before swimming closer towards him. “Come here.” You commanded softly. With a gruff sigh he gave in, kneeled towards you. You wiped the blood from his brow, his cheek, then his scarred cheek. When you touched it he winced a little. “Does it hurt?” You whispered, he shook his head. 

“Are you finished?” He rasped, you nodded. He stood and walked back and away from you. “Get out of there before a man comes along.” He rasped once again, as he sat by a small fire he’d built. No doubt with a great deal of courage, he mainly built it for you. 

So you did as he said, you climbed out of the water, you threw on your under clothes to cover your nakedness, though your body was still so wet the clothes became almost transparent. Sandor looked back at you while you rang out your hair. He’d seen you naked before, but this felt all the more intimate. The glamor had worn off, and you were reduced to skin and bone. Not a noble woman but a human. Your cheeks felt red and you looked away, but you felt his gaze linger. 

“Dress yourself.” He commanded in a growl “If a man comes,” 

“There's no one for miles.” You interrupted him, walking towards him, your hair still dripping wet. 

“Stubborn girl.” He growled as he drank water from a flask, pissed that it wasn’t wine. But you continued your steps towards him. You knelt by his side and began to undo the clasps of his armor. He grabbed your hand “Fuck are you doing?” 

“You’re covered in blood, your armor- it’s covered in blood.” You said but he didn’t let go of your hand “We can’t attract attention like you said. You being covered in blood would attract just that.” He let your hand go, and you continued. Undoing each clasp until he was left in his tunic and slacks. 

You sat by the river and washed each piece with your hands, taking small amounts of water and rubbing it onto the silver armor. Making sure not too much water touched it, you didn’t want to ruin the material. 

Sandor watched you as the sun began to set, it made him think about what he offered you in your room the night of the battle of Blackwater. He’d build you a home. And he would. He thought of you washing clothes in a river like what you were doing now. He thought of sharing a home with you, not a grand one like the Eyrie but a small home made of wood and stone. He thought for a moment of you carrying his babe. But he was not one for chivalry, tradition, or ceremonies. But he wasn’t one for love either but here he was. 

You walked back with his armor, the fire illuminated his face handsomely, you tried to put it back on him but he took it and placed it on the ground. His eyes softened strangely, but his face was still in that scowl he always had. He placed his hands on your hips and his eyes ran over your body. 

“If another man saw what I am looking at right now, I would kill him.” He grumbled. 

“How many men have you killed?” 

“Killed my first man when I was twelve. I lost count since then.” His voice was cold, and his eyes reached yours searching for any ounce of fear. Finding none. “I don’t frighten you?” He barked as if he was trying to frighten you, trying to get you to come to your senses. 

“Never.” You spoke softly, your soft words always gentled the rage within him. He felt so much for you he almost resented you for it.

He grabbed you by your jaw, “Have you ever made a man feel this way before?” He growled, 

“I don’t know.” You said, still not scared of him, you knew he’d never harm you. 

“I know you have. How could any man not? I know that Imp, he wanted you.” his voice was so low it rumbled in his chest. 

“I never felt love for him, nor lust.” You spoke softly, his grip on you loosened. 

“What of that pretty boy,” 

“Loras?”

“Aye.”

You let out a small giggle at the thought of Sandor being truly jealous of Loras, a man who couldn't love a woman. “Rumors of Loras are true. He did not like the touch of a woman.” 

“He was a cock sucker?”

“Stop that.”

“What, you love him do you?” His grip tightened once again but still not hurting you.

“Not the kind of love you mean.” 

“You said you promised someone you love to take the Eyrie. Who?” He growled, you knew that this was the only way he’d be able to tell you he loved you. By interrogating you on who you loved.

“My mother.” His grip loosened completely, “And my father.” His hand began to rest on your neck, “I promised my mother on her child bed, to keep her house safe, and her son safe. I failed at one I can’t fail both.” 

“Oaths and promises are for cunts.” 

“You’ve sworn a promise to me.” 

“Aye.” He said, his eyes scanning down your body once more. 

“What are you looking at?” 

“The fuck do you think I’m looking at.” He rasped as you noticed his hooded eyes lingering on your breasts, hardly covered by your soaking wet under clothes. You pulled the top half of your under clothes over your head. His eyes snapped to yours.  

“You’ve never been fucked by a man?” He rasped, he knew you hadn’t, he knew you’d already told him this, but he needed to be sure. You shook your head. “Never had a man's fingers in your cunt?” You shook your head again, “Never had a man’s tongue in your cunt?” He rasped, 

“Only yours,” You whispered. Those words only encourage his throbbing cock.

“You sure you want this?” He grumbled, his large rough hands going to your breasts. They were rough and almost hurt by how course they were. They were so large that they engulfed your breast completely. Your mind then turned back from that to the question he asked, 

“I am.” Your words are soft and sweet. 

“Lay back,” His voice dropped and rumbled in his chest, it made you clench your thighs together. You laid back as he asked you. You laid back on the green soft grass. As you did he pulled his tunic off and over his head. He loomed over you, his hands ran from your jaw, to your sternum, to your stomach, to your pelvis. He toyed with the fabric of your under clothes covering your sex. 

“You can’t take it back.” He rasped. You nodded, and you pulled your under clothes down and over your knees, he took them off from there. 

He positioned himself between your legs, and leaned down. He kissed you deeply. Sucking on your lips as if they tasted of wine. His rough hands roamed your body, they were so rough they almost scratched at your skin. You moaned into his mouth as his hand found its way to your cunt. 

His large middle finger began to play with your clit. His finger circled your clit a few times then teased your entrance, just a little, adding some pressure then going back to your clit. Your sweet moans only encourage his throbbing bulge in his trousers. 

Your hand gripped a chunk of his hair at the back of his head, deepening your kiss. Your other hand roamed his back, littered with scars. 

He kissed down from your jaw, to your neck, to your collar bones, your chest, breasts, nipples, stomach. He sucked and bit at your side making you jump a little and mewl. He continued on and kissed your pelvic mound. 

He lifted your legs up and over his shoulders, kissing your inner thighs and biting them gently. The feel of his beard scratched at your thighs. Your back arched at the feeling. 

Finally, replacing his fingers with his tongue. He licked at your sensitive clit, sucking on it, and biting on it lightly, enough to make you moan his name, which in turn made him moan into your cunt. The vibration of it made the sensation all the more pleasurable. 

At this point you were soaking wet, you heard lude sounds from him, a mix of growls and slurping. 

You gripped a handful of his hair again scratching at his scalp. 

His fingers returned to your cunts entrance, not fully entering it, just applied pressure teasing you horribly. 

He kissed your swollen clit and came up for air, He looked at your cunt, empty but clenching around nothing at all. It drove him mad, as he looked up at you, you looked down at him. “I’ll be gentle, but it’ll hurt.” He said with a low raspy voice. 

You nodded, “Please,” you whined. 

He kissed your inner thigh as his thick ring finger began to enter you. Your back arched and you let out a groan as you threw your head back. It burned a little, and the pressure was uncomfortable, and yet felt so good. His finger continued inside of you, and his eyes watched you making sure you didn’t want it to stop. Then you felt him hit something, it made you wince. He stopped, 

“Take a deep breath, little bird.” He said oddly gently. He sucked on your clit as he continued and you felt a snap inside of you, it hurt, 

“Nmph!” You groaned, let out a sharp breath. 

“It’s alright now, it’ll feel better now.” He said moaning into your cunt. 

And he was right, the pain and the burn stopped, and was replaced by pleasure. You moaned as his finger pumped in you over and over again. He added another finger as he sucked on your breasts. You held his head and kissed the top of it whilst he did so. 

He pulled his fingers out of you and sat up on his knees. You sat up as well. 

Your eyes looked at his fingers, covered in your slick mixed with blood. Your cheeks lit up red with embarrassment. 

“It’s alright, little bird. I fuckin' love it, you've got no fucking idea how long I've wanted to do this to ye.” He comforted you, you weren’t used to it. You tried to ignore your embarrassment and focus on what you wanted. You started to undo his trousers, he didn’t stop you this time. You pulled his trousers down with some resistance from his large cock. Once you got them down his cock bounced up, standing straight. You looked up at him waiting for any resistance, met with none once again. 

You took his cock in your hand, it made your hand look so small in comparison. He let out a deep groan, which only encouraged you more. You kissed the side of his cock, and kissed your way to the tip. You licked at the precum that was seeping from his tip. 

It was salty and bitter but you couldn’t get enough. However, that was his last straw. He pushed you back onto the soft grass and pulled your legs around his waist. He kissed you, tasting himself on your tongue as you tasted yourself on his. 

He lined himself up with your soft, warm, and soaking wet entrance. He slowly pushed his way inside of you. You both let out a loud moan, but you tried to cover your mouth, not wanting to risk others in these forests hearing you. Sandor wouldn’t have that though. He grabbed your wrist and pulled it away from your mouth, 

“Don’t you fucking dare. I want to hear all of it.” He growled at you, “I’ve waited too long to hear it.”

“What if someone hears?” You tried to say without moaning but failing miserably 

“I’ll strangle them with their own guts.” He said like an angry dog, “I’m the only one who can see you like this, hear you like this.” 

He pushed further and further into you until he hit your spongy cervix, making you almost scream out in pleasure. Sandor gritted his teeth and he shouted “Gods!... (Y/N), you feel so fucking good!” as he slammed his lips onto yours kissing you with a hunger you’d never known. He let himself warm inside you for a moment, letting you get used to the stretch. 

All the things you’d heard about sex finally made sense. The pleasure of it, and the pain of it. But you never knew how fulfilling it could feel. How the satisfaction would feel within you. You hadn’t even cum yet but you were a woman happy nonetheless. 

He began to move again, in and out of you pumping. You gripped the grass at the sides of your head. As he pumped in you your breasts bounced, his eyes couldn’t stop but admire your body. Every inch of it unique to you and you alone. All those whores he paid who looked like you weren’t like this. They didn’t feel as good as you did, they didn’t fit around him the way you did. 

“I’m not ‘urting you am I?” He asked through gritted teeth, you shook your head as you moaned loudly, “Good.” He said as he pumped harder and faster. He leaned down more and ravaged your breasts, you knew there would be marks on them tomorrow. His hands gripped at your hips so tightly you knew there would be marks there as well. 

“Take it, take it, take it, take it-” He grumbled into your neck over and over again. 

You felt the pressure in your belly tighten, you knew you were going to cum. “I feel ya’ tightening around my cock, do it, cum around my cock.” He said into your ear as he nibbled at your lobe, then moving to bite at your jaw. 

“Fuck!” You moaned loudly, “Sandor!” You yelped as you felt yourself cumming all over him. 

His arm wrapped around your waist tightly pulling you up and close to this chest. While his other hand held your jaw in place, having you look him in the eyes. 

“Cum in me,” You pleaded breathlessly, his eyes widened, he couldn’t believe that you’d ever want him to do such a thing. It pushed him over the edge and he didn’t have time to question if it was truly what you wanted as he melted into you.

"(Y/N)!" He shouted as you felt the hot ribbons of cum filling you deep inside of you. His grunts were like war screams, as if he were impaling a man with a sword. In a way he was. It out of nowhere made you cum again, pushing some of his cum out of your cunt, overflowing around his cock still in you. 

As he collapsed beside you, and you both laid there naked covered in sweat in the cold air. You tried to catch your breath. 

“(Y/N)” He said in a husky growl you could hear the rumble of his tone, you turned to look at him. “I would die for you.” 

NOTE:

Hi girlies. I made this with the intention of making it just one scene in a multiple scene chapter but it was already so long and we have a lot more to get to so enjoy this little freebie. 

Also I am working on a new series, might take a min tho so I am not going to announce who it is about but it is also GOT related.

Also also double points for anyone who caught the Laufey lyrics

My Beloveds: If you want to be added to the tag list comment telling me so!

@dontfollowjuststuff @helpmeescapethisreality @merfic