#sandor clegane imagines
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UNCONDITIONAL | SANDOR X READER
Part 2: Take the Black
Sandor X Reader
Mature Content Warning
Requested: YES
Requested: OPEN
WARNINGS: Please check your triggers; SMUT!!! (Always use protection) Mentions of Miscarriages, Homemade Abortions, and Slight mentions of depression.
Word Count: 7k plus
Slight Proofread :(
You gasped, taking his head in your hands. Pushing him further into your pussy, your hips slowly grinding against his flattened tongue and the bridge of his nose, which flicked against your aching clit. You mouthed oh’ed as you felt the euphoria blissfully wash over you, your heads, grabbing at the grass, digging your nails into the dirt as you quickly closed your legs. Pushing him away from you, you pleaded with him to stop as you felt overstimulated from his still kissing and softly licking at your clit. You moaned out in desperation, “Theon, please stop.” with weakened strength, you pushed him off you, yanking your body closer to yourself, as you moved to your bottom. Your eyes washed over the glistening boy as a smirk played on his lips.
“I can’t help myself,” he moans lowly, moving on all fours before crawling closer to you, his eyes taking you in from the disheveled state of your hair as it was muddled with leaves, twigs, and bits of grass. From your redding face, your cheeks warm and full of color, your eyes wide and sporadic. Your mouth opened slightly, as you tried to suck in as much air as possible. His finger crawled on top of your hands, waiting to feel your warmth, and despite the crisp coldness of the air, you radiated furnacing warmth. Theon enjoyed these little moments with you, holding you in his arms, letting his hands run down your breast and throbbing pussy. Kissing you on your neck as you moaned out for him. He craved you, simply intoxicating. You spoke again, this time more certain of yourself, “Father will be looking for you soon; I know you have a ceremony to attend.”
Finally, you started to notice how close Theon was and how the condensation of your breath mingled with the stillness of the cold air. You closed your eyes, sucking in the harsh atmosphere, and you felt his lips peck on yours. Something that he didn’t do often, you quickly cuffed his face, preventing him from turning away from you. Icy fingers caressed his skin for a moment; you dropped your gaze, removing your hand from his face. “Go,” you spoke in the stillness of the air, moving to feet and gathering your gloves.
It didn’t take long to voyage back to the Winterfell, your eyes taking hold of Jon and Bran, his hair falling against his pale skin. Nervously, he petted at his pony, tugging on his lips as his eyes flickered to Jon, taking hold of every word that came tumbling out of his mouth, yet he still didn’t remember much of what was said. Jon's grey eyes finally captured hold of you as he waved you over, his smile rising on his lips. His dark hair, moving in the chilled wind, he was taller than he was before. Excitedly, you waved to him. He often enjoyed speaking with you; you were kinder than your twin brother, Robb, Theon, and Caitlyn, who put up with him out of respect for Ned. Robb barely talked to him. The conversation only culminated when needed; for Theon he wishes to avoid him at any cost. He thought everything was funny, and it always came off as insensitive and crude. The Stark girls offered him the kindness and a love he craved, but you were different. When thinking of family and thinking of love, he saw you.
Jon’s first core memory of you was when he was 11; you were skin and bones then. Your eyes were as dark as iron as you protectively stood before Jon. You bore no front teeth, yet your words were certain and robust. Caitlyn was scolding him for something trivial. She was harsh to Jon, her finger jamming into his shoulder before waving back in front of his face. It was the only time that you have seen Caitlyn interact with Jon when she was lashing out for punishments or projecting anger to Jon. You grabbed Jon’s hand, stomping past Caitlyn, offering him a toothless smile. “Don’t worry, Jon, I’ll always protect you!”
He drifted back to you, watching you make your way down to them. You smiled upon arrival, pressing your cheek against Bran; he cringed away, swatting at you with embarrassment and giggles. You returned to Jon, bringing him in for a tight hug, taking the smell of his natural aroma; he always smelled of pine and the outdoors. “Are you ready?” you asked in curiosity. You always wanted to go, but Ned forbade it, scolding you for wanting to partake in such boyish pastimes. His fingers danced to Sansa, explaining that you needed to mirror her likeness. Gentle and soft, like her mother. You glanced at Sansa with a faint smile, taking in her stern Tully features. The auburn color of her hair is lighter than our mother’s, paired with high-cheek bones and deep oceanic eyes. She was soft-smelling. You glanced back at your father, his hands cuffing your cheeks, mushing them together before chuckling. In sadness, he spoke, “You remind me so much of her.”
Your thoughts were interrupted by Theon; you hadn’t realized you drifted off. You straighten your posture as he moves behind you. You never realized how lean and tall he was.
“I best be going.” You finally uttered a soft farewell to Bran, taking hold of him once more before passing one to Jon. You could see Theon’s gaze on you; you passed a glance over your shoulder, seeing the dark expression on his face. Quickly, you turn around, returning to your attention ahead of you.
You hadn’t realized how much time had passed; you heard their voices first—muddled with each other, arguing over silly names. Bran's voice you heard first, dismissing the statements as he entered the kitchen. Sansa, Arya, and yourself had turned to meet them, eyes wide with wonder and exhilaration, watching Robb, Bran, Jon, and Theon bring pups into the kitchen. Your eyes snapped to the albino pup, nuzzled in Jon’s arms. With a smile, you gently ran your fingers through his ghostly white fur, his wet nose sniffing at your fingers as he yelped out a yawn.
“Where on earth did you find these Direwolfs? They do not travel this far up North,” You finally announced. Theon moved to you, a singular wolf in his arms, the color of a flaxen silver color, almost white blonde color. You gently ran your fingers through his dirty fur; you plunked out the crumbled soil, blood, and leaves. Slowly, your eyes moved to Theon, whose fingers had danced along yours, aiding you in removing the dirt and leaves. Jon hummed in dismay as Theon gawked over you, his teeth gritted in irritation. The color on your cheeks rose as you mumbled soft phrases to the pup in his arms. Unamused, he finally turned his full attention to the pair. He watched Theon brush his hand against yours, mumbling something that briefly caused you to look away. Jon’s eyes flickered to Robb, who seemed to have an unamused expression laced on his face. They knew Theon’s admiration for you has grown, significantly since you have grown into womanhood.
Intensely, he voiced, “You seem to have taken a liking to Direwolfs now, huh, Greyjoy.” Theon laughed loudly, and his chest shook as he threw his head back. His eyes fell on the bastard. Rolling his eyes, he watched him. Theon grew tired of Jon; he always felt that he wanted to fuck want belonged to him. You weren’t really blood anyway; what was stopping him from fucking you. He always finds his way into sacred moments, checking in on you before bed. You always calmed him, explaining that he was your brother, born from the same blood. Theon would scoff, shifting away from you in your bed. His back was facing you as he decided it was time to depart, leaving you alone.
Your eyes flickered between the two, along with everyone else. “Jon…” you hissed in frustration; his eyes glanced at you just briefly to catch the expression drawn on your face. Nothing else needed to be said; he could read everything about you; you were his best friend…his sister. The way your mouth twitched when you wanted him to shut up, your eyebrows would raise when you were confused or curious, and your eyes deadlocked on him when you grew angry with him. Jon mumbles an apology before turning his attention back to his albino pup. You couldn’t help but notice the similarities in your pups, their vermilion-brown eyes, and their fur color similarities. You huffed, taking hold of the trembling pup, the chilliness of his fur burning your skin as you cooed gently at the monster.
“Jon’s right; Theon seems quite interested in many new things lately,” Robb spoke out, eyes still trained on his wolf. Your cheeks burned as you continued to pike through the debris riddled through your pup’s coat.
***
In preparation for the King, your handmaidens tug at your hair. You grimaced, swatting them away, cursing them for their roughness and prudence. They were appointed by your mother, Caitlynn, whom you were not so fond of at the moment; in a slight urge of deviance, you snatched your head away from them. Your eyes burn into her, your lips tight as you hissed them out. Hesitant, the older crow had stepped in front, her eyes pale brown, her skin riddled with wrinkles and crevices. She opened her mouth and tried to find the right words to say, but much to her expectation, she did not. “Lady-”
“You are dismissed! Bring in the lanky girl; I love her hair! She has a head full of dark curls, maiden of Sansa; she’s gentle and easier to withstand on the eyes!” Your voice was strong, commanding the room just as your father’s. You stood tall, watching the woman cower in obedience, and with a nod, they rushed out. You wiggled out the attire, a dull and lifeless color your mother had decided was appropriate for the King. You knew she wasn’t too fond of him nor the Lannisters. Hundreds would soon gather in Winterfell and make it their home, muddling our paths and haven with their people. The door's opening captures your attention; the girl slowly walks in, her eyes filled with fear as she watches your nude form shyly.
She bows, longer than needed. “M’lady,” her drawl was different from the rest; she didn’t speak properly, nor did she try. She was burdened with discoloration and freckles, her arms extended and irregular at her side. Her teeth were askew and stained a yellowish color. Yet, there was something pure about her; she screamed, her body jolting to the door, as Luan slowly shifted to her, his nose hung low and his eyes stalking her. Your eyes shifted to the Direwolf, who lurked in the shadows. “Luan,” you hissed out. You turned my attention to her, slightly laughing as you waved my hand towards Luan.
“He’s harmless, tries to act Ghost, and slightly like Greywind.” You laughed, moving to the girl as you grabbed her hand; she stumbled behind you, and a soft smile played on her lips. You plopped down, hair flying about as you looked up at her. You began to speak, slow and calculated, “Please, may you do my hair. The wolf is no harm to you.” the maiden’s eyes widened at your request, her cheeks dusting slightly pink.
The maiden picked at her hair; insecurities flushed through her stomach as she tugged on the deep skin of her bottom lip. She was never complimented before by boys in her village and certainly not by the men or women in Winterfell. Her mother always complained of boyish looks, the irregularity of her nose and the harshness of her skin, the scabs, sunburn, and the bug bites that did not go away. Her hair was always hanging on her shoulders and in wild curls, which she tamed with a mixture her grandmother taught her. Her eyes returned to the Eldest Stark girl; she nodded excitedly.
A small, drawn on your face, “Then it is settled, you shall be my new lady in wait! I grow tired of the old hags my mother tries to force on me.” Your voice boomed as you stood up, your hands clasping her shoulders, tugging at her. Her cheeks burned as she watched the pup and the surroundings of her chambers, hands glued to her side as you were still nude. Time had slowly passed, her hand taking each strand and coating it with a strange concoction she brought into the room; it smelled sweet, and a soft aroma of honeydew filled the air. Staring at your reflection in the copper mirror, you finally felt beautiful; your hair framed the fullness of your face, contrasting against your grey eyes. You often were referred to as Jon’s twin despite being Robb’s; Caitlyn curses quietly to herself as she watches you and the bastard play. She would believe you were Jon's sibling if she hadn’t birthed and watched you milk her teat. Your grey eyes, which people often confuse with a dark obsidian, were that of Father’s and Jon’s. Your dark hairs framed your faces. Jon’s face was strong like Ned’s, while your look was subtle and kind. Yet, as she watched you two grow together, she saw no trace of Tully in you.
You arrived slightly late to the arrival of the King and Queen; you squeezed beside Robb and Sansa, out of breath and irritated from the festivities already. Robb stood tall next to Father and still mirrored Mother, his crystal blue eyes washing over the gathering visitors before landing on you; he was stocky. His hair was a soft auburn color, much like his mother’s. He smirked momentarily, his body leaning closer as he pushed his words against the winter’s air, “Mother is going to have your head.” Your eyes flickered to the visitors flooding through the gate’s castle, drawing us in their sparkling gold, illuminating silvers, and polished steel. Their banners and knight galloped on their steads, heads held high as they looked down on us.
Ser Jamie was the first to stand out, his blonde locks falling against his shoulder, bouncing occasionally. Father would often refer to it as “beaten gold.” Despite being on his stead, you could see that he towered over everyone, his cat-green eyes scanning through the ground, laying hold on Winterfell in disdain. Shifting through the knights, your eyes fell on a huskily built man, his nose long and hooked. His long, ravenous hair covered his scar that took hold of half of his face, his flesh black and pocketed with craters colored a deep red. You noticed that much of his face was gone; he had a stump for where his ear was meant to be and a protrusion of his jawbone. You saw the scars running down to his throat.
“Ah, Ned, seeing your frozen face again is great!” Robert proclaimed, his voice beating through the silence, echoing from the walls and settling in the nothingness. He grabbed him by the face, laughing intensely as he looked at Caitlyn, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Robert stopped when approaching you, his face sunken as he glanced at you; you examined him, taking in the redness of his face and nose and the darkness under his eyes. You recalled the tales your Father told you in your youth, the ones of a handsomely Robert Baratheon, “a handmaiden’s fantasy”; you would giggle feverishly at the thought. Now, beholding him, his thick black hair falling against his burly shoulders, you now see that it was all just a fantasy. If you were to ever ponder deeply on what a King would look like, Robert Baratheon fit the criteria.
Robert's heart burned in his chest, and his fingers danced with anxiety as he closed his hands. He reframed from reaching out to you, grasping your hair and chin, and wanting to kiss your lips gently– wanting you. He hadn’t seen you in ages, and you were but a child when he did. Lanky with a boyish smile much like Ned, and now you were wildly beautiful, much like Lyanna in her youth. The fullness of your lips, the cheekiness in your smile. He fondly grabbed your hand, nodding gently as he pressed a subtle kiss against the clothed glove. He spoke with a gentleness Ned hadn’t heard in years, “You remind me so much of her, Lyanna; you’re growing to be such a beautiful young lady.” Once completing his introduction to all the Stark children, Robert inquired about her grave sight, eyes flickering to Ned, wasting no more time on other formalities. His heart yearned for her touch and yearned for her kiss. He needed to see her, and Ned admired that of his old friend.
***
You found yourself isolated with Luan, and his head nuzzled against your leg, your eyes watching the river flow and the grass dance in the chilled wind that kissed over Winterfell. Night soon fell upon Winterfell, and your mother would soon search for you. To scold you for arriving late to the arrival of the King and Queen and for having my hair in such a wildling state. You wanted her to cool down as much as possible, praying to the old Gods and the new that she would only give you a chastising look. Without moving your head, your eyes cut to the left as you heard the soft rustle of the overgrowth and crunch of leaves. Luan’s ears perked, his eyes shifting about. You thought it’d be Theon, and he always finds you no matter where you hid. He stalked you, slowly walking behind you, towering over you. But the footsteps were heavier; the sound of steel filled your ears. Finally, you found your voice, lowly you said, “Whose there?”
His voice was firm as he spoke, “You should be out here alone, M’lady.” You didn’t turn to face him right away; your heart slammed against your chest as you tried to recognize the voice. You looked over your shoulder and saw the scarred soldier, his face tight with irritation as he moved through the brush. You offered a meek smile, taking his appearance in more. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he began to speak, “It’s not safe,” was all he managed to voice out.
You chuckled, returning your attention to the rushing water; the puddles formed as the fish rushed to the surface, causing ripples to spread until they touched land. You could feel him; his presence was looming and dark, and his eyes ran across your body, wondering how a petite girl could survive the harsh weather. Once again, you peeked at the unfamiliar knight, “Sit.” It sounded more like a question than a command. You waited for a moment, and he didn’t move from his spot. Sighing, you lay back against the icy grass, letting the sun slightly warm you. “My name is-”
“I know your name,” The knight roughly hisses; he watched you in curiosity, taking in the fullness of your lips, the way your hair fell wildly around the fur that covered your shoulders. Your laugh kisses the air; he never a simple sound could hold much beauty.
“Well, Ser, you have me at a disadvantage,” he watched how your mouth moved when you spoke; he watched you lick your lips, your tongue quickly out to coat your bottom lip. He suddenly felt nervous, an odd trait; his fingers tingled as he clenched them against his side. He was self-conscious, and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, you would surely be in disgust, like every woman does, like the whores do, just like everyone does.
“The Hound,” he finally pronounces; your eyes open slowly, body twisting to stand up, Luan following in her footsteps. You look at him with a softness he has yet to experience. Finally, a smile captures your lips, filling up your entire face.
“Sandor Clegane, my father has taught me some things.” He watched you, not understanding your disposition; he was a monster and has always been treated as such. Now, this girl is treating him as if they are equals. “Come, why don’t you walk me back to Winterfell? We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” You spoke through your boisterous laugh that shocked Sandor; it was solid and full of life. His mouth twitched into a smile as he followed behind you. You talk about simple things, nothing that holds any particular interest to Sandor. Still, he listens, soaking in your words, the way you speak so furiously when passionate about something, the pauses in your speech to ensure that he wasn’t growing tired of your rambles. Every time you looked back to catch his eyes, they were focused on you. All you did was smile in contentment, turning back to the path. Silence soon fell over you both; it was tense, yet it was calm; the only sound that could be heard was your footsteps crunching on the earth and the sound of his sword slightly clanging against his armor.
“Tell me about yourself,” Sandor pauses, halting in his footsteps, noticing you stopped before him. Your head is slightly positioned up to look up at him. You noticed that he was extremely tall, possibly taller than Ser Jamie but definitely taller than Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark.
His voice was harsh and raspy when he spoke, “Let’s get you back to Winterfell, Little Wolf.” You let out a laugh, pressing your hand against his armor to prevent him from moving forward. Sandor quickly grabbed your wrist; you winced at his aggressiveness, slightly tugging away from him. Sandor loosened his hold on you but still held your hand against his chest. He repeated his statement, his hand letting go of her wrist as you nodded slowly. You watched him before turning around and returning to your trek back to Winterfell.
You arrived a few moments later, thanking him for his company. You bid him farewell before parting to your chambers.
Caitlyn's voice oozed with frustration; she thudded through the halls, grabbing your upper arm. “Where were you? Are you okay?” her face churning into one of concern; you nodded gently, tugging your arm away from her. She swallowed thickly. You noticed her eyes were a deep red, her face drained of color. Something was wrong. You could see the anxiety moving through her, her hand's shakiness and her lips tremble. Luan whined at your side, brushing himself against your thigh. His whine increased as they churned into a soft growl.
“Mom?” you managed, “What happened?” She turned away from you, shutting her eyes as their tears flew down her collarbone. She choked back a sob.
“I told him to stop climbing, I told him-”
“Mom! Is it Bran? What the hell happened!” You screamed; you pushed passed her, rushing through the handmaidens, screaming out your brother’s name. You stumbled upon Jon and Robb; you frantically searched their eyes. You heard the howls of his unnamed pup, Luan, stir with anxiety as he began to howl. Jon stalked towards you. You shook your head, punching at his arms as they reached for you. “He’s dead? Is he dead!”
“No” was all Jon managed to let out, his eyes fluttering to Caitlyn as she watched him comfort you. She hated him. You hugged him, and you cried in his chest as your legs abruptly gave out. Robb rushed to your side, gently placing his hand on your back and whispering comforting words to you. “Let’s go see him,” your words were getting caught in your throat, burning as they tried rising to the surface. All you could do was nod at his command.
***
The crisp morning burned your lungs, and the unnamed Pup howled all night. You were irritated with him; you tried silencing him and even tried to pry him away from Bran, but he wouldn’t leave his side, rightfully so. Now, you walked through the Winterfell with Luan in search of quietness and stillness. You hissed in frustration as Luan rammed his head against your leg, his whines falling from him. He grew more irritable and anxious as the days passed. The constant whine of the unnamed pup sent him on edge. He sat, looking at you through his vermillion eyes. He huffed in disobedience before lying down in the middle of the street. “Luan,” you hissed, pushing at his body. He huffed once more, shutting his eyes and letting out soft yelps and whines. “Luan, get up!”
Outside, Tyrion stood, letting the cold morning air fill his lungs as he descended the library's stairs. Sandor Clegane’s voice, raspy in nature, kissed his ears –he spoke, “The boy is taking a long time to die. I wish he would be quicker about it.”
“At least he dies quietly,” the prince replied. “It’s the wolf that makes the noise. I could scarce sleep last night.”
“I could silence the creature if it pleased you,” he spoke; his eyes shifted to you, and he instantly regretted his words. He watched you move to your knees, hands tugging him to his feet as he fell limp against you. His squire placed a longsword in his hand, and he sliced through the morning air, testing the weight of it. He returned it to the boy, shaking his head gently. His eyes fell back to you, hearing you beg the pup to get up. “Luan, please stop acting like a brat!” Luan, that was his name, an odd name for a Pup. Luan bared his teeth at you, growling loudly as he captured everyone’s attention; it was a deep guttural sound. As he followed you, you rose to your feet in anger, his head tilted low. Yet, you stood firm, watching the pup testing his dominance against you.
“Luan!” you shouted. Sandor hated to admit the heaviness and authority in your voice sent chills down him, prickling at his skin; it was harsher than the frigid winds. Your voice reminded him of your father’s, stern and full of strength; it was so different from Sansa's and similar to Arya’s. Sandor watched you sigh, kneeling back down as you cuffed his cheeks. Joffrey flinched as his eyes turned to you; they all watched you in bewilderment.
“Winterfell is so infested with wolves, and the Starks would never miss one… maybe two.” Joffrey snorted as his gaze fell to his Imp Uncle, who was hopping off the last steps in the yard.
“The Starks can count past six. Unlike some princes I might name,” Joffrey scoffed as blush dusted across his cheeks, and he became irritated with the drabble of his Uncle. His eyes flickered to his dog, who seemed infatuated with the Stark girl. You watched the expression change in the dog’s face. He admitted that the Stark held more beauty than the younger one.
Joffrey let out a cackle, “Go speak to her!” his voice whined in a command; Sandor looked at him, face burning with frustration and embarrassment. “Go on, dog; maybe your presence might calm the mutt.” They watched as he approached you, nervously tapping his fingertips. You could feel his presence behind you, his long shadow casting over you and Luan. His presence was looming and heavy; you didn’t tear your graze away from Luan.
“Sandor, what a pleasure,” you finally spoke; you turned to look up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you moved to your feet. The rush of air sucked into his nose, and you smelt soft and warm. His head rolled toward Luan, his words failing him as he stood there aloof. “Everyone’s going through a rough time, even the Pups. Luan took it a bit harder. He enjoyed Bran's company. Probably more than Jon’s and Ghost.” You stop, looking away as the mention of his name sends a frenzy of emotions through you.
“Everything will be alright, Little Wolf,” he huffed as he felt you wrap your arms around him. His freezing armor pierced your skin to the touch, numbing you as you dug deeper into his rigidness. His hands gripped at your shoulders in shock, unable to do anything but hold them there. His eyes moved to her overgrown Pup; he stalked around them, his head brushing against the back of his leg affectionately. Pulling away, he noticed the red mark forming on her, her eyes swelling with emotions, and her lip trembled. His gloved finger brushed against her face in slight desperation and wonder; quickly, she grabbed his wrist, pulling it closer to her face, and soon his hand was cuffing her cold skin. She nuzzled into his touch as a dog would, tears soaking her skin and his glove.
Softly, you mumbled a thank you. Sandor was cold again, the air chilling around him as he watched you walk away with Luan. He forced the emotions down as he hissed to himself; he knew this was one of Joffrey’s games; a woman as delicate and beautiful as yourself would never want him. His teeth gritted as he turned back around, seeing that Joffrey held onto his cheeks and the tiny Lord scolded him. In a hurry, Joffrey rushed off, leaving Tyrion and himself for just a moment.
You headed to your chambers, allowing Luan to lay by Bran’s side with his unnamed Pup; you thought the gesture was sweet. Moving into your chambers, you began to undress, asking one of the maidens preparing your bed to get Lilly for you. They nodded, bowing before scurrying to fetch your Lady.
Confused, you slowly watched the tall figure move into your chambers. You began to recognize the presence of Sandor; he towered over every object that cluttered your chambers. You were expecting your handmaiden. Gasping, you pulled the robe tighter against your body as you watched him in surprise. “Sandor,” you breathlessly called out, “What are you doing in here?”
He shook his head, “You’re tricking me!” his voice bellowed; in a hurry, you rushed to him, shushing him gently. You noticed his attire was different, a dull red-colored tunic with a hound emblem stitched to his right breast. You could smell the stale wine; it radiated off him.
“I know not what you speak of; please keep your voice down. My mother and father would kill me if they saw a man in my chambers.” Your hand reached up their face, wanting to calm him. You gasped as you felt him yank at your arm. “Sandor, what is the matter?”
“Is this one of insipid Prince’s jokes? Or what, you mocking me girl?” his voice low as he brought his face closer to yours; you could feel the warmth of his skin, his breath flushed against his face. Hesitantly, you let your other hand move to his face; he flinched at your touch, never feeling a warmth like this. You parted lips softly, trying to find some words to say. Your thumb traced against his scarred face, feeling the grooves and imperfections. “Don’t,” his voice laced with desperation as he shut his eyes. Anger washed over him, as he continued to glare at you.
Your lips parted again, as you tried searching for the right words, but how could you even explain it? Explain your fast-growing feelings for him. “I–I” your voice shaking as Sandor brought his eyes to you. You gasped as you felt his lips clashing with yours, his hands wrapping around your lower back, tugging you closer to him and bringing you to the tips of your toes. You gasped as you felt, grabbing his hand, gripping your thighs, hoisting you up, letting your hands rest against your ass. You gasped, as he tugged at your bottom lip. You yelp as you feel yourself connect to the bed; he towers over you; lust fills his eyes as he tugs at your leg, pulling you closer to him. He climbs on top of you, his lips pressing against your neck and chest. You could see him fumbling with his trousers, as he pauses.
“Can I?” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze momentarily. In awe, you nodded, fumbling to remove your sleeping garment. Hastily, he grabs your breasts, allowing them to fill up in his hands before letting them go. You sucked in a deep breath as he flipped over, placing you on his stomach. His hand reaches your hips, forcing you to push your ass out, revealing your wet and dripping cunt. Rubbing his hand on his aching cock, he shoves it inside you without warning. Your hand clutches your blankets as you grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut as you adjust to his size. He wiggled you slightly, letting your wetting spread through his cock. His hand grips your thighs as he begins to grind deeper inside you slowly, your body twisting in pleasure. You stifle a moan as you slap your hand against your lips. You struggled to breathe as he pounded himself inside you, the aggressive slaps filling the silence of the air. His free hand snakes around your waist, yanking you closer with each thrust into your tight pussy. Sandor groans in bliss, as he feels you clenching around his cock, the feeling of your hand clawing at his hands for some sort of release.
Your whole body at his disposal, twitching from euphoria as he continued to pound his cock into your pussy. Your face contorts in pleasure, as his fingers move to your clit. You feel the heat building up to your face, gasping; you moan silently, stuffing your face in the pillows that decorated your bed. Pathetically, you moaned out his name, “Sandor,” a shudder traveled down his spine at the sound of his name being released from your lips. He finally opened his eyes, taking hold of the perfect ass bouncing against his cock and how you tried to contain yourself from being too loud. He never had a whore moan his name, nor did he like hearing it. But, it was something about the neediness in your voice, The way your hands tangled in his. He didn’t mind all too much; he didn’t mind your index finger and thumb tried wrapping itself around the palm of his hand. He didn’t mind the soft coos of his name falling from your lips.
All mine, He thought.
Sandor snapped back from his thoughts as he felt a burning sensation rise in the pit of his stomach, his cock twitching as he felt himself becoming sloppy and desperate to cum. His breaths are heavy and shaky. His body twitches as he spills his seed into you, spewing against his cock and your pussy. He pulls you up, your back pressed against his chest as he continues to fuck you, his grunts filling your ear, as his hand travels to your nipple. Sandor didn’t want the bliss to end; he didn’t want to be outside you—outside this room. You lay your arms on him, feeling the heat radiating from his dewy skin. Your breast bounced harshly, slapping against each other as he mercilessly fucks you. Your pussy clenched against him, your head falling into the crock of his neck, as you moaned out his name once more. Desperately, trying to find more words. Your head moved to his face, gently stroking his cheek in admiration and passion. He shrugs you off, moving his head back to avoid your touch.
He felt himself climaxing; he couldn’t contain his moans, as they fell through the room's silence. He filled you up, jutting as he thrusted weakly into you. You fell to the bed, your arms weak as you pushed yourself to watch Sandor. He was fixing himself, avoiding your gaze. In a daze, you called out his name. He continued to dress himself, his back facing you. Now confused, you moved off your bed, stumbling towards and touching his back. He left the room; the cold air breezed against your naked body as you stood in the middle of the floor. You open to mouth to call his name, but nothing comes of it.
“M’lady!” Your handmaiden spoke, slamming the door as she wrapped you in your robe. “Everything alright?”
Still in a daze, you nod. The emotions were building in your throat as you choked them down. “You reek of sex, M’Lady… let’s clean you up before people notice!” Lilly whispers, her hand gently pressing against your back as she tugs you further into your chambers.
It has been months since you last felt his touch; you knew he was avoiding you. His eyes never met yours when you were trapped in some isolated corner in Winterfell. His voice was harsh when he spoke to you, and his eyes were dull and emotionless. You tried grabbing his hand, but he pulled it away, huffing in annoyance before moving around you. You couldn’t breathe, your eyes swelling with tears as you sucked in a slow breath. Theon noticed the sudden change in your behavior, how you curled away from his touch and avoided his kiss and sexual advances.
You watched as Lilly packed your chest. “It’s gonna be lovely! You’ll certainly find a suitor in Kings Landing!”
“I’m not searching for any suitors.” You responded shortly; she nodded, understanding that she might have upset you. Shaking your head, you mumbled out an apology. “I instead want to stay here with Bran, not travel with my father and sisters to watch my sister marry that little boy,” Lilly laughs, rolling her eyes at your stubbornness. You two had become close, and she would often teach the ways of the “wild,” as she would like to put it simply. The burning of herbs masked the smell of sex and other odors—the concoctions she made when you felt ill. Lilly first noticed when you became increasingly irate at the same things, screaming and fussing at her as the months passed. She would hurry and remove the sheet, swapping them with that of her own. She then noticed that you weren’t bleeding, the sheets stained with a slight pinkish hue but nothing deep enough to be considered. She undressed you one night, letting the smoke engulf you as you lazily let her. Your mind was gone, and your happiness drained. She knew you weren’t the same after your night with Sandor…much less any of the following nights with Theon.
Lilly bathed you, your head against the tub as she watched you. She knew; she sensed it. She scrubbed your leg, sighing as she pleaded you wouldn’t think less of her. “I can help you, M’Lady, but you must trust me.” You nodded, closing your eyes and opening yourself to her. You hissed as you felt her insert something into you. It was hard, and you felt as you clenched and adjusted yourself. Lilly let you lay there, unmoving in the bath, as she gently combed your hair. The following days, you gruesomely bleed.
Lilly whispers a response as she is brought back to reality. “Mm, maybe it’ll do’ya some good to get away from ‘ere”
It did not; you traveled with your sisters and father back to Kings Landing, the carriage jolting at any little divet in the road. Ayra’s head rested on your lap as she tried to lull herself to sleep for the majority of the voyage, but she always failed in her efforts. “We need to stop!” You finally shouted, your voice carrying throughout, your eyes shut in irritation. “I need to breathe; I am suffocated!” Ned laughed, his head waving to the coachman, signaling us to stop. Arya rose gently, her dark grey eyes watching you intently; she was always suspicious after confiding in Jon that you would cut off your and join the black. Jon laughed, tossing his hand against your shoulder, saying that you were too beautiful ever to be considered a man.
You tugged on the inside of your cheek. “I need a moment’s peace.” Hurriedly you removed yourself from the carriage, sucking in the fresh air- you coughed slightly. It was nothing like the frigid crisp air in the North; it burned at your throat and nose, leaving you numb. You moved deeper into the surrounding forest, stumbling over stumps and shallow holes. You pressed your head against a tree, shutting your eyes tightly. No matter how far you ventured, you could still feel the carriage walls surrounding you, beating closer and closer. You licked your dry lips, gasping as you felt a hand wrap around your shoulders. With wide eyes, you were now facing Sandor.
“What?” You grumbled out, snatching your body away from him and finally getting a good look at him after weeks. You wanted to hold him… no, slice his throat open and beat him until he lay bloody on the ground. He used you.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Rolling your eyes, you snatch your dress into your face, moving deeper into the forest, your exposed skin snatching on thorn-ridden branches. You could hear the branches cracking under his weight, and he called out your name low and needy. He hated seeing you upset, the way your round eyes scanned his face, searching for something. He was behind you in one stride, grabbing at your arm and tugging you against him. You kept your gaze ahead, watching the leaves swirl in the wind, the branches dancing briefly. It was eerily quiet, and you loved it. It was filled with silence and not with Sansa mentioning for the hundredth time her plans for the future, Arya not needlessly picking at your dress, and Father not snoring. It was peaceful. Sandor dipped his head down, taking in your scent, his lips nipped at your escaped next.
“Don’t,” you whispered, unmoving. You squeezed your thighs together, hoping to create some friction. Your breaths are uneven and heavy, your fingers twitching to hold his unto his. His other hand shifted slightly, fiddling with his armor. You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a deep breath before pulling away. “No, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to fuck me when you’re feeling needy” Your back still faces him.
Sandor never knew the right words, so he didn’t speak much. “Mm,” The silence of the forest grew; it engulfed you and burned your ears. You spun around.
“Leave me. Tell my father I will return soon.” Your voice barely above a whisper, Sandor reached out for you, his hand wrapping around your upper arm, snatching you closer to him. You felt his lips against yours, and he kissed you harshly. Lips molded against each other as your arms snaked around his neck, pushing yourself closer. He ran his fingers over your waist as gently as he tried to be, dancing back to your ass.
Your lips unexpectedly separated with a smack, “If I wanted to be in some cunt, I would get some.” You stood there, flustered and confused. The words did not yet make sense to you as he watched him through a daze. He pulled away slowly, letting your hands fall against his armored chest before smacking to your side.
Getting to Kings Landing took a few more weeks; you were not excited about it. You hated how the people dressed and looked at you, gawking at the Starks. On the other hand, Sansa was rather excited; with wide eyes, she took hold of Kingslanding and marveled at the tall structures and beautiful castles. Arya stuck by your side, her hand wrapped around yours as you both moved through hesitantly. Your eyes caught hold of Sandor’s; quickly, you looked away, following the progression into the Red Keep. You felt a hand gently touch your back; you flinched casting your gaze to your left as you saw an older woman gazing at you. “Why don’t I show you to your chambers, Lady Stark,” Your eyes flickered to your father, who gave a quick nod of approval. You tugged on your bottom lip, praying that he would take him with you to indulge in his political affairs. Ned could see that you were hesitant, and he pressed a sympathetic smile on his lips. His rough hands fell against your shoulder, bringing you closer. You smell him; you inhale powerfully, taking in the familiarity. He smelled of the walls of Winterfell, the crisp and coolness of the North’s air.
“Go, I will check on you soon,” He spoke lowly, his thumb quickly brushed against your cheek before shooing you with one of the handmaidens.
Just like that, he was gone, leaving you alone.
#imagines#sandor clegane#sandor clegane x reader#game of thrones x reader#sandor clegane imagines#theon greyjoy imagine#theon greyjoy x reader#smut#GOT smut#requested
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you are the one i want
sandor clegane x female! reader
no matter what sandor is the one you would choose over and over again
word count: 1594 words
reading time: about 10 minutes
warnings: none
Sandor was a man who did not experience much kindness in his life. His family was never kind to him, favouring his brother and allowing him to mutilate his face. The people he worked for and simply people in general, for to them his scar was hideous, he had become not even human in their minds but a dog. Life itself did not give him much kindness. Maybe he deserved it in some strange way, in his past life he had done something so horrible that in this life he is treated in such a way. Even now he had done unspeakable things at a command, with little care for what it might entail for others.
But maybe the world had felt he had suffered enough, that he should be allowed some inkling of kindness in his life. For a moment he should have someone with who he could confine, and find some sense of solace. You were that kindness he found in the world. Someone who did not see him as a monster like he saw himself, someone who just simply saw him as another person
But insecurities and negative thoughts would always be present. It was hard to change years of thinking a certain way, to change something that seemed so engrained in the world. Though no one could not say you had not tried your best to help him see how much more he is. He isn't just 'The Hound' something to be used and discarded as though he was a simple item. He was Sandor Clegane, a person of value and standing.
By some miracle of the gods, you were able to begin a relationship with the man. Though to an extent, he felt as though he did not deserve it, that he trapped you in a relationship. For you would be able to get anyone you so desired.
As he watched you in court, a lord that he never took note of before whispered in your ear. His hand moved to grab you, though Sandor's vision was obscured by people in front of the pair of you. Jealously bubbles in his chest as he watched you from his place next to King Jeffrey. There was nothing he could do at the moment, but if he was given the opportunity would he stop you? Fear begins to make a pit in his stomach, maybe he enjoyed the attention from someone who is not a monster. Maybe you were sick of being seen with him, of being associated with such a monstrosity.
Thus, he began to distance himself in the hopes it would help him achieve what you wanted, to be free of him. He was a fool to hold onto you for this long. He was a fool for thinking that you would not grow bored of him. He was a fool for thinking that you could possibly love him, despite his appearance. For this life had always been cruel to him, to think it had suddenly had a change in heart was stupid.
The constant distance between Sandor and yourself only proved to annoy and anger you. Every time you even attempt to speak to the man it seemed he was needed elsewhere. As though he simply did not have any more time for you. The job as Joffery's guard was a full and exhausting one, but it had never affected the pair of you to this extent. It was as though Sandor was avoiding you. But, why? It was not until this little game went on a few weeks that you were able to finally corner the man.
The night was dark and many people were well asleep. It certainly was not the time for a notable lady to be wandering about the grounds. Yet there you were, a woman on a mission, and nothing in your path seemed to be able to stop you. When you had found Sandor the man seemed quite surprised to see you at this time of night. In the barely lit hallway, you found yourselves in you could hardly make each other out. The light was able to hide what Sandor believe to be his ugliest parts. While for you, it seemed to only enhance your beauty.
"I have been looking for you all around this bloody castle." Your voice was low, there was no need to raise it seeing as the pair of you were so close. The annoyance and anger in your voice were clear despite you not raising it. "Have you now?" came his guff reply, the man simply looking down at you. It seemed he did not think to find this a situation to put much thought into. Crossing your arms over your chest you look up at him. "I have, for you've been avoiding me. Haven't been able to have a bloody conversation with you for days now."
"Aren't we having one right now?" At his smart-ass reply, you hit his arm, annoyance turning into anger. "Can you not be serious? You have been avoiding m3. Why?" Sandor took note of the anger in your eyes as you awaited his response. For him to come up with a half-baked excuse as to why he was doing all this. But there truly was not one that he deemed good enough to tell you.
"I haven't been avoidin-" he begins but is quickly cut off by you "You have! For fucking weeks now! What in the gods is wrong? You're acting like some sort of old woman, upset because someone did not say hello to her the other morning." Your exacerbated tone filled the air as you tried to get him to simply talk about this with you. You were sick of not being able to talk to him, to be near him. You simply desired for it to all return to how it was.
"For fucks sacks woman! Nothing is the matter! Maybe I've just grown tired of you!" His voice was much louder than yours, practically bouncing off the walls. If you had not known the man so well you may have cowered away, kept your mouth shut and simply left it at that. But you knew the man much better than that, that he truly did not mean the words he spoke He couldn't have, not after everything. As he attempts to move past you, you step into his path blocking him from an escape. The man's intense gaze met your own, an annoyance clear on his features. "Do not say things you do not mean," your words brought an eye roll from him. Once more he tried to move past you, but it only amounted to the same outcome. "For fuck sake, move!"
"No! Why all this bother? What has happened?" You look up at him, eyes searching for some sort of hint that would give you a clue to all this. "Because I saw you with that Lord!" It all began to make sense, the lord that had been pestering you for some time was the cause of all this. A mixture of his jealousy and insecurities caused such discourse between the pair of you. You had told the lord countless times about your relation with Sandor, something he laughed at not believing the Hound was able to love. For some time you allowed it, never giving in to his attempts, just allowing them to play out. For you knew if you were to say anything the consequences could be dire. You had not told Sandor of such a thing occurring as you could deal with it yourself. But it seemed you should have clued to him of what was happening.
"That Lord means nothing to me-" It was his turn to cut you off, the mixture of emotions he felt all messing into one blob of anger and frustration. "Then why did you not do anything?" Was his only question something that made you roll your eyes and throw your hands up in defeat. "What would you have me do? Walk up to him and slap him? To spit on him? For fucks sake for a man who spends a lot of time around nobles you are so stupid! Doing such a thing could grant a beating and a half."
"Why not at the least fucking tell me?" He asked, it was a simple enough question. Why didn't you tell him? Was it because you thought you could handle it? Was it your pride? Was it your foolish belief that you can do everything by yourself? "I-I don't know," you stammer out, for the first time your eyes leave his as they shift to the floor. You were ashamed of your answer for you knew he deserved better, a real answer. "You don't know?" he scoffed, shaking his head.
"Sandor please," you hated how desperate you sounded, for how weak it made you appear. Reaching up you cup his face in your hand softly, as though you were handling a small animal, not a scared mass of flesh. "You. You are the one I love. The one I would choose time and time again." Your voice was low as you look up at him, eyes searching his for something to tell you, he no longer felt the same. But you found only love and acceptance.
Though this was a rough patch, something you would both grow and learn from. You still had each other. For you would choose him over and over again. And he would do the same for you.
#sandor clegane x reader#sandor x reader#sandor imagines#sandor clegane imagines#game of thrones x reader#game of thrones imagines#got imagines#got x reader
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The Great Stone Knight, Pt. VIII
Sandor Clegane x Reader
Warnings will remain vague and be for the work as a whole as opposed to each part individually: violence, death, assault, my shitty characterizations, explicit language, sexual content (will be noted), and having too good of a time reading this.
Masterlist
It had been days since the two of you held a sincere conversation, nearly a sennight, like you had been for the weeks prior. Everything was easier before you kissed him. The most you said to one another consisted of instructions like ‘come here,’ ‘get that,’ ‘take this,’ or small words of thanks for having done what the other wanted. Sandor doubled down on progressing to Barrowton, finally deciding to move north after prolonged weeks of milling about on the cusp of Lannister, Tully, and Tyrell territory. You had not trained by his side, instead choosing to swing your sword alone against a different unfortunate tree each night. While it dulled the blade considerably, it was a better use of your time than brooding at his side.
Tonight was no different from any other. Sandor had fallen asleep as you took your frustrations out on a nearby trunk. It was slowly becoming scarred with lightened slashes as each swipe of the sword exposed its center. You swung it, thinking heavily on all those who had put you in the situation you were in now. Cersei, Joffrey, Meryn Trant, Varys, Petyr Baelish, Tyrion Lannister, Gregor Clegane, your father… and Sandor Clegane. They had all had some hand in deciding the path you walked now.
You cursed Cersei Lannister who birthed that wretched demon Joffrey Baratheon. You cursed Joffrey for making your life hell and having Meryn Trant kill your knight and friend. You cursed every lord that sat on that small council, all assisting in the decision to wed you to the Mountain. You cursed the Mountain for filling Sandor with an intense grief that had walls of mental fortitude bursting around him at all times. As much as you wanted to, you could not curse your father. For despite his support, he was still the man who brought you into this world. You were a Belross, and nobody could change that. Most of all, you cursed Sandor Clegane for stealing your heart and subsequently casting it aside in some cruel twisted game. Perhaps you cursed the gods, too. For they were the ones who allowed all of this.
The tree’s branches shook as you resumed your torture of it. Angrily slamming into each of its sides before you finally felt the pressures of exhaustion begging you to rest. Your arms grew weary from holding the heavy sword, your legs were rubbed raw from riding all day, and your brain was drained from all the cursing you had just done. Sandor’s snores were not quiet, and could easily be heard to guide you back.
If only you had made it back, for a sack was thrown over your head as a hard object connected with your head, throwing your world into darkness.
~~~*~~~
Marching feet crushed fallen leaves and rock beneath the rubber soles of their boots. There was no decorum in their walk, their steps were uneven and vastly different from one another. One man sounded to be dragging his shoes, another stepped so lightly that you barely knew he was there. At least ten voices mingled with one another, some deep, some lighter.
You did know, though, that they were on a mission and intended on transporting you. The lack of chainmail announced that the men were not of Lannister origin. None sounded to be wearing capes, either. But it was clear that this was some form of an army or at least a significant militia.
Beaded sweat dripped from your forehead, causing the rough tanned fabric to stick against your skin. Hot breath filled the sack leading to strained uncomfortable breaths. Light poked through the sections of the bag that weren’t woven so tightly, allowing you to see the shadows of your captures.
If there was anything telling you that Sandor had been taken as well, it wouldn’t be from his touch. Wherever he was, it was not next to you. The men jibed with him, the sounds of tripping feet could be heard every so often, followed by a harsh curse from your companions' heated bite. He must have woken as soon as they subdued him, as he walked somewhere to your side whilst you rode with a stranger on the back of a horse.
Taken from the steed, you made the short trek into a building. The immediate jovial hollering and song rang the tune of a room filled to the brim. A hand to the middle of your back kept your feet moving, finally positioning you at Sandor’s side. Faint traces of lye and sweat permeated the thick cloth, strangely soothing the hairs that stood on the back of your neck.
A man’s voice came from across the room, heavily accented, with a clear smile in his words. “That is one uncommonly large person.” He mused, his shadow grew in size as he approached. “With a commonly sized person! … or slightly smaller than commonly sized.” Blithe grins and laughter echoed the man’s as he regarded the men who held you by the shoulders. “How does one manage to subdue such commonly and uncommonly sized persons?”
The man directly behind you released his grasp on your shoulders, rounding you as he chafed with the others. “One way is to wait for him to drink until he passes out.” His partners belauded him. “‘N this little thing was easy to quell.”
“Poor man, you have my sympathy.” The first man with a heavy accent spoke. The fabric that concealed your face and blurred your vision was quickly torn from your head, revealing the tavern you had been taken to. “Ah ha! Not a man at all.” He was not quite what you had envisioned in your mind. Dirt and soot covered his olive skin, three cuts vertically split his forehead, and another across the bridge of his nose. He wore a breastplate, but also a considerable amount of peasants clothing. “A Hound! … which means this,” the twinkle of amusement permeated his gaze as he met your eye, “is the fair lady bound!”
The tavern barked with cachination as the group burst into song. “A hound and the fair lady bound!” Their hoarse and tone deaf chant shook the wooden beams that held the roof up. Sandor tensed behind you, his chest tightened at the way your eyes scanned frantically in an attempt to make sense of your surroundings.
“I can see why you stole her… easy on the eyes.”
“Didn’t steal.” Sandor ground his teeth. “Thoros.” He regarded the now named man. “The fuck are you doing here?”
Thoros grinned. “Drinking and talking too much, same thing.” His cup was half emptied by his incredibly large drink. Though he held it out to your lips all the same, cavalier chortles came in response to your retracted movement. Your shoulder hit Sandor’s stomach as you regressed into him.
Another man in the group rounded the two of you. Placing a hand on your arm and another at the small of your back, be made to shove you forward, but was stalled when a booted foot slammed into the center of his chest. Sandor stumbled as he regained his footing, watching the man with blazing eyes as he scrambled back to his feet. “Don’t fucking touch her.”
Thoros snorted, swatting his hand away at the men who prepared to fight with the draw of their blades. “We’ve no need for violence, lads.” He returned to his drink. “Protective, aren’t we?”
“Put another hand on her and we’ll find out.” He threatened. Regardless of the monologue Thoros wanted to go on, he was halted when the quick movement of a head of darkened hair caught Sandor’s eye. “Girl.”
A young girl dressed as a boy was at the front of a group of three. She stilled in her step as Sandor called out. “What in the seven hells are you doing with the Stark bitch?”
~~~*~~~
Untied and without a sack over your head, you walked at the rear of the group of men that led Sandor toward a covered cart. He threw his typical obscenities at them, insulting their weapons, picking apart their looks, and overall being as rude as he could possibly be. Of the group it seemed that Thoros, the heavily accented man, was currently the leader as the others looked to him for guidance. A cloak was placed back over Sandor’s head as they led him up into the wagon. Rejoicing in good laughter, they found him hitting his head rather amusing.
“Where are you taking us?” You finally spoke up, tired of being treated as a shadow in his stead.
“Us?” The eccentric man who climbed into the cart hung his arm from the rafter that kept the fabric on. “We’re taking him, not you.”
As he went to climb further in, you pushed through the single row of men who stood between you and the wagon. “Like hell! I go where he goes.”
He, along with the others, laughed condescendingly from the roots of their bellies. One man almost doubled over in cachinnation, gripping at his sides as they all sized you up and found nothing threatening except for the sword that hung from your hip that they were most certain you didn’t know how to use. It was almost as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Princess,” he cooed in a sing-song voice that made you want to vomit, “you have no say in this land. We’re taking him, and him only.”
The very next second he dismissed you with the patronizing wave of his hand as he started to move further into the wagon to position himself next to Sandor. Aggravation needled at the surface of your skin, prickling each hair that stood on its edge. Sandor was your only anchor to this world and you refused to let anything steal him away. Whether it was the way he had crept into your heart, or your own selfish reasonings for his protection, you couldn’t say to be sure. What you did know for certain was that only death was going to rip him away.
“I said.” You wrapped your hand around the man’s ankle and pulled his body downward, knocking his balance off kilter as he slipped and landed against the wood floor of the cart with a loud thud. Thick and jagged nails, unkempt from the weeks of travel, dug into the tendon of his ankle as he gave a high pitched squeal. Your other hand quickly made for the knife that lay flat against his calf, concealed by the cuff of his pants. It was dulled and rusted, very obviously not used often, but worked all the same in your lionhearted endeavor to stay with the Hound. Before the other men could react, you had his calf in the crook of your arm, stretching it terribly in a direction that was not natural. The tip of his knife, now in your possession, was pressed firmly against the space between his inner thigh and groin. “I go where he goes.” You repeated, nicking the fabric and giving it a slight tear. “Lest you wish to keep your balls.”
The stretch of a bowstring sounded as another man readied an arrow and aimed it for your neck.
“Friends.” Thoros was prompt in his approach as he waved his hands appeasingly to everyone. “There is no use for needless violence.” He motioned for the man to lower his bow. “The lady bound is welcome to join us… just without that blade.” Tilting his head, he nodded to your sword.
The man, predisposed to your wrath, was brisk as he scrambled back to his feet. He rubbed his hand against his inner thigh and then at his ankle. “Fine. But she rides with someone else.”
You tightened your grip on the handle of the blade, and did your best to stab it into the splintering wood of the wagon. It wobbled for a second, steading itself finally next to his foot. Shoving his figure to the side, you climbed unceremoniously into the wagon, ducking your head beneath the entrance beam. “I ride where I want.” The idea of riding with another person made you want to vomit, you could barely stand being surrounded by so many strangers. You’d rightfully lose your mind if you were to be anywhere but concealed at Sandor’s side.
Clattering in front of the men on the ground, your sword and belt landed near their feet.
“I like her.” Thoros said to the man who ground his teeth as you seated yourself at Sandor’s side. “Lots of danger for that little body.”
For such a naturally imposing man, he looked almost pathetic seated with a bag over his head. He wasn’t putting up much of a fight.
“I would have paid to see whatever you just did.” His voice was muffled by the tweed. The shifting of his arms in their hold sounded as uncomfortable as it looked.
“You’re a bad influence on me.” Your shoulder squished against his.
With a simple knock, the wagon started moving. The other man dangled his feet over the back, allowing them to swing and sway with each bumpy movement the roads ahead held.
It was a relatively short trip to their final destination… relative in comparison to how long you had been traveling already from Kings Landing… even shorter than your travels to Westeros. The trail was far easier, though. They followed a road for the longest time and only ventured off to set up nightly camps where the men would try to beckon you from the wagon to join them by the fires they built. You always refused. Though, they still supplied the two of you with food and water. Which was more than you could have asked for given the fact that Sandor was currently their prisoner.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if you didn’t make it difficult.” The bread they had given you tonight was unleavened. It was flat and dense, flavored only with the supply of cured meats that they all kept generously in their storages.
He was acting like a child, unwilling to be seen having a woman feed him despite his arms still being held in place. “Don’t need to be fed.” You put the piece of bread on his knee and lifted a daring brow, gesturing for him to do it himself. Unenthusiastically and averse to being seen in his struggles, he kicked his knee up and rolled his eyes as the bread landed on his chest. When he went to grab it with his teeth, it tumbled to the floor. He drew his lips into a line and decided sleep was easier than embarrassment.
The group that sat around the fire was far livelier than they had been in the day. They seemed happy. You could hear them telling tales of their travels and lamenting the stories of their families as they piled food into their mouths and chewed in a gross way that oddly came off as endearing. Arya Stark sat amongst them, the speckling of red and orange on her face illuminated her dark eyes as she stared emptily into the darkness of the wagon. Each time she spotted Sandor’s figure silhouetted in the flickering flames, bile rose to sting her tongue as her mind filled with hateful thoughts. Her hatred for the man was intense and burned brighter than the wildfire that burnt on Blackwater Bay. You haven't had the chance to speak with her yet. You wanted to tell her that you knew Sansa, that she was a friend. But she was transparent in her feelings toward Sandor and, by extension, you could assume she wouldn’t like you for standing at his side.
“Will you just accept my help?” Turning back to Sandor, unnerved by Arya’s staring, you said in a wearied tone with a diffident huff. The pork had been smoked over a fire, its edges were charred with a blackened ash. It was salted heavily, so much so that you had taken to washing it over with a splash of water from your canteen. The Brotherhood had supplied you with basic needs, mostly just water. The sack you carried from Antonia to Kings Landing was gone now, likely thrown out after they sifted through what they wanted. You held a piece of meat, torn from the handful you cradled in your palm, to his mouth. “Eat.”
His eyes were tired and this was displayed in his easy relent as he leaned forward and took the food from your hand. The scruff of his upper lip, once having sent bashful chills down your spine, tickled your fingertips and sent heavy reminders of what had transpired back at the inn.
Your profile was all that he could focus on in lieu of the darkness of the night or the jovial laughter from the fire below. He watched the way your shoulder slumped as you drew yourself inward in a mental battle to fortify your walls. The expression on your face was similar to that of when he rejected you. It was sad, not quite broken, and something that he refused to admit bothered him. “You should have left.” The corners of your eyes lowered as you pushed your lips together. “They’re going to kill me.” He was so matter-of-fact. “You’ll regret your ‘I go where he goes’ spiel when they slit your throat.”
He tried rigorously to push you away any chance he could get. It would be so much easier if you would just distance yourself until you got to Barrowton, then leave the country.
“If that’s how it ends, so be it.” You tore another piece off and held it out to him, waiting as he leant forward and took it between his teeth. “You promised to keep me safe.”
“Yeah? Well, people break their promises.”
He accepted a larger piece of bread this time as you stared off toward the group. “I heard something about hounds when we were in Kings Landing.” Listening was one of Sandor’s stronger suits, and he would rather you continue speaking than for him to have to contribute to the conversation. “I think it was Varys, maybe Lord Baelish, who told me.” The flash of exhausted numbness crystallized in the glassiness of your downcast stare. “A hound will die for you, but never lie to you.”
The food was finished in silence as he looked anywhere but your face.
~~~*~~~
The Brotherhood’s cavernous encampment was lit only by the fiery yellow and red flecks of burning wood and torches, along with the small amount of light that twisted through the winding roots of a marvelous tree that willowed overhead. There were more members than you had expected. Rows of men lined the outskirts of the room, nearly two or three people deep. Your eyes speckled with splotches of blackness as they adjusted from the sudden change in lighting. It was mandatory that you wore a sack over your head as you entered their base.
Arya was positioned across the room with her friend standing at her side. Her front was blazing in a blinding white from the flaming fire that heated the center of the room. The same anger was stricken across her adolescent features as she stared down the Hound. Sandor was led to the center of the room. The bag was removed from his head, but the rope that tangled around his body was still there.
He jeered with the Brotherhood’s men, mocking them for deserting their posts to join a peasants army. “You’re still swineherds,” he gazed around the room, passing over you, “and tanners, and masons.” His voice rose as he bore his teeth. “You think carrying a crooked spear makes you a soldier?”
A phantom hand pushed past your shoulder as a man appeared from the shadows. Though the clothing he wore now was frayed and faded, he still carried himself like a soldier. His exposed eye met yours as he shifted through the opening between you and one of his men. “No. Fighting in wars makes you a soldier.”
Sandor turned around. “Beric Dondarrion? You’ve seen better days.”
“And I won’t see them again.”
The two continued their debate as the men all hurled accusations against Sandor, hoping one of them would stick.
“Do you take me for my brother? Is being born a Clegane a crime?”
“Murder is a crime” Beric argued, clearly having disdain in his heart for his lineage.
Sandor scoffed and ground in on his stance. “I never touched the Targaryen babes. I never saw them, never smelled them, never heard them bawling. You want to cut my throat, get on with it!” He exclaimed, turning toward the lot of the men who hovered in the background. “But don't call me murderer and pretend that you're not.”
Your heart beat fast as the anticipation of what was to come echoed in the shell of your body. They had not tied you like they did Sandor, the threat you held was slim, if not nonexistent. Hands were tangled together in front of your body, your fingers gripped onto each other as if they were the only thing keeping you from floating up to the ceiling. “Is there no room for redemption?” You spoke with clarity, dissuading the shake of your voice as you stared at the man called ‘Beric.’ “Is Westerosi society so archaic that there is no room for mistakes?”
The men howled, barking laughter in a way that begged your body to dissipate to ash. “Laugh all you want.” Your words roared around the circular curve of the wall. “But just like he said, you’re all deserters. Each one of you knelt before some Lord or Lady and swore fealty. You’ve all abandoned your posts and no matter how much you pray none of you deserve redemption.”
“Westerosi?” Beric considered your words carefully before coming to a conclusion. “Lady (Y/n) Belross. The stolen princess.” He turned his back to Sandor to regard you. “An accused man must face trial. He has been accused of kidnapping you.”
“And I am here to tell you he did not. I left willingly. Give him grace,” you set your jaw firmly, “you’ve all killed people. People who had families and friends. You’re all murderers. What have you done to deserve life?”
“We help people.”
“And so has he! He saved me from Kings Landing, from dying at his brother’s hand, from Joffrey’s torment, and whatever Cersei or any of the others had planned. It is never too late to come back, and I believe that he can and is.”
“You’ve found yourself a spitfire, Clegane.” Beric pivoted on his heel.
Sandor’s mouth was parted in an open smirk with his tongue pressing on the backs of his teeth. His brow was raised slightly in his smugness, clearly amused by your second outburst in front of the Brotherhood. It was true, he did have some sort of influence on you. Good or bad, you weren’t sure. But you did know that he was, in a way, training you. Fighting wasn’t your strong suit, but your words were becoming more openly crass, less restrained and poised.
“If you bunch of cunts can’t find a charge to stick, then-”
“You murdered Mycah.” Arya was apathetic to your presence, her sole focus entirely on Sandor. “The butcher's boy. My friend. He was twelve years old. He was unarmed. And you rode him down. You slung him over your horse like he was some deer.”
“Aye, he was a bleeder.”
You felt the tension in your body immediately disappear as your shoulders relaxed in an annoyed defeat. It took everything in you to not go and strangle the man. You could have tested his theory on killing him. Lying would have been easier, but Sandor’s pride got the best of him as he did all that he could to provoke the already irritated girl.
“You don’t deny killing this boy?” Beric asked.
“I was Joffrey’s sworn shield. The boy attacked the prince.” He shrugged it off.
Arya stepped forward slightly only to be restrained by her friend. “That’s a lie! I hit Joffrey. Mycah just ran away.”
“Then I should have killed you. Not my place to question princes.”
Pleased to have the trial commence, Beric pulled his shoulders back and stood tall. “You stand accused of murder. But no one here knows the truth of the charge, so it is not for us to judge you. Only the Lord of Light may do that now. I sentence you to trial by combat.”
Sandor began surveying the room, eyes only meeting yours for a split second as he chastised each man. “So, who will it be? Should we find out if your fire god really loves you, priest? Or you, archer? What are you worth with a sword in your hand? Or is the little girl the bravest one here?”
Beric chuckled. “Aye, she might be. But it’s me you’ll fight.”
Cut free from his bindings, Sandor aggravatedly rubbed at his arms where the ropes had cut his circulation off. The men of the Brotherhood chanted in unison as Thoros stared into the fire that lit the entire room. He muttered something about the Lord of Light as everyone watched with stoic faces.
Sandor waited impatiently, twisting his arm as he swung his sword about. His aching arms regained consciousness, the dull buzz of static had awoken to the pumping of fresh blood. Beric ran his hand across the blade of his own sword, drawing a profound cringe from your body as you listened to the sound of cutting flesh. His face was illuminated by fire, his focus trained on the steel's edge that was now aflame. Sandor stumbled back into your side, turning his head to catch the sight of you as he regained his footing.
With a gallant and loud scream, Sandor charged at Beric, landing the first blow. Each time he swung, Beric’s blade caught the edge of his own and clanged together in his defense against Sandor’s onslaught. As Sandor fell out of the offense, Beric gladly took his opening and began his assault. The two were considerably even-matched with each only landing blows due to another’s fumble.
It was almost like a choreographed dance. They moved around one another on the floor, swords locked as each refused to give any.
Only when Sandor’s shield caught fire and the Brotherhood’s men began to chant, did any fear strike your heart for the safety of your protector. Each man was growing tired, but almost as if reinforced by his men’s praises, Beric looked to be catching a second wind. He looked to be winning.
“Guilty, guilty, guilty.” The men chanted in unison with the loud indescribable scream of Arya as she demanded Beric kill Sandor.
One scream in desperation ended the battle as metal broke metal, and fire burnt furiously away at Sandor’s shield.
Beric fell to his knees, blood splashed down the front of his armor as his eye rolled deadly back into his head.
Sandor had prevailed.
His shield was lit with a furious flame, bringing a tinge of fear to his eye as he repeatedly slammed his forearm against the ground in an attempt to free himself from its terrible grip. He thrashed it so hard it splintered and shattered across the cave’s floor.
Without hesitation your feet stumbled to his side where he laid, sweaty and trying to regain his extinguished breath. His chest was heaving as he laid harshly against his sore shoulder. Your hair thrashed in front of your face, shielding your vision from the sudden assault as Arya let her rage overflow. She let out a guttural scream as she charged the two of you.
“Are you okay?” You were breathless, your hands wandered across his armor finding no punctures or tears. “Sandor?”
But his focus was trained on the girl who was now held in her friend's arms.
“Get your hands off of me!” His voice boomed as he grit his teeth and pushed you away. He didn’t meet your gaze as he rolled onto his side and laughed bitterly at Arya’s thwarted attempt to end his life. “Looks like their god likes me more than your butcher's boy.” Taunting the girl only enraged her more as she thrashed against her friend's hold.
“Burn in hell!” She screamed, kicking her legs desperately.
You leant back on your knees, holding your shoulders in a slumped fashion as your hands fit comfortingly into one another on your lap. There was something about the profound helplessness you felt in that moment. There was something else about the sting that grew in your blackening heart from the way that revenge and anger drove him.
“He will, but not today.” The man who once laid dead at Sandor’s hand was now on his knees. Nobody except for the outsiders seemed shocked by his sudden resurrection, and the Brotherhood’s men made fast work of retrieving Sandor’s sword.
Rising to his feet, his lungs finally filled with air as he wiped the sweat from his brow. In contrast to the harsh way he rejected your help, he held his hand out to you, coaxing you upward off the cave floor. “I want our gold.”
Thoros had appeared with a slip of paper with scratchy writing painted across it in brown ink. “It says clearly right there on that note that you’ll be repaid in full when the war is over.”
“Piss on that! You’re nothing but thieves.” The parchment was crumpled and thrown down where it landed at his feet. Sandor’s hand grabbed at your shoulder, reeling you close to his side.
The eccentric man who wielded a bow scoffed and turned Sandor’s sword over in his hand. “We’re outlaws. Outlaws steal. You’re lucky we didn’t kill you.”
“Come try it, archer. I’ll shove those arrows up your ass.”
“You can’t let him go.” Arya screamed, red in the face. “He’s a murderer. He’s guilty.”
Beric shook his head. “Not in the eyes of god.”
“You can’t!”
“Enough! The judgment isn’t ours to make.” Beric’s head scanned the room as he solemnly accepted Sandor’s innocence. “Your girl and your gold will stay with us.”
Realization washed over your body as his words seeded and took root. The hairs on the back of your neck stiffened. “I won’t! Your men were ready to leave me at the crossroads.” Your voice echoed loudly within the curved walls.
Sandor set his shoulders squarely as he craned his neck and peered around the room. His hand that rested on your shoulder gave a hard squeeze, unnoticeable to anyone but the two of you, and he released his grip. His silent promise still hurt the same way that his rejection did. The chains of his belt clinked together as he adjusted it on his hip. A flash of consideration blinked through his eyes before he let out a deep sigh and a hard swallow.
Beric nodded and took his silence as acceptance. Another hood was placed over Sandor’s head. Your fingers ghosted on the hem of his sleeve as he was led into the darkness, and away from you. “Go in peace, Sandor Clegane. The Lord of Light isn’t done with you yet.”
~~~*~~~~
After Sandor’s departure, you regressed into your mind, not wishing to converse with the group of strange men who all but two continued to ignore you. You hadn’t ventured far from the main room where Sandor had fought Beric, only making it as far as the back wall where you huddled alone and without your belongings. The only thing you kept was the white-silver clip with your house’s crest that held your hair back from your face. Your bag, your medical gear, your stolen sword… everything was stored somewhere beyond your imagination.
“When I heard the song of the lady bound, I didn’t believe it to tell you the truth.” Beric’s feet rested before you. “A foreign princess is heard of,” he let out a grunt as he lowered himself beside you, “but a foreign princess from across the Sunset Sea?”
“How are you alive?” You moved away from him slightly, disliking the warmth that his body brought though it was entirely the same but wholly different than Sandor’s. “You died.”
“I did.” His arms rested lazily on the bend of his knees. “But-”
“Why didn’t you let me go? What use am I to you?” You truthfully didn’t care much for his story, not after he tore you away from the only person you trusted. The inquiries came fast, leaving no time for him to fully answer one question before another was thrown into his lap.
“We saved you.” He said resolutely, sure that he was in the right. “Your fate with Sandor Clegane would have ended in bloodshed.”
It was hard to focus on anything in particular except for the churning of your stomach and the tenseness of your shoulders. It was sickening, how disturbed your body was becoming without your protector at your side. His final touch acted as an unspoken promise of his return. At least, that is what you hoped. There was a growing track record of you reading too far between the lines, though.
“Where will you take me?”
“There’s a reward for your return to Kings Landing, or we could see if your father could offer more.”
The feelings of futile emptiness subsided to the storming sea of vexation that cast flashes of electric strife through your bones. You wanted to scream, to stand and kick the man until he laid in a gorey pool of his entrails. But the fight would have been worthless, you were in a bear’s den with its wrath winding through each room and hovering in each corner. “Kings Landing? You think that won’t lead to my bloodshed?” You leered forward to put your back to the man. “You think that they won’t kill me on the spot or hand me over to the Mountain?” Standing, you towered over Beric who otherwise would have been greater in height. “You think you saved me?”
“We do what we have to.” He defended. “We need gold.”
In a childish fit, you kicked a cloud of dirt into his face as anger seethed from your essence. “Sandor was right. You’re not soldiers. Just a bunch of low-lifes running from your responsibilities.”
Wiping his eye and motioning for the men who were coming to his aid to stand down, Beric responded. “You think so highly for a man who left you here with us.”
“You outnumber him one hundred to one!” You kicked your foot again, this time connecting slightly with the bend of his knee. “I hope your stupid light god can save you when I-”
“When you what?”
“When I put out your other eye.”
Writers note:
1. Thank you for your continued support. You guys are so amazing and the response keeps me wanting to write more ✨💕✨💕✨✨
2. I honestly was so wishy washy about whether or not the reader should be kept by the Bros or not. But then I was like UGHHHH it would probably be out of character for them to not keep you!
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#sandor clegane x reader#sandor clegane#sandor clegane imagines#game of thrones fanfiction#got fanfiction
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Gentle
Sandor Clegane x Plus size!reader
Word Count: 2737 words
Warnings: none
Summary: Ned Stark’s eldest daughter finding herself interested by the King’s loyal protector, and even more disenchanted by how he’s treated
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The King’s arrival in Winterfell wasn’t of much interest to you, if you were being honest.
Of course you understood that it was a great honor and that his Grace was very important to your father, but outside of that, you had no real reason to pay the caravan much mind as it moved through the streets of Winterfell.
Had it not been for the pretense of duty and honor, and more severely, the pressure of your mother’s wrath, you truly believed you would have skipped the entire affair.
You weren’t the object of their visit, after all.
As the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you were much too old to be of much interest to the young Prince compared to your sisters, and the King only came to Winterfell with your Aunt Lyanna on the mind.
Really, you weren’t sure why you needed to attend.
Until, you found yourself staring down the traveling party of the King’s guard, and the striking presence of the man they called “the Hound”
You had heard stories of the man over the years, and you knew where the title had come from, but never could you have imagined the man before you now and that man were one in the same. He hardly struck you as some ravenous monster, even then.
…and as the days went by, you found your opinion unchanged.
You existed in Winterfell simply, a privilege afforded you by your father’s title and the love the families of the North had for the Starks.
For the most part, you did what you wanted and didn’t call too much attention to yourself, content to read on the sidelines and follow after your siblings as they grew into their own. That meant that you escaped a lot of the formalities of nobility, as no one really needed too much of your attention.
If they were looking for a Stark to talk to, you were always fairly low on the list and you liked it that way, especially given all the excitement in Winterfall over the past few days.
With Sansa entertaining the Prince, your father entertaining the King and Queen, and the charms of the North keeping the guard away, you finally had a moment to yourself which only meant one thing. You could finally finish your book.
It was all set, just as you wanted it.
The weather had yet to get so bitter cold that you couldn’t stand to be out, so you grabbed a blanket and set it in the clearing near the market, under a big tree. The septa’s rarely bothered you these days, so you should be able to get some peace and quiet.
Not that you got too far before something else caught your eye.
You had only been reading your book for a short time when you heard the familiar sing-songy tone of your sister’s voice, followed unsurprisingly by the nasally pitch of Prince Joffrey.
They were to be married following this trip, and you knew she was excited. You could tell by the way she skipped lightly as she walked, and how she hung on his every word.
You had never been in love yourself, but you had to imagine that was what it looked like. Perhaps that was why you found yourself watching them as they walked, or maybe it had more to do with the Hound, loyal as always, who was trailing behind them steadily.
He was an interesting man, you’d decided.
Even as he walked, he studied the world around him as if he wasn’t a part of it, rather that he was peering in at it from the outside. You felt that you could relate, in some way, as you had always been that way.
They’d chastised you for being a dreamer as a girl. The Septa would take your books and keep them from you, your mother would beg you to engage in your duties as a lady and even Robb and Theon teased you.
Your head was always far away and even now, you had managed to keep it that way. While other women your age married and had heirs for unimpressive Lords, you remained in your father’s homeland.
A place where you could keep your books and your dreams, without having to endure the ugliness.
Not that ugliness was really the problem in the first place.
You were certain that some found the Hound ugly in all his violence and impropriety, but you couldn’t dare count yourself among them. Even now, as you stared at him over your bound paper novel, you saw nothing short of a dream like all the others.
It wasn’t even something you could truly understand, if you had any desire to try. There was just a softness to him, a quiet contemplation that made you feel as if no harm would ever come to you.
That wasn’t a feeling you’d known before now, as that was one of the things the North had never really had. Your father and brothers would rather die than let something or someone hurt you, you knew that, but it wasn’t so simple.
The comfort his presence held went beyond any physical threat or danger, it was almost warm.
Not that you would have ever ventured to admit it.
After all, you had never even spoken to the man and if you tried to explain the way you were feeling to anyone, they would surely have you committed. The hound was a lot of things, but none would have called him warm.
None outside of you that was.
You continued your staring for quite some time, only occasionally looking away from the sight before you to mindlessly turn the page in your book. You imagined you may have sat there all evening if you remained uninterrupted.
However, when your attention returned to the imposing form of the King’s dog across the way to find him already looking at you, the illusion fell away entirely.
Surely he thought you were demented.
In the entire time he and the King’s guard had been in Winterfell, you had yet to speak a word to a one of them but that didn’t mean he was unfamiliar with you. Every time he turned around, he found you sitting somewhere over his shoulder, that same book perched in your lap.
Anyone else may have just brushed you off, assuming you were a bit out there as your family always had, but Sandor couldn’t quite do that.
After all, he had grown used to the weary glances and fearful whispers between people as he passed, but no one had ever paid him so much mind as you seemed to be.
Naturally he was curious.
No one had voluntarily spent that much time looking at him in all his life, and he needed to know what it was about you that was different.
You tensed the moment you noticed his attention, not daring to look away from the weathered pages beneath your fingers, not when you heard him nearing where you sat and certainly not when he stopped at your side.
Neither of you spoke, and you weren’t even sure if you drew a single breath, but he certainly did as he waited. Waited for what he wasn’t sure, but it just seemed to be the thing to do.
As if you would somehow explain yourself if he stood in your presence long enough.
Though, after a long moment passed between you without so much as a glance from you, he decided to just end the torment for you both.
There would be no sense in just standing here all evening.
“Why do you stare so much?” he wondered aloud, his voice just as gruff as it always was, though you caught something else hidden there too. Just beneath the surface, hiding beneath the walls he’d built hugh within himself.
It almost sounded like a sort of nervousness, though you would have imagined him incapable of something so common.
You didn’t answer at first.
Whether it was due to the humiliation of being caught that held your tongue or the nerves of facing down such an imposing man on your own, he wasn’t sure. All Sandor knew for sure was that this was one of the strangest interactions he’d ever had.
If only he knew.
The real reason for your silence wasn’t some twisted interest or shame but because there was no real answer at all. At least not one you’d confidently admit while those brown eyes had you locked in a stare.
You hadn’t meant it to be disrespectful, of course, because the nature of your admiration couldn’t be farther from distaste. However, to a man like Sandor, that was exactly what it looked like.
…What it felt like.
Naturally, after a life of rejection, Sandor assumed that your staring was like that of every else when they looked at him. He assumed you were disgusted by him, and his grotesque face, or perhaps that you were afraid.
He hoped you weren’t afraid.
In any case, he never could have imagined that you would answer him in the way you did, even if it took you a moment to summon the courage to string any words together at all.
“I suppose I’m interested in you” you decided finally, twisting your face up slightly at the way that must have sounded.
It wasn’t quite right, of course, though it wasn’t entirely wrong either.
You were interested in him, but that seemed too simply a phrasing, like all the gravity and sentiment was missing even still.
Sandor only grunted in reply after a brief pause, his gaze drifting across the market, watching as the surrounding northerners studied your interaction, only to drop their eyes when they met his.
They all feared him, and they were right too, because they understood what he was and what he was capable of. Though, maybe that was another thing that you had done since he arrived that was unique to you.
Never once had you looked away from him.
You had never shrunk away or grimaced as they did, even at a time like this when anyone else would have run for the hills. It was certainly new, even he couldn’t be so stubborn as to ignore that.
“What’s so interesting about me?” he wondered, not daring to move closer or join you as you sat, but not moving further away either. Even though it felt wrong to speak freely with an unmarried noble woman like you, it really wasn’t.
You certainly didn’t think so, and you believed that anyone else would agree.
If anything, you were simply making conversation while he did his duty, watching over the Prince and his future bride.
Now, it was your turn to pause, regarding the words on the page only a moment more before you closed it, and discarded it in the snowy grass.
“We don’t have men like you here,” you allowed, considering his imposing frame as he stood above you.
Though you had only seen him from afar until now, at his impressive height and with your current low position, Sandor seemed even larger than he had before. Still, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be frightened by him, which had to have been because he wasn’t frightening in the first place.
The rest of the realm may have treated him like a monster but you hardly believed that made him one.
You could tell in the way he glanced down at you, surprise painting his features, that he wanted to argue with you but he faltered, because he didn’t understand. He wanted to tell you that there were violent men everywhere, and that most were just better at hiding it, but somehow, he knew that wasn’t what you meant.
No matter how diluted that may have made you seem in the moment.
“Gentle,” you clarified, watching as his mind tried to pin down exactly what you were trying to say, because the most obvious answer just wasn’t possible. “Men here are all the same. They’re either ruthless fighters or cowards and fools. On rare occasions, they may be both but neither are gentle as you are”
That was it.
There were the words you had been trying to find before, but it still didn’t feel as if he understood, or perhaps he just didn’t feel as if you had any right to be the one saying them.
After all, you had only ever been in the North and you hardly knew anything about him, or many other men for that matter. What real ground did you have to stand on when it came to this?
“Trust me little girl, there’s nothing gentle about a man like me” he scoffed, washing away any tenderness you’d been feeling in a moment.
Perhaps he was right, but you didn’t think so.
While it was true that there were no other men like him in the North, you had seen your fair share of guarded men hiding from the truth about themselves. Normally they were trying to convince themself that they were braver than they were, or stronger, but it looked the same.
It made them look small.
“It’s in your eyes. You think I can’t see it because you don’t, but it’s there. It’s the same reason you’re still having this conversation with me, even though the Prince snuck off with Sansa” you countered, gesturing to the missing space they’d previously occupied through the pass.
If he’d truly been keeping an eye on them, and nothing more, he wouldn’t have let them out of his sight.
“Maybe I just want to know what’s wrong with you? After all, I thought the future Lady of Winterfell would be a bit more sociable” he argued, almost poking fun at you in a way you hadn’t seen coming.
Which was a welcome break in that untouchable armor of his.
“I am hardly the future Lady of Winterfell. That title will belong to the wife of my brother Robb,” you informed, gathering your skirts to rise to your feet, only to find his hand outstretched to you, a further invitation behind the curtain.
You took it as gracefully as you could and rose to your full height, though you remained entirely dwarfed by the large man at your side.
“And I have never really taken to being sociable, that’s true. It’s my mother’s greatest upset” you teased, straightening out your gown and taking in the full sight of the Hound in all his glory.
He looked small, if that was even physically possible, as you admired him with those eyes of yours. If you thought his gaze was pointed, you had no idea how he felt beneath the heavy weight of your own.
“You’re a strange little thing, aren’t you?” he grumbled, his question hanging in the air untouched for a moment as you studied him, no longer caring how strange it may have looked to anyone else.
You had been right.
He was anything but ugly up close, and it was a tragedy that so few got to gaze upon him in this manner.
“I suppose. Perhaps that’s why I remain unmarried” you suggested, subconsciously hinting at what you knew to be your own greatest flaw, at least in the eyes of your people and your house.
At the very least, the Hound had been able to make something of himself outside of being a husband or son. He could be a warrior, and he was, one of the most fearsome warriors you’d ever seen.
As a woman, you had never been afforded that kind of privilege and you never would. As far as your mother was concerned, you would live and die a spinster, and there was little you could do to change that.
“Perhaps. Or maybe this place really is full of cowards and fools, as you said” he muttered, sparing you one more heady glance before turning his back to you, his attention fully on the clearing ahead.
That was it.
In all the days you’d been admiring him and making a desperate attempt to understand exactly what lay beneath that shell of his, that was all he had for you.
…and you couldn’t have been happier, because for the first time in a long time, you found yourself looking forward to what the days ahead would hold.
#sandor clegane#sandor clegane imagine#sandor clegane x reader#sandor clegane x ps reader#sandor clegane x plus size reader#the hound#the hound x reader#the hound x ps reader#the hound x plus size reader#the hound imagine#got#got x reader#got x ps reader#got x plus size readaer#got imagine#game of thrones#game of thrones x reader#game of thrones imagine#game of thrones x ps reader#game of thrones x plus size reader
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Main Masterlist Here
House of the Dragon Masterlist Here
Warnings/Guides
【P】Platonic【P】 🆇Smut 18+🆇
Request Line Up and Request Rules
♡ Jon Snow ♡
🆇What he's like in bed🆇
Blind date
🆇Milady🆇
🆇Home Alone🆇
🆇Price of My Secrecy 🆇
Relationship Moodboard
🆇Couldn't Resist🆇
♡ Robb Stark ♡
Best Friend
Marriage night
🆇Dream🆇 🆇part two🆇
Frey Girl 🆇part two🆇
🆇I miss you🆇
Cloak
Honey Cakes (cloak part two or standalone)
Comfort
Sweet Girl
🆇NSFW Alphabet🆇
🆇Good girl🆇
Yearbook
Don't Die For Me
🆇Little Secret🆇
🆇Can't Catch a Break🆇
Goodnight Dear Husband
♡ Sandor Clegane ♡
Most People Say Goodbye Part One - Part Two
🆇Brat🆇
♡ Beric Dondarrian ♡
Home
♡ Thoros of Myr ♡
Favourite Friend
♡ Brienne of Tarth ♡
【P】Queen in the North and South【P】
♡Ned Stark♡
🆇MiLord🆇
🆇Wife🆇
♡Ramsay Bolton♡
🆇My Father Would Kill Me🆇
🆇Catch You🆇
🆇How Far Would You Go🆇
🆇Appreciate You🆇
🆇Bath🆇
🆇Little Mouse🆇
♡Roose Bolton♡
Perhaps
Not Yet
♡Edmure Tully♡
【P】Who We Call Family【P】
My Queen My Love
♡Theon Greyjoy♡
Dream of Sweet Memories
🆇Give it back🆇
♡Sansa Stark♡
Roommates
🆇NSFW Alphabet🆇
🆇What's This?🆇
Surprise Visit
♡Podrick Payne♡
🆇Praise🆇
♡Daenereys Targaryen♡
🆇My Queen🆇
♡Jamie Lannister♡
🆇Extra Credit🆇
♡Oberyn Martell♡
🆇Duty🆇
♡Margaery Tyrell♡
🆇Ropes🆇
♡Cersei♡
🆇Morning🆇
♡Tormund♡
🆇Real Man🆇
🆇Use your words🆇
♡ Yara Greyjoy ♡
Flirting
Preferences/Multicharacter
🆇Company🆇 - Yara and Ellaria threesome
🆇What they're like in bed🆇 – Robb, Jon, Sandor, Podrick
How they react to teasing – all
🆇What They're Like in Bed🆇 – Margaery, Sansa, Danny, Yara
Share pt1 🆇Competition pt2🆇 🆇Wait p3🆇 - Robb and Jon
🆇Hook ups🆇 - Theon and Jon
Love Languages - Jon, Robb, Bran, Tormund, Podrick, Oberyn
Thanks for any support I appreciate it all xoxo Sage
Dividers from here and here from @saradika
Post topper made on Canva
#game of thrones#game of thrones x reader#ned stark x reader#robb stark x reader#sansa stark x reader#bran stark x reader#jon snow x reader#sandor clegane x reader#jamie lannister x reader#ramsay bolton x reader#brienne of tarth x reader#podrick payne x reader#got#got x reader#got imagine#game of thrones imagine#masterlist#game of thrones fanfic#robb stark#jon snow#game of thrones smut#robb stark smut#theon greyjoy x reader#yara greyjoy x reader#daenerys targaryen smut
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"Marry me."
How I think marriage proposals would go for those characters.
Sandor Clegane:
"…Wanna get married ?" You asked as both you and Sandor were sleeping side by side in the forest. Sandor blinked—half asleep. He had back pain and a headache. He had hoped that the wine would help him to fall asleep quicker, as to not have to hear you say any other crazy thing or request for the day. But, of course. He was mistaken.
"Huh ?" When the information seemed to eventually settle in his brain, his whole face seemed a perfect depiction of confusion. He finally turned around and you could see in his eyes that he wasn’t exactly sober either. You decided this was the perfect moment to ask—since he would probably not even remember you asked the next morning. It gave you courage to ask again.
"Wanna get married ?" You repeated with a little more determination and this time, he answered.
"No."
"Ah."
"…"
"…"
"…You. Wanna get married ?" He asked this time—more because he was curious than awaiting an actual answer. But, you took your chance and answered truthfully.
"Sure."
He was momentarily surprised by your confidence before he huffed a laugh and wrapped an arm around you.
"…Fine. We’ll get married in the morning. Now, hush."
There was then a moment of silence before you both bursted out laughing. Just two drunks having the most normal conversation ever. You knew that by tomorrow, he would have surely forgotten all about tonight. But for now, you were satisfied with the knowledge that his subconscience hadn’t said no.
Oberyn Martell:
"Would you like to marry me ?" You asked Oberyn while he wad writing and whose lips curved slightly into a small smirk at the request. He was used to your rather straightforward nature. He liked it even. It made him laugh and enjoy your presence at parties. You were curious and completely unashamed or afraid of any consequences your requests or demands would bring. This is why he always caved. But, he could also be playful and this is why he answered with a small grin:
"No."
He was curious to see your reaction, but his smile slightly faltered when he saw the hurt in your eyes at his rejection. It was the first time he had seen you so upset and he immediately regretted his words.
"Oh. Okay then." You were embarrassed and turned around quickly to get back to your own private quarters. But he was by your side in an instant and wrapped his arms around you from behind.
"I was only kidding. I would LOVE to marry you, sweet peach."
He then kissed the back of your neck lovingly. You let out a sigh of relief as you leaned back against him.
"…Really ?"
He chuckled.
"Yes. Really."
He then kissed your temple and you stayed in his arms for a while before he started nuzzling the back of your neck.
"But what brought the subject, sweet peach ?"
You sighed before closing your eyes.
"…You’re the only one who truly enjoys my presence. You laugh and smile at me, even when my words are nonsense. So I thought…why not ask ?"
Oberyn seemed taken aback for a moment before his smile widened and he pressed your back further against him to kiss your shoulder and whisper in your ear.
"Let me tell you a little secret. I would marry you for your nonsense, my dear. Because your nonsense makes more sense to me than this whole world does…"
Tyrion Lannister:
"Do you want to marry me ?" You asked Tyrion one night and the man was so stunned that he spilled his cup of wine.
"What ?"
Tyrion was the most decent between all the Lannisters. He had helped you more than once and there was no doubt in your proposal. You would never find better husband.
"You heard me."
He stayed silent again and made you nervous. Would he refuse ? Would he tell you that he has already found someone ? Would he tell you that he has no interest in you ? But, he didn’t. He simply sighed.
"…Why ?"
Why ? You could tell him a thousand reasons why. Because he was one of the few good men you knew. Because you had no intention of marrying any other. Because you knew he could be gentle. Because he was funny. Because he could be brave. Because he had the heart of a true lion…but no. You wouldn’t tell him like that. Because even if you did, he wouldn’t believe you.
"Because I want to." You settled for instead and his eyes widened slightly in surprise before he smiled a little and shook his head.
"Why would you want to marry an imp ?"
"It is not an imp that I am marrying, but a prince." You retorted. You both stared at each other and his gaze softened as he started actually considering it for a moment.
"You would be miserable." You frowned in incomprehension at his words.
"Why ?" He glanced away for a second.
"Because I am not a good man."
You huffed a bitter laugh at his words.
"Haven’t you heard ? There are no good man left, my prince."
Tyrion seemed taken aback, but he couldn’t deny the truth behind your words and drank a little of his wine.
"Tell me, Tyrion. If I was to become your wife/husband. Would you hit me ? Would you abuse me ? Would you lie to me ?"
He shook his head with a small smile. No. He wouldn’t. You smiled back and Tyrion finally nodded understandingly. It wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about finding a good man. It was always about finding the one who wouldn’t hurt you…And hence, he understood and maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a wife/husband ?
Jaime Lannister:
"Jaime…" You sat down next to him at the feast prepared for the Lannisters and even though you could feel Cersei glaring daggers at you—you grabbed his hand. He didn’t react, but you could feel his fingers slightly curving to hold yours.
"Hello, buttercup." He finally greeted you in a whisper and you couldn’t help but smile weakly. You knew of his heart and his loyalty to his sister. It wasn’t really your business to interfere, but you didn’t like how Cersei was treating him. And, you also knew that his heart could maybe be won over.
So, you did the most nonsense ever and challenged him. You stood up and faced him—catching the attention of everyone in the room as you declared loudly.
"Jaime Lannister. I challenge you to an arm wrestling competition !"
That ought to have gained his attention as his eyes finally met yours and what he found in there made his eyes widen in surprise. You were determined and even though he was a knight—you didn’t seem scared of losing. He tried to laugh and wave it off as a mere joke—but you didn’t back down and even provoked him.
"Are you perhaps not a lion ? But a scared chicken ?"
That oughta do it. He was up before you could even pronounce another word and the fury in his eyes made you smile. He had taken the bait.
"If I win, you must agree to one single demand of my choice without knowing what it is !"
"And if I win ?" He quickly shot back and you bit back a laugh.
"Then I will give you whatever you want."
In a matter of minutes, everything was settled and you were both in position. Everyone assumed you were mad or had consumed too much wine to challenge Jaime Lannister—but it couldn’t be further from the truth. You had planned it carefully. You had trained and trained your body and your mind. You had worn big sleeves to hide the muscles hidden underneath. This could be the most important challenge of your life and you wanted to win. More than anything.
The moment Jaime gripped your hand, his eyes stared straight at you as he realised what you had done. This was not the strength of the Y/N he was accustomed to…but it was too late to stop and in a matter of seconds—Jaime Lannister was on the floor.
Everyone was stunned.
But, you only gracefully stood up from your seat and looked down at him before smirking.
"…I will be waiting for that marriage proposal." And with that, you were out of the room—leaving a very confused Jaime and a very angry Cersei behind. But, you knew that a lion never backed down from his word. And Jaime would be yours.
Petyr Baelish (Littlefinger) :
"Marry me." Littlefinger didn’t even seem surprised by you sudden demand. Everyone knew that your father wished to marry you off to Ramsay Bolton. And even though Littlefinger wasn’t sure why you would come to him with such a request, he didn’t show it.
He didn’t even look up as he simply asked.
"Why ?"
You huffed a bitter laugh. The man would sell mother and father for a throne. And he dared to ask why ?
"Does it matter ?"
He licked his thumb to turn the page of the book he was reading nonchalantly, even though you knew that he was secretly weighing the pros and cons of such an alliance.
"Depends. What will it bring me ?"
You looked away.
"Don’t pretend not to realise how advantageous it would be for you to be a part of the Lannister family. You’d have an easy access to the iron throne."
He hummed and pretended to think about it. It was true marrying you would be a fast way to get access to all the nice advantages of being a part of the so-called prestigious Lannister family. But, it had its own set of disadvantages to consider. He would become more than just a little man in the shadows that no one would deem worthy of being a threat, he would become a lion. A black lion.
"…Tell me why you would lower yourself to such an alliance with me. Surely, there would be one handsome young man who would say yes to such a proposal without even blinking. Why go to me, princess/prince ?"
You hesitated before sighing in defeat.
"…Because if I am to marry a snake, better be one I know than one chosen by Tywin Lannister."
At that, Petyr finally dignified you with a glance. You held his gaze and after a few seconds, he smiled.
"Very well, my beauty. Lead the snake to the lion’s den then."
Sansa Stark:
You and Sansa had been longtime allies and friends. You were maybe the only friend she had ever had after the almost complete destruction of House Stark. You had developed feeling for her over time and knew that asking her for her hand wouldn’t be easy—but you were willing to try.
"Please, Sansa of House Stark." You knelt on one knee before her with a rose in your hand and the other hand on your heart. "Would you marry me ?"
Sansa was surprised by the proposal. She had married twice and both marriages weren’t a success. She had lived through nightmares and pain out of such a dream as marriage. She used to want to get married with someone she loved so badly, but not anymore.
"My heart is not so easily won by a rose and pretty words anymore." She replied instead—thinking that she would succeed in breaking your resolve. But, she was mistaken.
"I know. I know that I may never be worthy of even your eyes on me. But…I am a fool, and my heart beats for you. And if you want it ? Then it’s yours. And even if you don’t want it. Let me fight for you. And prove my loyalty to the most beautiful and strong lady the North has ever seen." You pleaded and Sansa was rendered speechless.
She looked into your eyes and saw only love and adoration. She then glanced down at the rose you offered her and after a moment of hesitation, she finally took it.
"…You may try to win my heart, Y/N. But, I cannot promise you success."
You smiled and shook your head.
"Just having you acknowledge my feelings is enough for hope to enter my heart."
Sansa smiled back.
Maybe…romance wasn’t utterly dead.
Jon Snow: (Before the tragedy 😭)
"Marry me." It was said with such confidence that Jon himself was stunned as he looked up at you with widened eyes.
"What ?"
"You heard me."
There was a moment of silence before Jon smiled and he suddenly pulled you into his arms. There was no yes or no. Just a moment of pure euphoria as he couldn’t stop laughing as he buried his face in your chest. He was so happy, he forgot to form words.
When he was finally calm once more, he kissed you passionately.
"Yes. Yes. Yes, I will."
You both started laughing together and Jon even fell back on the snow as you held him tightly.
Daenerys:
"Marry me." You demanded and Daenerys looked back at you. She didn’t seem surprised or even mildly confused by the demand. She knew of your feelings for her—and she was more than happy to reciprocate.
But, marriage ?
Marriage meant boundaries. Marriage meant attachment. Marriage meant she would have to think about you and a possible future where she wasn’t all powerful.
She sighed before stroking your cheek and offering you an apologetic smile.
"My dear Y/N…If only I could, do not believe for a second that I would say no. But, as the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms…I cannot."
You closed your eyes and a few tears rolled down your cheeks. You had expected such an answer of course, but still…your heart ached.
"I…understand." You forced yourself to say and Daenerys nodded. She was a queen. A khaleesi. And you were just…human.
Ser Jorah:
"Please. Marry me." Ser Jorah was stunned at the unexpected request and turned towards you with widened eyes. He was about to answer when you quickly added.
"Love me. Hate me. I want you and you want her. But, I am not asking for your love. But for your protection, kind ser Jorah." He closes his mouth and seemed to think about it for a moment. He knew that you were a young lady/man who had left her/his family to join Daenerys. He had no idea you held such feelings for him…
"You can have my protection, but why go to such lengths to have it ?" He finally asked and you sighed before taking his hand in yours.
"Because it is not only physical protection I seek." You then laid his hand flat upon your heart and Ser Jorah seemed taken aback once more. He looked at you and you didn’t shy away from his gaze.
You knew Ser Jorah was honourable and even if he would never return your feelings, he would make a far greater husband than anyone you ever knew. He would respect you and your heart. And that was more than you could ever wish for…
Ser Jorah accepted.
After all, it was only his name that you were going to bear and his sword that would protect you. You would call him husband, but only in name.
#sandor clegane x reader#ser jorah x reader#daenerys x reader#jon snow x reader#tyrion lannister x reader#littlefinger#petyr baelish x reader#sansa stark x reader#oberyn martell x reader#jaime lannister x reader#got characters x reader#fandoms#imagine#got
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Hello, I’d like to make a request. 💥+Game of Thrones+ a preference about how they would react if you comforted them when they were crying/vulnerable. Feel free to pick the characters you want!
GoT Preference: Comforting them & their Reaction
Jon Snow
We all know Jon is broody
Therefore, he can have a bit of trouble accepting comfort
You can always tell when something is wrong, and will let him know you are always open for comfort
At night, that is when Jon can loosen up a little more
Comforting generally starts with small physical touches, like running a hand through his hair of placing a hand on his back and kissing his cheek
He will eventually begin to talk and accept more physical comfort
The night will end with Jon's head on your chest, you placing soft kisses to his forehead
He doesn't cry often, but knows that if he does in front of you, you will never judge him
He appreciates your comfort more than he lets on
He rarely verbally thanks you, but sometimes, he will leave a little thank you note for you to find in the morning
Robb Stark
Robb knows he can immediately come to you for comfort
If he has any issues or problems, you are generally the first person he wants to discuss them with
After meetings with the heads of other Northern Houses, they will be dismissed and you will stay behind to talk things over
If something is emotionally getting to him, he is the kind of person who wants to talk it over
You can stay up all night, talking over the things that are upsetting him
He also appreciates physical comfort, like holding his hand while he is talking
When he is finished getting all of his emotions out and hearing any of the advise you might have, he will take your face in his hands and kiss you
It's a deep and passionate thank you, one that shows how grateful he is to have you
Eddard Stark
Ned likes to bottle up his emotions
He knows he can always turn to you but it is hard for him to be vulnerable around other people
When things really get to him, he tends to become silent
This is when you know
You will comfort him with a kiss first, and cuddle up to him
He doesn't need words
If he cries, you don't say anything, you know he would rather you just remain physically close
You know he is beginning to feel better when starts to place kisses to your forehead
He doesn't need to say thank you for you to know he appreciates your comfort
The thank you is there when he finds peace and falls asleep in your arms
Jaime Lannister
Jaime is another one who bottles up his emotions
If you ever ask him if he is okay, the answer is always the same: "I'm fine."
Him knowing you care is generally more than enough of a comfort to him
Just asking and a kiss to his cheek is enough to make him feel better. Not completely better, but significantly
Jaime will never admit it but he loves head scratches when he is sad or stressed
He does find it hard to thank you, that requires a vulnerability he doesn't like to show
There are some nights, however, where everything just comes to a head
Tears, sobs, everything. He will start talking about whatever is bothering him with no limitations
In these moments, you just sit and listen. Just the idea of being listened to is perfect for Jaime
To thank you after those nights, he will run you a bath or buy you a gift as a thank you
sometimes, he will even sum up the courage to whisper a thank you in your ear
Tyrion Lannister
Tyrion knows he can rely on you
But when you have spent your whole life being unloved by the people who are supposed to love you most, it can be hard to trust
That's why he can become distant when he is upset
He doesn't like showing vulnerability in fear that you will laugh
He knows this will never happen, but he can't let that feeling go sometimes
When you kiss him though, sometimes you can feel him melt into it
He loves physical comfort
He appreciates that affection more than he could possibly put into words
In these moments, when he can feel you are there for him, sometimes he will let himself cry
And you will just hold him, slowly running your fingers though the mop of curls on his head
He is simple in the way he thanks you - "I love you"
Tormund Giantsbane
Tormund is very open with his feelings
He, of course, likes to appear strong in front of others, but Tormund doesn't seem to equate weakness as being emotionally open and vulnerable
No, to him, that is a showing of true strength
When Tormund is feeling sad or down, he will tell you he is sad or down
He seeks out your comfort more than most men would
If he needs you to hold him, he will tell you and then lie in your arms for as long as he needs
He is not much of a crier, but he is not afraid to shed some tears in front of you
Tormund's way of making it up to you, is a little more physical than others
He is not afraid to show you intimately how much he appreciates your comfort
Sandor Clegane
This man is the king 👑 of repressed emotion
He will simply refuse to accept that anything is wrong with him
If you offer comfort, he is simply not accepting
Dedication is key, however, and sometimes, rarely, Sandor will let you hold him
He might grumble about it, telling you that you are being "fucking stupid", but inside, he revels in it
That physical connection has the power to calm any emotional storm going through them
He will never let you know though, no, that would be way too vulnerable
Jorah Mormont
Jorah is a man who thrives off words of affirmation
The most effective way to comfort him is to reassure him through words
He can totally feel himself calm at your reassurances
Sometimes, all he needs to hear is that he is enough and you love him more than he could possibly imagine
Every time you comfort him, Jorah wonders how he ever ended up having a love like yours
Afterwards, all he wants to do is hold you in his arms and place kisses to your cheek
Sometimes, you have to stop him from continuously thanking you
Oberyn Martell
Oberyn Martell is an emotive man
It is very easy to tell when he is upset
He is honest and real about his emotions, always
He likes to talk them over with you and hear any advise you can offer
Sometimes, though, all he wants or needs is for you to listen
Some nights can be entirely full of him talking about his issues
This will always lead to talk of Elia
As these nights progress, Oberyn's mood always seems to improve
He slowly moves closer
By the end of the night, he has his arms around you and is placing soft kisses all over your body
Oberyn shows his appreciation through pleasure, letting his body do the talking
Gendry Waters
Gendry can get grumpy when he is upset
When he snaps at you, which is rarely, this is when you know something is wrong
A few moments of silence go by before he takes a deep breath and apologises
You don't ever say anything, but instead, you walk over and just wrap your arms around his body
He will always lean into it, taking comfort in the feeling of you holding him
Sometimes, this is all he needs, but other times he needs to talk about his emotions or issues in order to feel better
He will look into your eyes as he does so, their soft expression calming him down
When he is finished you will just smile and place a kiss to his lips
He will place a hand up to your face, running a finger across your cheekbone and thank you
Podrick Payne
Podrick Payne is not a man afraid of crying in front of you
Whenever he is stressed or feeling down, that is what mostly happens
To him, there is no more calming feeling in the world than having you hold him while he cries
He also likes when you just listen to him talk about whatever is bothering him
Your advise is always appreciated too, but he also just likes when you listen to his issues and don't try to solve them
When he feels comforted, his way of thanking you is through acts of service
This can include trying his best to make you a meal or running you a warm bath
You can make your own request for my Back-to-Writing Celebration
Masterlist | Game of Thrones Masterlist
#game of thrones x reader#game of thrones imagines#game of thrones preferences#oberyn martell x reader#jon snow x reader#robb stark x reader#jaime lannister x reader#eddard stark x reader#sandor clegane x reader#jorah mormont x reader#tyrion lannister x reader#got imagines#got x reader#got preferences#tessimagines
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PLEASE! reactions to sandor, theon, jorah, jon, tyrion, sansa and missandei for praising them during sex?
I just did the men for this one, my character limit is 4 but I couldn't choose so I did all of them
Sandor buries his face into the crook of his lovers neck. His face flushing at their words, his hips don't slow however. He opts to kiss at their delicate skin, trying to ignore the praise. It's not as though he doesn't like it, he just feels as though he doesn't deserve it. The praise keeps coming however, his lover keeps mumbling how good he feels and how amazing he is.
He sits up, bringing his lover with him. Sandor holds them close, their chests pressed together, then his lips find theirs. A desperate attempt to silence them as he keeps thrusting, bouncing them on his cock. Their arms wrap around him, as well as their legs. Clinging to him as he fucks them mercilessly. They make a note to praise him like that more often if this is how he'll react.
Theon is cocky about it, smirks and thrusts into his lover even harder. "You like that huh?" his hands wander and he gropes at every part of their body. Even if he doesn't fully believe that he's the best man out there, he makes his lover moan and squirm and cum. That's all that matters to him. Theon makes sure they'll remember him even if they leave him, he's the best cock they'll ever have.
His fingers pinch at his lovers nipples, he loves the way they squeal at the sensation. His cock plows into them, the wet sound of their slick and his hot precum is downright selacious. He wants to hear more about how good he feels, how hot he is. If he had it his way, he'd never leave his lovers bed.
Jorah can't help but get flustered when he hears the praise. His heart climbs up his throat as his lover moans and tells him how amazing he's doing. He leans down, his head resting against their chest. His thrusts don't slow down, in fact he angles his hips to go deeper. He opts to kiss their soft skin and hide his face from them. Jorah knows he shouldn't feel embarrassed, but how can someone so perfect love someone like him?
His hands roam their body, tracing down their sides and groping their hips. Pulling them against him and losing himself in their love. He believes that if he doesn't acknowledge the praise, he doesn't have to accept it. He can't accept it, not a man like him.
Jon doesn't register his lovers words at first. He's so lost in them, wanting to make them feel as good as possible. When they repeat themselves, it hits him. He can't help but pick up his pace, he wants to hear it again. His hips angling in such a way that his cock goes deeper than before. Again and again his lover praises him, calling him a good boy and moaning that he feels heavenly.
He doesn't believe their words, not really. But it doesn't stop Jon from drinking them down like a deserted man. He knows that outside of this bed he isn't good, though he tries. No, the only place he's truly good and thoroughly skilled is right here between his lovers legs.
Tyrion lives for praise, craves it and works hard for it. He knows he's good in bed, downright godly even. The words of his lover fuel his ego, he'd laugh and smile, asking if they want him to fuck them stupid. He loves to hear how good he's doing, how good his cock feels up inside them. He's thrusting his hips into theirs, hands roaming, he wants to hear more. Tyrion will keep going long after he and his lover cum, he doesn't want them to stop praising him.
He knows that when he pulls out, and they get cleaned up, that the praise ends. He doesn't want it to, perhaps that's why most of his free time is spent in brothels. Either way, he'll revel in his lovers words for as long as they can last.
#Game of thrones x reader#game of thrones headcanon#game of thrones imagine#game of thrones#got x reader#got imagine#got headcanons#Got#sandor clegane x reader#sandor clegane#jorah mormont#jorah mormont x reader#jon snow#jon snow x reader#theon greyjoy#theon greyjoy x reader#tyrion lannister x reader#tyrion lannister#Smut#Fluff#Reactions
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Sandor Clegane x Reader Insert Fics
Tumblr Recommendations
Disclaimers!
Stories and Gif are NOT mine.
Some contain mature content.
Readers are mostly female.
Note: if you read and enjoy any of these stories - please like, leave a comment and/or reblog original post!
In the North
Summary: they had a relationship before they had to part ways and so they get reunited when reader is sent with Jorah by Daenarys to get a white walker, Beric and Thoros is in disbelief that Sandor can be able of loving someone
Love?
Sandor Clegane x Stark!Reader
Opposites Attract
Sandor Clegane x fem!reader
The Kennel Master’s Daughter
Sandor x female!Reader
Sandor Clegane x fem!nurse!reader
Warnings: none it's fluffy
Summary: Back at the time when Joffrey was king, the king's guard got into a fight with the people of flea bottom ending up with many of them injured including Sandor Clegane himself. What will happen when out of all the nurses only Y/N is brave enough to help him?
A Hound Will Die For You But Never Lie To You
Trigger warnings: NSFW, swearing, all the usual Game Of Thrones warnings.
Rating: M (It jumps right in there so if that’s triggering for you I’d suggest skipping it)
Summary: Imagine being the one to gentle the rage inside Sandor Clegane.
Pairing: Sandor Clegane x Reader (gender neutral).
Everything
Summary: A little drabble about Sandor’s feelings for the reader.
Scarred
Summary: Request from anon: I have a request! Sandor/Reader where the reader is being really lovey with Sandor and kissing him everywhere and she kisses his scarred side and he pushes her away but eventually gives in because she’s persistent that she will kiss him there and that he doesn’t have to worry because she loves his face.
An unexpected scene
NSFW Fic
Angered Beasts
Request: Hi can I request a drabble where the reader is one of joffreys playthings, like sansa is, and she runs into the hound after a beating? Something a little fluffy, please x
Warning: Mentions of violence and slight blood, female reader
Bathing in a tub with Sandor - drabble
Last Night
Fem!Stark!Reader
Request: Are requests still open? If so, please could I request a Hound x Stark reader where they confess their feelings for each other before they fight the Night King?
Good Dog
Warnings: Spoiler!,Fluff, swearing
Summary: Reader is found in the snow
Hounds and Gingers
Summary: a short, fluffy imagine
An Urgent Confession
(female reader)
Summary: A little story about the reader reminiscing of a moment between her and Sandor
A Hound’s Jealousy
Just a short little jealous!Hound request
Warnings: jealous Sandor, handsy guy
A Good Punishment
Summary: a handmaid is given to the King’s dog
Another Drink
Summary: rough smut with Sandor after he’s sees you with Bronn
Meeting at Winterfell
Summary: Imagine being a Stark and meeting Sandor Clegane at Winterfell
Imagine Sandor realizing that Tormund has a crush on you
Jealous Sandor…
Sharing a Bed with the Hound
Awkward Fluff!
To Break the Spell
Summary: Beauty & the Beast au
Imagine it’s you who Sandor takes away from Kings Landing during the Battle of Blackwater Bay
Series: More Than Our Servitude
Sandor Clegane x Fem!Reader
Summary: You lived your life as one of the washerwomen of the Red Keep, only seeing the Hound in passing. Still, when the madness of the Battle of Blackwater erupted, he came for you. The Hound is weary from battle, but you try and soothe what little you can.
Our Family
Sandor x wife!Reader
Summary: Sandor enjoys spending the day with his wife and son
His Queen
Sandor x female Reader
Sandor is soft with joffery’s wife
Sandor’s Secret
Sandor x fem!Reader
Summary: Sandor has a secret hidden away from everyone.
Series: Fox and the Hound
Sandor x Reader
Summary: Joffrey wants to send a message to your family after your brother embarrasses him, so he marries you off to his most unwanted man in his court, the hound. But will this marriage truly be a statement for an eyesore, or will it grow into something more.
Secret Wife (female reader)
Based on this request: Can you do something with Sandor secretly having a wife. Maybe they met when he was serving king Robert and they met when she was hunting and eloped after a few years. She left before the battle of Blackwater because Sandor didn’t want her getting wrapped up in that so They meet again in Winterfell and no one can actually believe it.
WITH THIS ADDED: Sandor and reader in a somewhat secret relationship. Tormund keeps hitting on reader in front of Sandor and finally his jealousy gets the better of him and he makes a loud declaration of their love.
#reader insert recommendation#game of thrones x reader#sandor the hound clegane#sandor x reader#sandor clegane x reader#sandor clegane imagine#got x reader#tumblr recommendation#tumblr fic rec#game of thrones fic recs#fic recs#the hound#hound x reader#arranged marriage#secret wife#tumblr fic recs#fic rec#game of thrones#got
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Title: A Dove and a Hound
Rating: T
Pairing: Sandor Clegane x fem!Reader
Summary: A little dove with broken wings must save her wounded Hound. Or in which Sandor Clegane finds something sweeter than killing.
Word count: ~3.7k
Warnings: Injury/blood and typical Westerosi shenanigans.
ARYA STARK LOOKS at the bleak landscape around where they had made camp for the night in the northern Riverlands—almost in the Vale. It’s all craggy with sharp boulders and high patches of land, and hardly any trees. The names roll off her tongue as they do every night. The Mountain, The Hound, Cersei, Illyn Payne, Meryn Trant...she doesn’t make it to the next name after hearing the scraping of boots on rock nearby. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Syrio Forel’s words are burnt into her memory.
"What’re you going on about now, girl?" The rasp of the Hound's voice makes her jump, and she curses him, looking up at the night sky, watching for shadows when she hears the soft noise again.
“We’re being watched,” she tells him, turning on her bedroll to face the Hound, her hand resting on the hilt of Needle.
His laugh cuts through the air—a rough sound that hurts her ears in a strange way. A man like the Hound should never laugh. "Here, in the middle of fucking nowhere?" His scarred face looks all the more hideous with the light of the fire licking at his skin. "Finish your little list, girl, then go the fuck to sleep." Arya frowns and looks around again at the land but sees nothing but boulders and empty plains, but she knows someone is out there.
Sandor Clegane won’t admit it, but the Stark girl’s warning is the reason he stays up for over half the night. Then, when he’s certain Arya is asleep, he rises from his bedroll and unsheathes his sword, setting off to search between boulders and in the shadows cast by their dwindling campfire. But there’s nothing there. The Hound moves to return to his bedroll, but that’s when he hears quiet cursing and soft crying. And then he finds a woman huddled between two rocks, trying to nurse an injured leg.
You see the hulking shadow approach too late to muffle your grunts and groans of pain. “Come any closer and I’ll put a fucking arrow through your eye!” You shout. But Sandor Clegane can see the bow in your hand is broken, even if you try to hold the two wooden pieces together to make it seem whole. Then he sees the broken arrow shaft sticking out of your swollen calf, too—the reason for your caterwauling.
“With a broken bow and the only arrow you got stuck in your leg?” The Hound asks, laughing. “Pay a couple of hundred silver stags to see that done.” Sandor drives his sword into the dirt and awkwardly kneels near you, looking over the wound. He can feel your eyes on him, gaze nigh burning. But the soft white light of the moon softens the sight of his half-burned face. He looks familiar. Like you’ve seen him in passing somewhere—or maybe on the parchments nailed outside taverns noting bounties and the enemies of the Crown.
You swallow the knot in her throat and look up at him—you might not be able to place who he is, but you know he’s dangerous, a killer. “Well, go on,” you snap, tears stinging in your eyes. “Kill me and get it over with.”
The Hound recoils as though stung by the words—he knows he’s put a lot of people in the ground, but for some damn reason, he can’t stomach the thought of landing the mercy blow now. You close your eyes and wait—no longer fearing death or pain. But the cold bite of steel never comes. Instead, Sandor Clegane lifts you into his burly arms and heads back toward the dying campfire.
Arya’s surprised when the Hound returns and lets you down to rest against the boulder nearest the fire. The girl’s quick on her feet, bringing a half-filled skin of water, and you greedily drink. "Think I'll end up losing it?" You ask the girl—wiping your mouth with a torn sleeve—a glint of humor shining through as you pat your thigh, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain that shoots down to your calf and makes your toes curl.
“If you’ve gone this long” —Sandor crouches down and looks closer at your injury— “it’ll take more than an arrow to kill you,” he says. It earns him a dry and humorless laugh with a surprising grimness. Given enough time, he thinks he could come to enjoy the company, but right now, he and Arya Stark are already pressed for time, luck, and coin. Neither of them needs the liability of an injured woman—another mouth to feed—on the path to the Eyrie. Be best to leave her come the morning, he thinks, but now that he’s brought you back here, he knows the Stark girl won’t let that happen.
“May I have your name, good ser?” You finally ask—it only seemed proper to know the name of your white knight.
Sandor Clegane looks at you, and the firelight paints the tangled and twisted mass of scars on his face red—pocking the flesh with craters and cracks. “Not a fucking knight,” he bites back.
And then you can piece everything together—his brute size, the burned half of his face, the posters scattered around the Riverlands. The rumors people whispered are true then, you think. Joffrey’s dog tucked tail and ran while the Blackwater burned. “You’re The Hound.” He grunts. You glance at the girl staring down at you with wide ice-grey eyes. If he’s the Hound then... “You’re Arya Stark.” The girl nods.
The silence that grows between the three of you is heavy and tense. You shift and grimace again. Then your gaze flits back over to the Hound. “Well, are you going to help me get this arrow out my fucking leg or not?” You ask, not understanding why he hauled you back here if he didn’t mean to do something about your current state. “'Cause if you aren’t, I’d sooner you cut the damn thing off or put me out of my misery.”
Sandor moves to you after that and cuts away the fabric of your britches from the arrow, then calls Arya over to set his dagger in the flames—unwilling to go closer. She does as he says, pushing the blade into the hot coals, but then Arya Stark leaps to her feet when she sees Sandor’s hand grip the shaft of the arrow—like he means to tear it from flesh. She knocks his hand away then pushes back on his shoulder, almost hard enough to knock him off balance from where he sits on his haunches.
“We can’t just pull it out!” She tells the Hound like it should be obvious. But he’s not the one who grew up with a maester in Winterfell or spent time reading any books.
“Then how you gone get it out, girl?” He asks, gruff and impatient. You glance between the odd pair, wondering how they haven’t killed one another by now. Arya crouches down and prods the swollen and bloody flesh, then without warning, she grips the arrow shaft and breaks off the fletching. Seven hells, you think, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep a wail of pain at bay, I am going to lose my leg.
“Push it through,” Arya says, remembering the time she watched Maester Luwin remove an arrow from a hunter's shoulder. The Hound grunts and draws a second, smaller dagger, starting to whittle away at the splintered end of the broken arrow shaft.
Arya goes to fetch more water and brings back a cloth with her before settling down to watch with wide, curious eyes. Blood starts to seep down your calf around the entry and exit of the arrow shaft from being handled so roughly. Satisfied with his woodwork, the Hound steadies your leg against his trunk and starts to pull on the iron-forged arrowhead.
You grit your teeth together, fingers digging into the soft earth below, as he begins to ease the wooden shaft through gently and quickly as he can. Arya watches your face twist in pain, but somehow, you don’t cry out. It feels like an eternity. Sandor sets the arrow aside and takes the waterskin from the Stark girl, dumping the cool water over your leg to wash away the blood—there’s a cool but welcome sting.
Sandor tosses the empty skin back to Arya. "More water, girl,” he rasps.
“Bring wine too,” you insist, and the Hound howls with laughter.
“Seven hells,” Arya remarks. You’re just like him. The girl heads off, then comes back with more water and looks at the open wound on your leg with a scrunched-up nose.
“Needs to be sealed with fire,” Sandor says, sitting back on his haunches, that’s why he already had Arya put a dagger into the flames. They don’t have salves and ointments and teas and brews to keep infection at bay, and despite his fear and hatred of the fire, he knows it’s the best way to clean and seal a wound like this.
“I’ll do it,” Arya offers. Her hands are steady, and the fire and heat don’t bother her like it does the Hound. He nods, and the girl goes to fetch the hot knife. They give you a strip of leather to bite down on, and then the Hound looks away when the girl presses the flat of the blade against your flesh—you do scream then. He knows that pain—that scream—and the putrid scent of burning flesh that jumps into the air. Black dots and white stars dance around in your vision. It hurts worse the second time. But you fight through it.
Your gaze settles on Arya after a while, struggling to stay awake. “Where are you taking her?” You ask, eyes flitting to Sandor Clegane. The two are an odd traveling party that much is certain—a Hound and a wolf—made even stranger by your sudden arrival.
“The Vale,” he tells you, “she has an aunt there.” You hadn’t expected a man with his reputation to do something so kind, not even if heavy coin purses were offered as rewards. A hush falls over you, but then the Hound rises and picks up a threadbare blanket from his bedroll. He drapes it over your shoulders, not ungently. “Best get some rest,” he says. “It’ll hurt worse tomorrow.”
THE DAYS ARE both quick and slow to pass, and soon, you’ve lost track of the time since meeting Arya Stark and the Hound—it could have been a few weeks or maybe months. But since that fateful night, your wounds have healed cleanly, and the only reminders of them are a fading scar and the limp in your stride after long days or over strenuous terrain. You remember the first time you insisted on walking instead of riding Stranger—a great black, unruly destrier. When you slowed, Sandor Clegane slung you over his shoulder like a sack of flour before depositing you back on the horse and complaining about the slow pace. Arya Stark was particularly amused by it all.
Disappointment is all that awaits you all at the Bloody Gate of the Vale. Lysa Arryn is dead, and her young son and named protector, Petyr Baelish, will not accept visitors—not even one of Lysa’s own kin. So at the point of arrowheads and tips of steel blades, the Hound turns back, and you and Arya follow, trekking through the Vale and back to the Riverlands, unsure of what to do and where to go. Arya says they should go north, to the Wall—she has a brother in the Night’s Watch—or across the Narrow Sea.
There’s a small village not far, and you take a handful of silver stags and copper stars in hopes of replenishing your stock of ointments and bandages—especially with the now festering wound on Sandor’s neck, a nasty bite from a rogue—and maybe a decent bottle of wine or ale too. But by the time the sun is beginning to set and you return to Sandor and Arya, they’re not to be found.
The campsite is empty. The fire still burning. The bedrolls laid out for the coming evening. You look around the craggy landscape, feeling panic seize your heart and stomach—mind racing. “Arya!” You shout, but there is no response from the girl. “Sandor!” And again, there is nothing but silence.
If not for the fading evening sun glinting off tarnished pieces of silver armor, you think you might not have found him. You stumble over to him, kneeling at his side, fearing the worst. But his chest still rises and falls, and he starts when you touch his cheek, hand wrapping around your wrist, leaving a thick smearing of blood.
There’s something in your eyes, not pity, but he’s not seen that look before —almost doesn’t want to think of what it could be, could mean. Sandor’s grip goes slack, and he grimaces, each breath a ragged rasp. You look over his mangled shoulder, the bruises and scrapes on his face, the muscle-deep cuts on his palm, and his lame leg. These wounds are beyond your skills, and there are not like to be any travelers on this path for days.
The Hound tugs free a dagger from his belt and places it in your hand. "Go on,” he rasps, nodding toward the knife, resigned to his new fate. “Get on with it." The Stark girl wouldn’t put him out of his misery for the hatred she still bore toward him, but maybe you would.
Your fingers curl around the hilt of the blade, grip tightening, but frozen in place—unwilling and unable to move. "I can't," you breathe, fervidly shaking your head. I won’t. He curses you when you drive the blade into the hard earth and not his heart. Sandor Clegane saved you from certain death, and now you’ve a chance to return the favor.
You wet a strip of cloth and dab it over his bloodied face until he turns his head to look at you. "If you think I'm some wounded pup you can redeem, you're stupider than I thought, woman,” he snarls like an aggrieved dog.
But you don’t pay any mind to his hateful words. “Be still,” you chide, gently, going to collect the pack of supplies from Stranger’s saddle. The Dornish strongwine eases the pain, and he lets you clean the rest of the cuts and bruises to the best of your abilities —his broken leg, though. You aren’t sure what to do, but you know if something isn’t done soon, Sandor Clegane won’t be using that leg again in this lifetime. You lose track of how many times you have to wander down to the nearby stream. All you know is the limp in your step has come back. By nightfall, the wine and pain claim him, and you’ve said your prayers to the Seven, asking them to spare your poor wounded Hound.
There’s a dim lantern on the dark horizon, steadily drawing nearer and brighter, and then you can hear the rattling of a cart and the braying of a mule. You rise from your post and go to intercept the rickety cart thumping along the winding trail. The mule comes to a halt—the path forward blocked.
The driver has a kind face, rounded from smiles and wrinkled with wisdom, and eyes that are deep and thoughtful but speak of the horrors of the world. “A lady and her knight,” he muses, sparing a glance at the makeshift medicinal supplies illuminated by faint firelight and the state of the brutish man sleeping—half-dead more like.
“Can you help us?” You ask. “Please.” And the broken plea strikes something deep down in the man’s heart.
He thinks on it for a moment. “Aye,” the man says, “I can try.” If he couldn’t, the others on the Quiet Isle could—especially the Elder Brother. His dusty brown robes dust across the rocky ground as he goes to the Hound’s side. It takes all your strength combined to lift Sandor Clegane into the cart—even with the weight of his armor gone. Then you clamber to the front of the cart next to Sandor, letting his head rest in your lap, and with a snap of the reins, the mule walks on again, heading south along the bumpy road—it would be a long night.
Weary and exhausted, you look between the Hound and the driver. “Who are you?”
“You can call me Ray,” the kindly man says. “I’ll take you both to the Quiet Isle. The Elder Brother can help.” You’ve heard tales of the isle—where men go to atone for their sins and take vows of silence. Some even say those who reside in the Bay of Crabs live in a world unlike the one ravished by war and pain. Brother Ray can see the growing trepidation on your expression. It’s nigh common knowledge women are not allowed to dwell on the Quiet Isle. “Won’t force you and your knight to be parted,” he tells you.
“He’s not a knight,” you murmur, eyes trailing from the road ahead to Sandor, knowing he doesn’t like being called a knight—and for good reason.
“No, but it seems he’s your knight,” Ray says with a chuckle, sparing a wayward glance back at you and the Hound. You flush at the thought and turn your gaze to Sandor, his head resting on your thigh.
A MONTH PASSES and Sandor is as well as he’ll ever be. The damage done to his leg makes him limp after long distances or strenuous tasks, but no one would be able to say such injuries made the Hound a feeble man. Even now, you’ve never seen a man split firewood with so much power and anger. Sometimes, you wonder if he hates you for not ending it when he pleaded for the blade’s mercy. But on the day when the brothers let you see him again, he wore a fleeting smile, soft and weak—the first time you’d seen such a sight.
Storms roll in for the night, and lightning flashes through the window—thunder rattling your featherbed. You pull the covers tighter, squeezing your eyes shut, praying for sleep to come. It feels childish to be afeared of a storm, but it’s a reminder of the night the Lannister men destroyed your home and family and put an arrow in your leg. Rousing from the uneasy rest, you pull on your dressing robe and wrap the wool and linen blanket around your shoulders before setting off in search of company.
His bed is empty, and you frown. Disheartened, you turn back only to bump into a solid wall of flesh and muscle. No man his size had a right to move around so quietly. “What are you doing awake, little dove?” Sandor asks, and you’re unable to meet his gaze with your flushed cheeks as you search for a valid answer. “Can’t sleep?” He surmises, and grateful he spake first, you nod sheepishly. The hand that wraps around your wrist is warm and calloused, yet his touch is light—as though you’re some bird with a broken wing. But wordless, you climb onto the bed next to Sandor, still huddled under your blanket, but not alone, and even with the storm raging outside, within these walls with him, you’re safe.
The morning light breaks through the small window—only glowing embers remain in the hearth, not enough to chase away the chill in the air. You wake to find yourself alone, and it sends a strange pang of sadness through your heart. Making your way back to your chambers, you change into a plane shift and stride from the cottage to find him—the wet grass tickling the soles of your feet as you head down a winding path toward the water’s edge.
Sandor is sitting down on the rocky shore of the island, his dusty brown cloak fluttering in the wind. You go to him and sit on the weathered rock next to him. The morning is cool, and the spray of waves breaking against rocks in the bay kisses your cheeks. Wordlessly, the Hound pulls his cloak free and drapes it around your shoulders. In comfortable silence, you pull the coarse material tight and rest your head against his arm, looking out over the water and the clear blue sky—as though the Old Gods had not unleashed their wrath upon the land last night.
After a long while, Sandor rises, knowing it’ll be time to head to the Sept and see what tasks the Brothers need help with today. You’re quick to follow after him, but before he can start up the rocky path again, you brush your hand against his with all the timidness of a mouse, daring to have a lingering touch as you gather the nerve to ask something that’s been festering in the pit of your stomach, in the darkest parts of your mind and the deepest parts of your heart. You take both his hands—rough and twice the size of your own—and look up at the Hound. "Sandor,” you breathe, his name like a birdsong in your voice, “will you kiss me?"
He laughs—thinking you are playing him for a fool. No sane woman would ever wish to have his touch or his kiss. “With this ruined mouth?” He mocks. But the next jape dies on the tip of his tongue when you fist your hand into his woolen tunic, hauling him down with all your strength to just the right height where if you stand on the tips of your toes, you can kiss him. And you do. Sandor is surprised at first, but his hard exterior fades, and then a strong arm curls around your middle, hoisting you up and then off the ground entirely. You pull back for only a quick second and smile for him.
“Little dove,” he rasps when you move your hands to hold his face, thumbs stroking over his cheeks—one marred by the flame—and down into his thick, wiry beard. He half expects to find a shred of fear or disgust in your eyes, but there isn’t any. There never had been. You kiss him again, softer and sweeter this time, and he returns it in full.
Reluctant to part, he places you back on the ground but is quick to pull you into his side and hold you close in the golden hour of the morning. And for the first time since he can remember, Sandor Clegane has a handful of happy memories, and perhaps, in the end, he's found something even sweeter than killing.
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#Sandor Clegane#The Hound#Sandor Clegane x Reader#Sandor x Reader#The Hound x Reader#Sandor Clegane Imagine#Sandor Fanfiction#Sandor Clegane Fanfiction#Game of Thrones#Game of Thrones Fanfiction#ASOIAF#ASOIAF Fanfiction#my writing#i really wanted to rework this previous one-shot (posted to AO3 and Wattpad) I had with my current writing style#and thus we have Sandor being a big hard man but also soft and squishy on the inside
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Take the Black |Sandor X Reader|
Part One: Unconditional
I know this doesn't follow the plot exactly, but just roll with it. So, I had some suggestions from mutuals to lowkey make it a Jamie X Reader for her survival... What y'all think?
WARNINGS: unwarranted affection [kissing without consent], Jamie projecting his trauma on the reader, mentions of murder, murder [Ned Stark], SMUT [wrap it up!], Joffrey being Joffrey
AS ALWAYS CHECK YOUR TRIGGERS.
You hated the fresh smell of the air, the cool wind wrapping around you softly, brushing against your exposed skin. You spent many days in the library running your fingers against the spines of the books, taking hold of one in secret as you shoved them into your sack. Books that you read underneath the moonlight, books that only slightly drove your mind away from the King's landing, your father, your sisters, and Sandor. You missed your home, the chilled walls of Winterfell dragging you in as you roamed through, your fingers intertwined with Theon’s in secret, your head resting against his shoulder as he spoke of nonsense. You would just listen; you missed the simplicity of life, and now everything seems muddled with confusion and Lannisters.
You gasped as you felt a hand wrapped against your upper arm, tugging you away from another book that would soon be a part of your collection. Your eyes followed the man; Ser Jamie stood tall before you. The brightness of his hair reflected in the illuminating sun, his hair mimicking gold. His touch softens in the realization of who you are. His lips play in a soft smile as he watches you, taking in your soft, doe-like features—the surprise written on your face, the paleness of your face, and the claminess of your hands. “So you’re our book thief. For months, you have evaded all the guards.” Jamie was impressed; it was a harmless crime and brought no real attention to the drunken King’s radar. He slurred out a command and had Eddard follow up on the missing books. “Intelligent little wolf,” Jamie hummed in thought; he let out, causing you to stumble back; you hadn’t realized that you had placed all your weight against him.
You reminded him of Cersei in her youth, not physically but mentally, the way you chewed on your lips when in deep thought. The way you studied people intently before answering. But you weren’t like Cersei, were you? You were kinder and spoke with a gentleness when you spoke with him. Maybe he was attracted to the thought of you possibly being Cersei. Jamie thought about you often; maybe he was projecting his traumatizing relationship with Cersei onto your budding relationship. Jamie sighed for a moment, deep in thought.
Your voice broke him out, “Just…a little entertainment for myself these days. The castle grows boring,” Jamie hummed, his fingers dancing along the book's spine. The words slightly faded, and the book would crumble at the touch. The pages are a brittle brown color.
“Entertainment in the decrepit ?” he raised his brow, watching you closely. A nervous laugh escaped your lips, and you clutched the book tighter against your stomach, your hands strumming against your sides, the anxiety cementing in your stomach as you nodded. “I see.” Jamie didn’t take his eyes off you, examining all your features, the strongness of your brow, the silverness of your eyes, the darkness of your hair, and your slim face. You reminded him of Eddard, Bran, and even Jon. Despite your femininity, you were a spitting image of your father; no trace of your mother itched its way on your face. His hand gently grabbed a strand of hair, pushing it away from your face, his thumb tracing against your cheek to the tip of your chin. You were boyish and lanky but held a certain beauty. “Tell me, wolf, what amuses you then?”
“The cold,” you quickly responded; Jamie let out a laugh, a genuine laugh, something that he hadn’t felt in so long. It was unusual for someone not to find something that piqued their interest in the King’s Landing, whoring, welding, swordsmanship, ladyship, or lordship. Sansa wanted to be a princess, Arya wanted to be a swordsman, more or less, and yet you had no place in King’s Landing. “I miss my pup; surely Robb knows nothing of Luan,” Jamie hummed once more as he watched you closely.
“I see,” silence washed over you both; it was comfortable. You bowed gently, trying to walk past him. He grabs your arm, “Be careful, little wolf, it’s dangerous here at night.” His grab loosened, allowing you to walk away, stuffing the book in your sack. You walked back to your room, your thoughts muddled with the handsome knight, his tall brow, and the subtleness of his lips. He was more gentle than you remember him to be. You recall your passing moments with the knight at Winterfell, rarely staying for the festivities but always within reach from Cersei if needed. Your eyes stumbled ahead, watching the maidens move around you, whispering gently before returning to their task. The knights march about, hands placed on their swords for comfort.
𓃥𓃦𓃨
As the days stumbled into night, you had seen less of your father and sisters; you’d been confined in your room, your nose nuzzled in a book. You were carefully absorbing every word, noun, verb, and sentence. Slamming your book shut, your eyes flickered to the door. You sat against Sandor’s chest; he had been sleeping for the past couple of hours—he spent his stolen spare time with you in flights of passing moments, reading a book, fucking, or simply lying together on the terrace. His snores lightly salting the air as he adjusted against you. You had started to read the novel to him, but he cursed, waving his hand about in proclamation. “Aye, I would’ve stayed with the Imp if I wanted to hear someone read.”
“Tyrion.” you corrected as you passed a glance out the side of your eye. He scoffed, rolling his eyes for a moment. “His name is Tyrion.”
Sandor fixed himself against you once more, taking his hand and wrapping it against your waist, tugging you closer, his lips close to your ears, breathing out gently. Shivering, you relaxed against him. He didn’t say anything, though you knew he would make some idiotic remark about you correcting him on another man sooner rather than later. Arya made her way closer as she hesitantly stepped in. She calls out your name softly before shouting it more confidently.
“Out here,” you finally responded, Arya's face drained of color as she rushed to you. Her hands shakingly moved to your wrist, yanking you into a hug. You could feel her tremble against you as she silently whispered your name. “Arya, what’s wrong?”
“Dad, they took Dad away. Sansa… I don’t know– something is going on,” she whispered; you nodded, unsure of what to make of this information or how to react. You needed to find Sansa. You pulled her away, your eyes watching over her. You whispered, “Go pack your things, stay calm and easy.” Hesitantly, she nodded, your hands resting against her shoulder as she moved away. Sandor grabbed your arm, his face filled with worry, tightening his grip as he tugged you closer. He slammed his lips against yours, which you now take as his way of kissing. You flinched as your teeth bagged against your gums, and you poked your lips drastically, allowing his deformed ones to mold into yours. He pulled away, your bodies still close, as he looked down at you. “You find the girl, and you come back here. If there is any trouble, you come back here. Aye?” You nodded.
Now, you set out to find Sansa. You held your head high as you moved through the corridors, eying everyone who passed without saying a word. Her door was guarded; you watched the men for a moment; their eyes remained forward as they watched those who passed.
You gasped softly as you felt a hand grab at yours, yanking you back into a secluded corner. Your chest slammed against your chest as your body was pressed against the chilling wall. Your eyes fell against the Lannister Knight, who eyed you suspiciously—a soft smile toying on his lips. You felt a sense of relief wash over you, something you didn’t know you could feel when next to a Lannister. “What is going on?” was all you could whisper out, your hands trembling as you reached for his elbow. “Where is my father… why are there guards outside of my sister’s chambers?” He stared at you, nothing being spoken between the two, your breath smacking against the air as your chest heaved with each passing moment.
“He is going to die.” You felt lightheaded; you could feel yourself falling and slipping as your grip tightened against him. His hand wrapped against your waist, keeping you as you rested against him.
“Take me to him,” you begged, your voice barely escaping. “Please,” Jamie didn’t like to admit, but you reminded him of an innocent Cersei if she ever was to be. The softness of your voice, your gentle touch, the way your lips parted when you spoke, and the way your eyes held so much and yet so little emotion. Jamie moved away from you, keeping his hand on your waist as he nodded. He moved away from you, and you quickly followed behind him; the more you traveled, the colder it began. The darkness surrounded you every few feet; the torches would burn bright until they dimmed behind you. You stayed close to the knight, praying he would protect you if anything unsavory happened. You entered a long, narrowing hallway, one torch placed directly beside the stoned cell and one small window in the uppermost corner of the dungeon. Jamie’s head motions, and you follow, moving slightly as you dip your head slightly to look closely into the cells.
You paused, seeing a man hunched on a bed of straw; his head pressed against the stone wall as he sucked in a deep breath. His face was only slightly revealed by the torch.
“Father!” you whispered, stumbling to the ground as he grabbed your hands. His face sunken in as he pressed his head against yours, thankful. “Are you—what is going on?” His eyes weakly moved to Jamie, holding his gaze as Jamie watched over you for a moment. Before moving his attention ahead of him, his hand gripping the sword’s pommel, shutting his eyes, he took a deep breath. He knew you had a few moments before someone would catch you in here; he was not afraid of the consequences for himself; just the thought of being at odds with Cersei was motivating enough not to be down here. Your hand gently rubbed at your father’s face, trembling at the sight. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You do nothing.” He spoke, his voice calm and confident. “Keep your sisters safe; know I always love you, my wild wolf.” He pulls away, sinking into the darkness. You felt Jamie’s hand on your upper arms, tugging you up gently. You were stunned, your eyes widening as you gently shook your head. Your mouth gaping open, your throat swelling emotions as your mouth soon became dry. You didn’t have anything to say; you wanted to scream at him– you wanted the truth about why he was here. You found yourself on your feet, leaning against Jamie as he escorted you out of the holding cell, the fresh air overwhelming you, and bile soon rose in your throat. You swallowed thickly before snatching yourself away from him.
“You will be the safest with your sister; for the moment, she has Joffrey’s favor,” Jamie spoke behind you, his voice muddled in the daze that rushed over your mind, the haze that clouded you. You spun around, eyes low and drained of emotion. Jamie was stunned, his mouth slightly gaped open as he watched you. He quickly recovered, shutting his mouth as he tried to find the right words. He hated–no loathed Eddard Stark, they contrasted–their values and beliefs vastly differed. Eddard knew from Jamie felt like the deepest part of him had been unearthed, and he dishonored him. Jamie grew frustrated. You finally look at him, taking him in. Your lips never said a word, but your eyes spoke for you. He felt vulnerable, the only kind that he felt with Cersei; she stripped him bare and made him feel worthless but loved. He grabbed your shoulders, yanking you closer to him as he pressed his lips harshly against yours.
You remained frozen, eyes widening as you watched him, the harshness of his breath fanning against your upper lip. His hands tighten around your shoulders, bringing you closer. Jamie pulled back; his chest riled with emotions as he watched you closely, taking in your features—the redness of your cheeks to the salvia dripping on your bottom lip. You were the second woman he had kissed other than Cersei; he stumbled back, the emotions weighing on him. “Accept my sincerest apologies,” Jamie mumbled. You nodded, unsure of what to say or how to feel.
Now, you both walked silently, your hands resting in front of you as he escorted you to Jamie’s room. Eyes washing over you both, taking in the scene. You felt his hand gently grab your arm as you reached Sansa’s chambers. “Stay safe, Lady Stark.”
𓃥𓃦𓃨
Here you sat confined with Sansa, Lilly, and Jeyne Poole; the girls' faces were puffy from crying. You watched as Sansa stumbled to button the dresses. Sansa begged and pleaded with everyone who came into the room, face flushing with emotions as she begged to speak with the Queen and Joffrey. “Please, Please, I need to speak with the Queen! Prince Joffrey! It is important! She will want to see me! I know it!” You groaned as they flushed out of the room, leaving you with a sobbing Jeyne, a frantic Sansa, and an aggressive Lilly. Sansa looked at you, eyes full of despair and desperation. She tugged on her bottom lip, tears streaming down her face. She wept, colliding with her older sister.
“It’s okay,” you mumbled against her head. “Well, see father soon and gone from this hellish place.” she nodded against your bosoms, not genuinely believing your words… and neither did you. Night fell upon Kings Landing quickly; you grew irritated with the weeping of Jeyne and Sansa. She stirred in her sleep, mumbling of Joffrey. She cuddled into your side, smiling gently at the comfort she hadn’t felt since she had been there. She wanted so badly to be back home with her mother, brothers, and sisters back in the coldness of Winterfell. You finally could lull yourself asleep, dreaming of home and Sandor.
Ser Boros burst through the doors, awakening the girls with fright. You stared at him, taking in his features. He was a short man with broad shoulders and stubby legs. His hair was grey and thinning. Sansa greeted him with a smile, bowing gently as she approached him. “You look handsome this morning, Ser Boros.” You stood behind her, watching the knight flush at the compliment before escorting them back to the Queen. You admitted you were nervous to see her; you hated being in her presence. It was heavy and full of darkness. You sucked on your bottom for a moment chewing off the dead skin. Finally arriving at the royal chambers, you watched Cersai at the head of the table.
Ser Boros bowed, “I brought the girls.” Your heart rushed excitedly as you could climb through your throat, yet you remained stoic. Lord Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, and Lord Varys were dressed in black at the table. So the king is dead.
Cersai grew a smile on her lips; you thought of it as feigned and full of mischievous. The smile did reach her eyes. “Sansa. My sweet girl.” Sansa smiled in pleasure; she watched the Queen; she thought it was the sweetest smile she had seen. “I do apologize for not seeing you sooner; things have been unsettling–I trust my people have taken care of you…both.” her eyes flicker to you as you stand still, soaking in her words.
Sansa said politely, bowing. “Thank you for asking; everyone has been pleasant.” Their attention turns to you, waiting for you to sing the praises of her gracious treatment. You remained emotionless, eyes glaring at Cersei. The conversation droned on, Sansa frantic in concern for the steward girl and her father. You hated the feeling that her anxiety gave you.
“Sit down,” Cersei finally pronounced, patting a chair directly to her left. “ I want to talk to both of you.’ You stayed where you were, not being able to move your feet as you felt dread course through your body. Cersei’s eyes flickered to yours, a harsh expression taking hold of her face before softening. Cersei’s attention turned back to Sansa, who was laying a soft hand on her wrist and speaking.
“I do hope you know I love you, and so does Joffrey.” Her eyes lit up, her positioning straightening as she leaned closer to her, grasping every word.
“You do!” The queen nods as she continues spinning gold yarn for Sansa. Her words are calculated and precise, knowing what exactly to say to manipulate the young Stark. You knew Cersei was a witch, something never to be trifled with. Her power and presence weighed more than Robert’s. Her actions were cunning, meticulous, and precise with her words—also ten steps ahead of everyone else.
“Your father is a traitor,” Vary’s words cut through your thoughts as you tried breathing, your fingers clenching at your side as you pushed out shallow and sharp breaths. “He is a traitor to the crown; he has besmirched the name of King Joffrey. Claiming that he is not the rightful heir to the throne.” You became dizzy and faint, wanting to reach the table and grasp on it. They were going to kill him; that is why he was in the cell, decaying as he awaited punishment. Jamie knew that’s why he took you to see him—one last time. You were also warned of the dangers of speaking against the Lannisters, constantly wary of making one wrong move in front of them. They watched the weak but always preyed on the strong. You swallowed thickly, watching them continue.
“I am not like Arya.” Sansa blurted, capturing your attention, “She is of traitor’s blood! I am good. Obedient! I only want to serve Joffrey, to be loyal to the throne and him!” Cersei wickedly smiled, watching you for a moment; Baelish and Vary's attention was now on you. You straighten your posture, tightening your trembling lip as you observe them.
“What of you? Mm? Little wolf?” Baelish questioned, his eyes running down your body. You wanted to cower away in fear, run into her father’s arm, and wish him to protect you. But you were grown– a woman now. You hand to stand on your own. “You look like your father, dark and brooding. Dark wild hair like your father. Eyes as hard as a stone, just like your fathers’, Unlike your sister, who is a spitting image of Cat when she was her age. You are the twin of the proclaimed “King of the North.” He continues; you watched the Grand Maester tug at his beard in thought. You remained silent, unable to form any words. Sansa tried to speak for you, Cersei shushing, comforting her in the thought that she needn’t speak more. “Are you of traitor’s blood?”
“I wish to see my father.” Was all you muster out, yet your voice was stern and commanding. Baelish stared at you for a moment, chuckling at the sight. “If he is what you call a traitor, then I wish to know for myself.”
“Do you not believe me?” Cersei begins, and Sansa shakes her head rapidly.
“That’s not what she’s-”
“No, I don’t, and I would like to hear it from my father,” You commanded, sternly looking at her, watching her cat-like eyes churn with an unrecognizable emotion. She sat back, turning her attention back to Sansa.
“No. You will not. Is that understood?” Cersei commanded, her posture straightened and her eyes a dancing sage color. You found no words, found nothing to object to her decree. You stood there emotionless. With no further acknowledgment, you looked down, fighting back the tears and the rage that built-in you. “If you don’t trust my word, what are you to trust?”
“The devil, preferably,” you whispered as you sucked in a deep breath, masking your words as her eyes snapped towards you.
𓃥𓃦𓃨
Months have passed, and Jamie has only taken to see your father two more times. You begged him to help you free him—to speak with Joffrey and Cersei, but he remained silent. You marveled at your efforts but knew that they were futile. He would confess his sins and take the black. Cersei had soon caught on to this, whispering of Lady Stark and Jamie Lannister. Anger pitted in her stomach as she assigned one of her ladies to gather intel. She was never too far from you, her eyes catching every glance at Jamie and turning at you. The whispers in secluded corners, your hands grabbing at his, pulling him close. Jamie never pulled away, sinking into your warmness. He knew that you were using him, just as Cersei was. But you were different…sincere. But soon Jamie left, taking all the chances of Ned escaping with him; he was off to fight the war against your twin, Robb. You prayed that Jamie would day at the hands of your brother, his sword taking his life as he looks up for his last moments. He wouldn’t see his family, but he would see Robb and prayerfully see you.
𓃥𓃦𓃨
You were excited for this day, for your father to take the black and your sisters to escape back to Winterfell. You wrote to Robb secretly, updating him on the little things in the code; you sent a trusted guard from Winterfell who rode with you. Soon, those letters would stop as the Royal Guard intercepted them; Cersei would drag you into the throne room, her hands holding the letters in fury. Her lips pursed in anger as she watched you, waiting for you to tell the truth. She waited for you to repent and beg for forgiveness just as Sansa did, but she knew you weren’t like Sansa. You were silent and studied the room before speaking; your brows furrowed in thought before relaxing. It was hard to read you; it was hard for anyone to read you. Cersei knew punishing you would damage what had been damaged, so she dismissed you, keeping her guards around you at all hours of the day and night, ensuring that you were not planning a coup of her authority.
You snapped back to reality; you stared at the bell as it toweled, echoing through your body, signaling you to follow the crowd; you wandered, pushing through as emptiness settled in your stomach. Your eyes landed on your father. He was dressed in a rich grey-colored doublet with a white woven on his shoulder. He was thinner, his face sunken in and eyes shrouded with darkness, given that it had been roughly three months since you had seen your figure as much. All he had to do was confess; he would spared. Your heart filled with terror as he spoke confidently, his words carrying into the wind. Sansa whimpered as they shouted obscenities and taunted him. He would take the Black and be reunited with Jon; he would be alive, and you would be rid of this place. He would take the black.
“My mother… bids me to let Lord Eddard take the black! Sansa begs for her father’s life. That delectable wolf, Lady Stark, has offered no sentiments on her father’s behalf, just silence. Strong and just that one, not pleading like these women. They have soft hearts. As long as I am your king, no treason will go unpunished, Ser Illyn, bring me his head!” You pushed through, your hand pulling and tugging as you drowned in the crowd. You screamed for Father, “Please! No!” You could feel your knees growing weak as you pushed through the crowd, the man’s longsword glistening. Your chest aching and soon caught his eyes. He smiled, his lips mumbled, and you couldn’t catch it.
You felt someone yank at you, “Here, you!” your vision was clouded in darkness. You screamed, yanking yourself away from the familiar comfort. “Don’t look, little wolf, don’t look,” You sobbed hysterically as you felt him grab your body, tugging you away from the crowd. You hissed in discomfort, watching Sandor, his face full of grief and worry. “Aye, I thought something happened to you! I thought something- I couldn’t find you. For months, they kept you locked away from me.” He grabs your face harshly, bringing your attention to his. “You are alright!”
You sob, tears blurring your vision, and your mouth gaped open as you tried calming yourself down. “Please, tell me–” Sandor brought you close, wrapping his arms around you, letting your sobs rattle through his chest. He didn’t speak much of your father’s death; he dragged you away from the screaming mob, the roar of the crowd, the profanities that hung from their lips.
Sandor returned you to your chambers; you moved through the empty halls. You felt nothing; you could feel nothing. You wanted to cry, but it pained you even to blink. You flopped on your bed, and your body spread erratically across the perfectly made duvet. It was a soft red color decorated with gold flowers, and you hated the color and the scent of warmness it gave. You missed the frigid air of Winterfell, the thick blankets that pilled on your bed, and the dullness that surrounded you. The colors overwhelmed you, and the people overwhelmed you. You felt Sandor tuck you, gently stroking your hair out of your face and leaving you with the Lannister appointment maidens. Gripping one of the women by her dress, he dragged her close. She yelped, startled by his aggression. “If anything happens to her, I will kill all of you.”
It has been days since anyone has seen you; Sansa grew worried as the maidens wouldn’t allow anyone into your chambers other than the King and his appointment men; Joffrey was worried that you were of traitor’s blood and wished for you to be confined to the four walls of your room against his better judgment. He wanted to behead you and send you to Robb, but Cersei had commanded against it. You were to only speak with Lannister appointment maidens, to be escorted by Ser Meryn and, on occasion, Ser Clegane. Joffrey, to much dismay from his mother, grew fond of you; he sat in your chambers, speaking of how he was going to behead your brothers and offer to you as gifts; accepting this gift would be the only way that you would genuinely be renounced as a traitor. In fear, you agreed softly, nodding along to every sick and psychopathic demand. He enjoys your presence; you say so little, unlike Sansa, who seems to say the wrong things, and his mother, who thinks she is now the King. You were more enjoyable than Sansa. He entered your room, now guarded by knights; his eyes scanned your chamber. Nothing had been touched or moved since the last visit. That was two weeks ago after showing Sansa the head of her traitor father. You didn’t move, but you knew it was Joffrey; he was the only person who came to see you. Your eyes shifted to him as he made his way around your bed. You mumbled out, shifting in the bed slightly, “Your Grace.”
Lilly bowed gently as Joffrey as he walked away, a smirk resting on his lips. He knew that you recognized his rightful claim to the throne. He knew you were more intelligent than his sister; most importantly, you were Robb’s twin sister. A great show of dominance was fucking his twin sister; he needed to bed you. Get you pregnant; be his mistress. He knew you bleed; he asked the maids to check, and your moonly cycle had just ended. His hand holding the sword's pommel, his eyes scanning over you. “Please make yourself presentable. Once completed, one of the knights will escort you to the throne room. I wish to speak with you.” He walked away, stopping for a moment. Anger was building inside of him as he waited for a response.
“As you wish, Your Grace.” He heard you shifting in the bed, and with a smile, he was gone.
You were dressed in a backless black dress, exposing your perky bosoms; despite the rancid looks, you still mourned for your father; embroidered on the right collar was a wolf that Lilly had stitched to all of the gowns given to you by the Lannisters. You thank the maidens before moving with Ser Meryn to the throne room. You said nothing, acknowledged no one.
You bowed gently at Joffrey, his eyes stalking your body, taking in the sight of your breasts, arms, and face. At his side, Sansa. Her eyes widened, and her lips trembled as she straightened her posture; she missed your touch's warmth and the gentleness of your words. She felt she betrayed you; she didn’t have time to think after the Father’s death; she just wanted to survive.
“I want you to bear my children, rightful thrones to the heir!” he announced. You said nothing; you continued gazing at Sansa, praying that she was alright and praying to the Old Gods that the light cast shadows on her face instead of the bruises. Your hands clenched at your side as you watched her flinch at each movement made by Joffrey. “To fuck the traitorous blood out of you! Send the babes’s head to your brother, maybe send yours, force him to bend the knee, and submit to me.”
You simply answered, “No.” His face sunk, his eyes widened as his lips tightened, and his jaw clenched in frustration. You heard the footsteps of the knight, his armor rattling against each other. You watched Meryn, his decrepit face glaring into you.
“Meryn,” he called out, his hand waved in his direction.
You felt a hand glide across your face, your head snapping from the force; he struck you repeatedly. You remained still as the knight was instructed to hit you again if you didn’t accept his offer; Joffrey grew frustrated at your resilience. You felt blood dripping from your eyes, burning, blinding your vision. “You lay another hand on her, and I kill you.” you heard a knife unsheathing or maybe his longsword. Joffrey cackled; it settled in the throne room. You felt the uneasiness of the air and how it settled in your bones uncomfortably.
“You want to protect this bitch! Your bitch! You know… I should make you fuck her, fuck the beast until you bear his litter of pups.” Joffrey tossed his hands in the sky, a wicked smile grew on his lips. “Why don’t we feast? A wedding between a wolf and a dog! You want her to fucking bad, have her! Make litters of animals. I’ll behead them and you. We will send them to your traitor brother,” he spits, his cackles once more as he claps his hands in excitement like a child. You squeezed your eyes closed, your face searing in pain; you heard him pushing past Meryn and Clegane, his hand grabbing my chin as he brought it closer to my face. ‘What do you say, wolf? Mm? Want to marry this ugly mutt?” You stared at him, disdain dripping from your lips as you tightened them. His Lannister eyes dull into you; for a moment, you are frightened but realize he was just a little boy playing King. He was a sadistic little boy. You retracted your thoughts, fearing that he might be able to hear them. You didn’t speak; you didn’t acknowledge him. Only turning your head out his hand.
“This can all go away, and you don’t have to marry this ugly dog if you bear my children. Don’t you want to prove that you aren’t a traitor to be loyal to the rightful King,” he whispers into your ear, feeling your trembling skin with his finger. You calmly replied, remaining solid in your ass. He hisses in dismay, tossing your head back, causing you to stumble around. Sandor’s gently grabbed at your back. “A perfect alliance! You two mutts belong together! Soon, your head-”
“Enough!” you heard Cersei call out, her voice commanding the silence, causing Joffrey to stumble back. His face widened, and for a moment, you saw a child being reprimanded by his mother, a child who needs to be punished. His face grew slightly red, his lips tightening with embarrassment.
Cersei dismissed you. Walking away, you rushed out of the throne as you felt the emotions run through; you wanted to cry, you could feel the tears building in your throat, and yet nothing. Numbness washed over you as you mindlessly moved back to your chambers… You needed to get out of here. You let yourself stumble into your chambers, greeted by Lilly, the only thing that reminded you of home. You collided with her, remaining silent as you listened to the constant beat of her heart. “It’s a’ght, M’lady,” she murmured. You flinched at the sound of the door; you could feel his presence filling the room. Lilly released you, bowing to Clegane as she stumbled out of the room. You didn’t dare move; you didn’t want to look at or think about him.
His voice was strong, “Let me see you.” You obeyed, turning your gaze to him. You noticed he had a grey-ish clothe in his hand. In one stride was in front of you, dapping your face gently. You never thought he could be this gentle with you. His thumb caresses your chin as he huffs angrily, his face contorted slightly, causing his lip to twitch. He was in deep thought and wanted to kill Joffrey, behead him just as he did your father. He wanted to prove to you that he was not his loyal dog. “Stupid girl, why didn’t you marry him,” He cuffs your bruised face, bringing you closer to him. “Why didn’ya accept the offer?”
“Sandor,” you mumbled weakly, his name bringing joy to his ears. You didn’t have an answer, nor did you want to provide him with one. You simply let yourself rest against him, feeling the cold sting of his armor. It was nothing like the chilling sensation of the North, but it brought you a sense of comfort. Sandor sat stiffly, allowing you to rest against him.
“You’re a stupid girl,” he whispers. “My stupid girl.” His lips pushed against your head, mumbling insults to you.
𓃥𓃦𓃨
It was Joffrey’s nameday; you grew tired of the insipid celebration of the arrogant and cruel King. Your body leaned against the railing, the calm winds blowing against you as you were in deep thought. You could hear Lilly calling out for your name, but you ignored her, knowing that it must’ve been Joffrey who once again offered his seed to you and offered you an out for the marriage with Sandor. His hand would grab at your throat, snatching you closer to him before pushing you against the wall. His other hand yanked your hair down, and you croaked as you clawed against his hand. Your whimpers barely escape your throat. Soon, as he grew tired of your squirming, he let go, watching you gasp helplessly. Your body fell limp to the ground as you clutched the dress that pooled at your feet. This became routine for the last couple of weeks, but you were hoping on his nameday, he would leave you be.
You peered over your shoulder, seeing Sandor aggressively march into the room, his eyes capturing yours; a small smile rode on his lips. You returned your attention ahead of you, taking in the pastures of green and the ant-like bodies walking about. Everyone and Everything was loud in celebration of King Joffrey. You could feel his gaze on you; it was heavy and needy. Roughly, his armor fell against the floor, clanging and being kicked to the side. He could him slightly cursing and fumbling to move closer to you. You relaxed against him, feeling his warmth against your backside. “I need you.” You could feel him stiffen against you, his hand roughly grabbed at your waist. “I miss you…I’ve missed you for some time now.” You grind yourself gently against him, your ass grazing the tip of his throbbing cock. “I just—I want you inside of me.”
“You don’t know what you are asking for.” he hums, his hands tightening on your waist as he guides your movements slightly. His hands roughly yanked at the back of your dress, exposing you, his fingers gently caressing your ass before moving to your opening. You hiss as he drags his thick finger over your wetness, his finger tracing at your glistening pearl before inserting his finger; you gasp, grabbing at the rails as you let yourself fall against it. He was rough and sloppy, thrusting in an erratic pattern before slowly retracting his finger. You hum in pleasure, your stomach churning with the familiar euphoric sensation as he pounds his finger into you; Sandor is growing impatient. He wanted to fuck you, to make you scream out his name for all to hear. His cock ached and pulsated as he watched your leaking cunt, dripping his fingers against the cement. Irrationally, he became jealous of the bugs that would taste you and the air that kisses you. He admires your soft kitten-like moans, how they purr against his ear gently, the soft meows of his name as he rams his finger into you. You quickly turn to face him, startling him for a moment. His finger was slipping out of you–your face flushed with color as your chest heaved harshly. The material tightened against your chest before retracting as you watched Sandor. Sandor turns away in disgust of himself; your hands inched to his face, tugging at him.
Slowly, he returns his attention to you. His eyes glared at you. Quickly, he grabs at you, pulling you off of your feet; you gasp as you feel your back pressed against the cool brick. Quickly, your legs around him, steadying yourself as you watched him fumble with the ties that held up his trousers. You watched him, your eyes taking the scars that riddled his face and the solemn look that marked his lip. His face grew in frustration; he shut his eyes briefly, insecurity shattering him as he tried not to think about your judging eyes. You heed his direction, shutting your eyes as you watch the darkness that clouded you. You flinched at his unexpected softness, his fingers touching your face and lips. His hands move to your thighs, squeezing at your flesh as his hands move to your ass. You could feel the pressure building inside of you as you felt the tip of his cock rest against your entrance, pocking and sliding against your wetness.
The air is stolen from her as Sandor’s hips meet yours. Your eyes flickered open as you moaned loudly, your hands wrapping against his neck as you lazily pulled him closer to you. He stumbled closer to you, your breath mingling as Sandor’s head rested against your clavicle. He gently gnawed at you, his lips gliding against your skin before resting against your neck. Rapidly, he thrust inside of you, your heat tightening around him as you moaned out his name, the pace of this thrust was ruthless as he cursed at you, using his grip on your hips to yank you further down on his throbbing and needy cock. He pulls away from your neck as he watches you chant his name over and over. “Sandor, Sandor–oh Sandor, Please—Sandor.”
He stops, taking the time to watch you squirm underneath his touch. His nose brushes against your cheek as he kisses it; quickly, you turn your head to face him. He watched your eyes slowly prying open as your doe-like eyes overtook him. Your face contorted in pleasure as he continued to thrust into you. Your fingers danced back to his cheeks, cuffing them in admiration. You slam your lips against him, tasting the bitter wine on his tongue. Your tongue dipped into his mouth, gathering everything before sliding back into your own; you moaned against him while his hips picked up in pace, the slaps echoing into the air as you cried out a moan on his lips. You pull back as a slew of words fall from your lips. “All mine, you’re all mine,” he growls through his runts and your rants, his words falling upon deaf ears as you call out his name through your orgasm. His dick twitches inside of you; he could feel himself approaching his high, his seed jutting out as you whine out his name. Your cunt clenches against him as you feel his cum flooding inside of you, his hips still moving at the painstakingly harsh pace, fucking himself through his orgasm as he pushes himself against you. He retracts slightly, letting his cock slide out, exposed to the cool air. He rams himself deeper inside of you, shoving his seed into you. “You take me so well, little wolf.”
You felt him pick up pace, his jerked against you, his head resting against you as he grunted out your name. Soon, all of his seed was slammed into you, dripping around his cock and your soaking cunt. He pulls back swiftly, his eyes watching as silence veiled over you. Your mouth parted as you tried catching your breath, your hands lazily cuffing his neck as your thumb stroked his jawline. You peeked at his lips, still feeling his cock twitch inside of you. “I missed you.” You repeated, the words lazily falling off your tongue. Sandor had no words; he couldn’t think around you. You left him in a state of wanting—needing more. He pulls himself out of you, causing you to take intake quickly. You weren’t like the whores that he paid to fuck, the needy and whining pleas as he rammed his cock into them, their eyes squeezed tight when laying on their backs. He recalls one time, paying the woman handsomely to moan out his name; she nodded shyly, her eyes never meeting his face that she did, her voice coarse and full of emotion. “Sandor Sandor Sandor—- you fuck me so good, your cock fills me so well.” He hated it, the way her auburn hair bounced, the way her hands grabbed at his chest, the way her teets moved about as she bounced on him, the way her mouth horridly gaped open as she screamed out his name, and everything that falls out of her mouth was scripted and unreal. She came undone, jumping off his lap and taking his manhood into her mouth, soaking up all his seed as she smiled brightly. With a grunt, he pushed her off, irritated by her presence. For months, it went on as such, endless whores that never pleased him.
He regretted it every time, especially the nights he came to you, gentle with your words and touch. You lay with him, letting your hands caress him. You were patient with him, understanding his anger and outbursts; he never understood it and loathed the feeling that rose when he thought everything was feigned and a part of his imagination.
Here he stands, watching you glistening in the sweet sun’s rays, your skin dewy as you happily watched him. Your touch gentle, your words pure. He never felt like this with any woman. Insecurity knocked into him, and he turned away from you, allowing your feet to slap against the ground. He was once again towing over you. He gathers himself, leaving you alone. You adjusted yourself in your garment; his seed was sticky against your cunt and uppermost inner thighs. You pushed your hands across your face, returning to your chamber as you removed your clothing, readying yourself for today’s affairs.
#imagines#imagine#smut#sandor clegane x reader#sandor clegane imagines#sandor clegane#jamie lannister x reader#game of thrones imagine#game of thrones x reader
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↬ in the middle of the night
Sandor Clegane x Reader
Warnings: None
Something awoke you from a deep slumber. Perhaps it was the Mother herself, you thought, because when you opened your eyes, they slowly focused on your husband, who was standing in the middle of the room, his silhouette illuminated by a couple of candles and the sliver of morning sunlight peeking over the horizon.
Sandor’s back was to you as he stared at the cradle at the foot of your shared bed, fully clothed in his leathers and his sword strapped to his waist. When he heard you stir, he spoke, but did not turn to face you.
“I should go with them. Go kill my brother,” he said with a humorless laugh. “Gods know I’m the only one who could end that evil bastard.”
You said nothing, so after a few moments, he continued – and you could swear you heard him sniffle faintly before speaking.
“But I just keep staring at this little fucker here, and… I can’t. I can’t bring myself to walk out that door – knowing I’d never see him, or you, again. Knowing I’d be condemning him to grow up without a father. Knowing that me walking out on him makes me no better than my father – who abandoned me to protect Gregor.”
A little noise from the dark-haired babe in the cradle prompted another, louder sniffle from Sandor this time. There was another pause, followed by an agitated, “Damn it all.”
The Hound then began hurriedly prying off his sword, outerwear, and boots, letting it all fall carelessly to the floor before climbing into bed with you. When he rested his head on your chest and wrapped his big arms around your torso, you noticed his face was wet, and he sniffled quietly a few more times. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, the feeling of the scarred flesh so familiar to you now.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
“For what?” Sandor grumbled.
“For staying with us.”
He let out a heavy sigh, and although he did not respond, he gave you a squeeze in response. Sandor’s breathing slowed as you gently scratched your nails up and down his back, and when you heard a snore, you knew he was asleep. Soon after one last kiss to his forehead, you joined him in sleep.
#sandor clegane#the hound#sandor clegane x reader#the hound x reader#game of thrones#sandor clegane x you#game of thrones fan fiction#game of thrones fanfiction#got#sandor clegane fluff#sandor clegane drabble#sandor clegane imagine#my writing
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The Great Stone Knight, Pt. IX
Sandor Clegane x Reader
Warnings will remain vague and be for the work as a whole as opposed to each part individually: violence, death, assault, my shitty characterizations, explicit language, sexual content (will be noted), and having too good of a time reading this.
Masterlist
“How did you end up with the Hound?” The boy you had come to know as Gendry asked. He had been stuck at Arya’s side since you first met, though he was more open to the notion of the Brotherhood. You had on occasion overheard him telling Arya that he wished to join them, much to her dismay.
It had been only a single day since you last saw Sandor, and about the same amount of time since you had been outside. Beric had informed you that he intended on selling you to your father as his reward would be far greater than the Lannisters, but only after taking the road north west toward Riverrun where they would ransom Arya to her family.
“He helped me escape King's Landing.” You replied as Arya tightened her jaw and shook her head trying to dismiss the words that spilled from your lip. “He was my shield while I was captive in the Red Keep.”
“Do you love him?” Arya blurted out with a full mouth, the warmed bread in her hand was squishing beneath the force of her fingers that dug into its sides. “He’s a killer. I’m surprised he didn’t kill you.”
“Arya.” Gendry scolded, swatting in the air in front of her chest as if to blow away her attitude.
“What?” The contents of her mouth were on full display as her jaw fell slack. “He is.”
You sighed, not due to irritation. “I liked him.” The pop of your shoulders relaxed your tensed muscles as you craned your head from side to side. “Arya, I knew your sister.”
“Doubt it.” She was quick to deny your claim.
Her battle with you was rather one-sided. While she wanted to remain vehemently against every stance you took. she did find that you weren’t as insufferable as she initially judged. The minute she had seen you at Sandor’s side, and especially when she saw the way you tended to him, she decided that you were just as evil as he. She made a vow to herself that anything that you said was false and quelling your attempts to talk to her were the best option.
“No,” you disagreed, “I did know her. I was friends with her back in King’s Landing. She made me promise that I’d marry your brother, Robb.”
“Marry Robb?” The ridicule in her hiss was palpable. “He wouldn’t like you. You’re not his type.” Gendry shook his head, attempting to brush her words off with the gusty sigh that pushed past his lips.
The small canteen the Brotherhood had afforded you sloshed with water. It was full of dirt and sand that dragged down your throat in an unappealing and harsh manner each time you swallowed. From what you could tell, the Brotherhood lived fairly savagely. They were men of the shadows, consistently avoiding capture as part of their vow to protect the Riverlands. At the very least, they knew how to keep clean. Each man, while wearing stolen or old gear, kept some form of cleanliness whether it be in their teeth or nail beds. But it seemed that no man properly cared for every part of their body.
“I suppose that’s a good thing, then.” You swirled the water around, hoping to get the grit to settle to the bottom. “I don’t wish to marry.”
“But you were promised to the Mountain.” She retorted. “He talked about you when we were at Harrenhal.” Her frame was surprisingly haunting in the way she carried herself. The intimidation tactic was different, more imposing even with the lack of a proper weapon or height. Approaching you, she kept her brown eyes trained on your face, unblinking and distressing. “He talked about all the things he was going to do to you and he left no detail out.” Gendry tried to stamp out the fire she was starting with her words, but she paid him no mind. “He said he was going to bring an army into this world with you, and then once you’d given him that, he was going to kill you.” She ground her teeth. “He’d pop your head under his hands after he took your eyes out.” Arya was a well of knowledge. You couldn’t blame her for clearly not having a filter, but hearing Gregor’s plans for you weren’t any less chilling even with you miles away.
“Arya.” The boy grabbed at her sleeve and tugged her backward. Your shoulders slumped at her revelation. “Stop.”
“What? I’m just telling her the truth. Better to know how you’re going to die before it happens.”
She stomped off, wandering elsewhere in the Brotherhood’s caverns.
“She’ll come around.”
~~~*~~~
“You’ll regret that.” You watched as the woman in red disappeared through the lush greenery of the forest, riding away with a gaggle of men and Gendry in tow. Beric stood at your side, tall and towering above but not as tall as Sandor. “The girl has lost her father and now her sister. He was her family.”
“We do what must be done.” Beric turned his focus from their retreating figures toward you, the laser of his gaze burnt into your cheek. “We serve the Lord of Light, and the Lord of Light needs him.”
“So, if the Lord of Light needed one of you? Would you fall on your swords?”
Arya sauntered off, away from the group. Thoros moved to keep an eye on her along with a few others leaving you and Beric at each other’s sides. “Conceivably.” His hand landed on your shoulder, applying a firm grip as he shook you slightly. “She will move on.”
“She won’t.” You replied, finally losing all sight of the cart. “She will never forgive you.”
“Forgiving and forgetting are different things.”
“Same way you’ll forget us once you’re on a ship home.” The sound of crunching leaves and rustling branches announced Thoros’s entrance. He wore his usual bemused smile, lips pulled together tightly.
As Thoros moved to place his hand on your other shoulder, you shrugged both of them away and stepped out of the line the three of you had created. “How do you know that my father will give you anything? Did your silly god tell you that too?”
“We have to trust in one’s ambitions.” Beric noted, eyes trained on you as you swiveled your body to face their fronts. “Any father would be pleased to have the safe return of his child.”
“That’s a lot of faith in a man who is currently a year’s travel away.”
“I’m lucky that I am a man of faith, then.”
~~~*~~~
“Arya?”
The young girl was disturbed. Her sadness was blocked out by the hatred that blazed behind the irises of her gaze. Arya had screamed and slew threats to Beric, pushed at Thoros as he tried to calm her, and landed a kick to the groin to another man of the Brotherhood. She was on a rampage and nobody but herself could put an end to it. She sat with her knees to her chest, head buried beneath her arms. Tribulation wept from her distanced eyes.
“Are you alright?”
Her head jerked upward, hair flying in front of her face. “Do you think I’m alright?”
“No.” Hesitantly, you lowered yourself to her side. She tensed at the motion, retracting herself much like you did the day prior when Beric had done something similar. “I think you’re upset.”
She scoffed at the conclusion you drew, acting as though you were the dumbest person ever to have even needed to point it out. It was amazing how incredibly guarded she was for her age. It was apparent she had been through hell and back in the time she had been traveling from King’s Landing.
“Gendry seemed like a nice boy.” You hummed. Extending your hand, you offered her a piece of dried jerky given to you by one of the men. The salt from the meat flaked off onto your fingers, coating them in a chalky consistency.
She stared at the meat for a moment. “Why are you doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Being nice.” She cringed. “Noble ladies are only nice when they want something.”
Her dark outlook on the world eclipsed the brightness you wanted to bring her.
“Aren’t you a noble lady?” The narrowing of your gaze was playful and light.
She quickly retorted, “I’m not being nice, am I?”
“Do you have anything I could want?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps I’m just here to keep you company…Do you like stories? Sansa loved hearing my tales. I’m quite the story teller.” Your jaunt was made to enliven her spirits, but was shot down by the arrows she let fly.
“You’re going to tell me anyway.”
“You seem to already know me quite well.” Behind you, your arms outstretched to rest on the cooling dirt. Forearms supported the weight of your body as you extended your legs out in front of you. “In Antonia, we tell the story of the Great Stone Knight.”
“Is this a love story?” Having heard enough love stories to last her a lifetime, she was at her wits end when it came to the fictional tales. It was all Sansa wanted to discuss with her, and everything she never wanted.
“Of course not.” You responded, relaxing more until your head was against the ground. Arya was amused by the way you carelessly laid on the ground, pleased that you weren’t bothered by the dirt that covered your clothing. “The Great Stone Knight was the most valiant of the knights. Brave and gallant, they served our royals for years, though not as a guardsman. The knight was born into nobility, but they never wanted it. Their house was in the wintery mountain tops of the vast range that extends around our capital. She was our first female knight.”
“She?” Arya had eased the stiffening ends of her fingertips, loosening her posture as she decided the story was worth listening to.
“Yes, she. The Stone Knight wasn’t a fair beauty, she hated all your traditionally feminine virtues. Her father had named her younger brother the heir of their household instead of her. Which she did not argue. She didn’t want to deal with all the dull droll of running a town.” You thrumed your fingers against the thick leather of your overshirt, given to you by the men who had extras. “So, she left. She ventured south to our capital and stood before the king, swearing fealty as she requested a knighthood. The king laughed in her face and demanded she leave his presence. He wanted her as a kitchen maid. Angered and appalled at his behavior, she swore that one day she would cast this king down from his holiness. She would show him what she could do.”
“How old was she?” Arya had reclined at your side now. Her arm brushed against yours as she got closer so as to not miss a word of your tale.
“She was six and ten when this happened, but she had been training with a sword since she was ten.” With a deep sigh, you continued. “Anyway, she was mad and rightfully so. He hadn’t even let her show him her abilities. He and his council mocked her and told her to return home. Outside the city gates she plotted. At every tourney we had, she would show up in a suit of armor of silver and black. She won every time, defeating even the best of the best. At the victor's ceremony, she would never take her helm from her head… I believe that is where she got her name. Stone Knight. She never talked at these tourneys, and the color of her gear resembled that of a stone wall.”
“Why wouldn’t she show them who she was?” She was growing frustrated with the story. “Wouldn’t winning show the king she was worthy?”
“She always felt it wasn’t worth it. She had won a tourney, but the victor's ceremony was afterward. If she had taken her helm from her head then, they would claim her to be a false knight. So she continued on. She lived in the city in the poorest district. She would spend her evenings training the young boys and girls alike, happy to teach anyone who wanted to learn.” You opened your eyes, focusing on the fading blue sky as the sun began its descent. “When the Battle of Valverme happened, it is said that monstrous creatures flooded the country. The king led his armada east to quell the danger, but even he was no match for the beasts that invaded. He regrouped and formed a new army. This one was larger and greater than the one before. Once again, he lost. As he gathered a third army, the Great Stone Knight showed up. She walked, fully armored, past their camps and straight for the darkness that lurked in Valverme. The king warned the knight, insisting that they wait. It was too dangerous! Surely the knight would perish as so many others had.”
“What were the beasts?”
“Well.” You racked your mind, bringing up any tales of fabled creatures you had heard of when you were a child. “Some were human-like, but blood thirsty and cannibals. Their hair was so grown that it grew into the skin of their arms and legs. Some were like bears with five sets of sharpened teeth. There were birds as big as,” you pointed at a tree that soared into the sky, “that tree with claws that acted like cages. They could spit an acid that melted flesh. Nonetheless, they were horrible disgusting monsters. I would be afraid of them, but the knight was not. She entered the cloud of darkness, strolling fearlessly into the face of danger. In her hand, she wielded a sword that entered as a color of silver. Suddenly, the curtain of darkness cracked. Large lines extended from end to end as her battle cry echoed throughout Antonia. It shattered like glass, the dark, and crumbled to the ground. When the debris and smoke cleared, there she stood. Her helm had broken in two, but her sword suddenly glowed in a white magnificence.”
“They all knew she was a woman then.”
“Aye, they did. The king was at a loss for words. He looked like a fish as he opened and closed his mouth. Words could not come to him. She smiled at him and he recognized her as the girl who swore fealty and knelt before him years before. For the first time, the king knelt to someone else. He immediately offered to knight her, but she didn’t want it anymore. She had proven her point.”
“But you said she was the first woman knight.”
“Oh.” You smiled. “She was. He knighted her anyway and offered her anything she could ever want as repayment.”
“What did she ask for?”
“Freedom. She asked for a stocked ship and a crew. The next day, she set off to travel the world and rid it of darkness. Some say she still sails the seas of Antonia, protecting the waters and training anyone who wants to learn. She never returned home, but I think that home isn’t where we were born, but rather where we make it.”
The Brotherhood continued on their forward march in their efforts to keep the riverlands Lannister free. Their travels toward Riverrun were being planned and the men paid no mind to the brooding Arya who sequestered herself at the edge of the group, sitting at your side. She was still mad. She had told you how they sold Hot Pie off, and now Gendry. At least she would be sold to her family, but the more she thought about it, it did bother her that your fate would likely lie on the same page as Gendry’s.
“You said you knew Sansa.” Arya broke the silence between you as the sounds of men speaking were muffled with your own voices. “Prove it to me.”
It was dark out now, the light worshipers had engulfed themselves in fire as each man held a torch of their own. The heat was almost unbearable, but none of them seemed to notice. “She loves to play games and hear stories.” You recounted one she particularly liked having to do with the ships that sailed in the harbor. “She’s quite tall, taller than I am at least… She told me a lot about you. You’re good with a bow, you had a direwolf named Nymeria, hers was Lady, and you had dancing lessons every morning while in Kings Landing. Though, I don’t take you for the dancer.”
“I was water dancing.” She perked up at the mention of the activity, her proclivity for distancing herself subsided as she recalled happier times. “It’s sword-fighting. My teacher was the best swordsman to ever live.” The apples of her cheeks rounded in the flickering of firelight as a smile pulled at her lips.
“What was his name?”
“Syrio Forel. My father arranged the lessons… they’re both dead now. Killed by Meryn Trant and Illyn Payne.”
“Meryn Trant killed a friend of mine as well.” You hesitantly reached out to place your hand over hers, giving her enough time to react. “I’m sorry they’re gone… You know, my father would never let me train. He said training was for boys.” Swatting your hand dismissively into the air, trying to push away the sadness that loomed overhead. You shrugged your shoulders and shook your head. “Would you show me how to water dance sometime?”
Lighting up, she nodded and picked up a stick from the ground. “I can show you now.” She found another and handed it to you. A hand was pressed stiffly against her lower back as she readied the other arm with the stick. “Hold it like this.”
You followed, much to her amusement as you held it in a way she disapproved of. The first genuine smile you had seen from her was radiant, glowing brightly in the darkness of the night. “No.” She dropped her arms and grabbed your hand, opening your palm. “Like this.”
She readied herself again and nodded. The stick swung across your front, blocked by your own as she made to attack from another angle. It hit your leg, stinging as it whipped against your skin. “You’re not very good at this.”
“It’s my first try! Maybe you’re just not the best teacher.”
A small laugh escaped her lips as she held her stick back up but instead of another round, she was interrupted by Thoros who had riled up the men. “Come on, Lannister men were spotted south of here.”
“Lannister? You said I was to be sent home.” She threw her arms down and dropped the stick.
He tilted his head. “Plan’s change.”
“What about Riverrun? It’s not south, it’s west of here.”
Berric joined the party, added his two cents as Arya began to fume. “It will still be west of here two days from now.”
“You swore.”
“To take you home, and I will. But we need to do this first.”
“You said you would send me to my father.” You argued, joining her at her side discarding the stick.
“We have to seize each opportunity we have. Unfortunately, this is just how the world is.”
“How the world is?” Arya’s voice raised as her hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into the skin of her palms. “You’ll send her to her death! They’ll kill her!”
“I swear to you-”
“I don’t care what you swear because you’re a liar. You lied to Gendry, you lied to me, and you lied to (Y/n). You’ll lie to anyone. I hope the Lannisters kill you all.”
“One day you’ll understand, but now-”
In a flash, Arya grabbed your hand and pulled you away from their camp. Her grip was deathly and she refused to let go as your touch was the only thing telling her that you still followed behind. The ground was uneven, and in many places you had to plant your foot firmly into mud to keep your balance. Vines and weeds hung from the trees, acting as arms that continually thrashed you backward in their efforts to slow your pace. The Brotherhood marched behind, calling out continually and loudly as their torches gave away their positions.
Water trickled from the stream that moved iridescently from a spring that bubbled from the ground below. She tugged you into the water, soaking your boots through and your pants to your knees. Arya’s huffed and gasped for air as she desperately ran, dragging you in tow. Pulling you down to crouch behind a tree, she peered around its trunk and caught her breath. “You’ve got to run faster.” She scolded in a whisper before bolting again, this time avoiding the muddy ground in favor of hopping across the hardened roots of a cluster of trees.
It was only when you made it to a small clearing did she finally decide that you had lost the Brotherhood. Her chest heaved as her shoulders moved up and down, her hand covered her mouth in an attempt to keep her huffing quiet.
The moonlight eerily crept through the vines that tangled within the tree branches, casting twisted shadows upon the forest floor. A light fog had rolled in hanging just above eye level, obscuring your distance vision. Arya’s eyes were wide and wild. Her pupils had dilated, the brown almost entirely turned to black.
“Over there!” A man’s voice hollered as the burning torches came back into view.
She gathered your arms in hers once more, powering furiously as she wove her way through the trees. You dodged each branch, holding tightly to her hand so as to not lose her in the foliage. The yelling could be heard behind you still, though it was muddled in the static of the night. Rustling in front of you stilled her in her tracks. The tree branches moved unnaturally as a darkened figure approached from the darkness.
“No!” Arya yelled, turning to run backward, only to slam flat into your chest. You retained your grip on her hand, holding it tightly against her struggles as she tried to pry her fingers from yours. “Come on, we can’t go with him!” She slapped at your stomach with her freed limb, refusing to look at Sandor as he came fully into the clearing. “We can go to Winterfell! You can marry Robb!”
“Arya!” You reared her forward into you, wrapping your other arm around her shoulders as you forced her to look you in the eye. “He is our safest bet right now. They’re coming for us. We must move.”
She pressed her lips together and looked behind you. Still, though, she continued to fight. Dismissing her fit, Sandor approached fully and slipped his hands under her shoulders. Her hand fell from yours as she redirected her fight, kicking her legs and tearing her fingers at his forearms. “Kick all you want, wolf girl. Won’t do you no good.”
He turned, still carrying her, and nodded his head for you to follow. “Best get moving. Beric won’t stop looking til’ he finds you both.”
An hour of walking put some space between yourselves and the Brotherhood. With Stranger secured to a tree and Arya calmed from her initial upset, you were finally granted a moment of rest. Laying on his back, fully dressed in his armor still, Sandor kicked his leg over the other. Arya rested a few feet away, curled into a ball with her knees tucked up to her chin.
“You left me.” You picked at the dirt that had maneuvered its way beneath your nails with the edge of a knife that Sandor had kept in his saddlebag.
“Had to.” He said without opening his eyes. “Could have stayed at the inn. Would have found you there.”
Dirt smeared against the leg of your pants as you wiped the tip of the knife off. “You told me they were going to kill you. How could you have found me if you died?”
“Didn’t die though.” A breathy titter passed though his lips. “Big fucker, hard to kill. Told you that once. I came back, didn’t I?”
“You did.” You chided. “Why?”
“Not theirs to sell.” He said resolutely, as if it were something so clearly painted in the sky.
“Of course.” He could taste the bitterness of your tone the second the words scoffed past your lips. The knife was dropped at your side as you reclined onto your back at his side. “You almost had me thinking you cared.”
Though dissuaded at the idea of traveling with the Hound, her sworn enemy as far as she was concerned, she was subdued when she considered that you would be traveling with them. Sandor had taken a place on the ground, walking with Stranger’s closest rein in his hand, steering the steed. Arya was sitting atop the horse in front of you, uncomfortable but happier than if it were Sandor behind her. It was the better part of a morning now that you had been back with Sandor, and only a few days that you had been separated. She was quiet as you rode, unsure of what to say as she no longer felt at odds with you.
“You said you liked him.” She looked to Sandor who kept his focus straightforward. “Then are you together?”
Arya shifted to throw her legs over one side of Stranger, using your outstretched arm as a backrest to keep her from falling backward. She looked, and acted, nothing like her elder sister. Sansa was so proud of her refined grace and womanly attributes. Arya was crass and blunt. Her features were strong, her face framed by short-cut dark brown hair. She was smaller in height and stature, but had broader shoulders and a well built frame.
“No. We aren’t.”
“But you like him.” Arya insisted, enjoying the way she got beneath your skin. “He doesn’t like you, though. Does he? Why do you stay with him then?
“Where else am I to go?”
“Home, maybe.” She swiveled around again and looked outward. In the distance was a vista view of a branching river. Its white water rushed quickly, bringing with it a healthy breeze of refreshing crisp air. “Where are you taking me? Is that the Blackwater?”
“The Blackwater?” He scoffed. “Where do you think I’m taking you?”
“Back to King’s Landing to Joffrey and the queen.”
“Fuck Joffrey. Fuck the queen. That’s the Red Fork. I’m taking you to the Twins.”
“But why?”
“Because your mother and brother will be there and they’ll pay me for you.”
“Why would they be at the Twins?”
“Those outlaws you love so much never told you? The whole countryside is yapping about it. Your uncle is marrying one of the Frey girls. So quit trying to bash my skull in and we might just make it there in time for the wedding.”
Writer's Note: It's gonna ramp up from here. Sorry to the vegetarians/ vegans because we're about to get into the MEAT of the writing in the next few parts ✌🏼
Tag List (HMU if you want to be tagged):
@madameasbjorn @yaskna @xakilicious @waifu4lifeu @peaked-in-third-grade @underatreedrinkingtea @bra1nr0t-for-lasquadra@dreamgirljere @fortunatelyfadingkingdom @bennysimps @supervalcsi@darylssluttt @grcnseer @strawberryoverkill
#sandor clegane x reader#sandor clegane#game of thrones fanfiction#got fanfiction#sandor clegane imagines
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♡ Goodmorning ♡
Sandor Clegane
• Habit has him out of bed before you. He prefers it this way though. Waking up, reminding himself where he is and that he’s not in danger, seeing you, pressing a kiss to your crown before getting up
• You getting out of bed first can spiral mornings off to a very rough start. It’s not your fault, nor his. That sliver of time between numbing sleep and reality, those first blinks before his eyes adjust. He can forget the wars, the violence, his days of running… his days as The Hound are over
• He has nightmares about it all still. The only good fucking thing about waking in the dead of night is you. Wine couldn’t come close to taking his pain away now that he has you. Sandor can wrap his arms around you, draw you in closer, breath you in and feel safe
• He’s no liar, it’s not logical. Not a bit. He’s still the biggest fucker alive, he’s still got his sword (propped against the door— in case some sorry cunt wanted to try and put down the tired dog) and no matter how many years go by, he remembers how to use it. Yet, despite it all, Sandor feels safer when you’re the first thing he sees
• If he’s feeling particularly sentimental, he’ll stare at you for a good while and enjoy the peace
• You helped him be better at that. Enjoying those stupid, little moments of nothingness. You told him they’re not nothing, especially not if they make him happy. So the days where he wakes up and watches your chest rise and fall, he checks if you’re snoring or not. He notices the way your hair rests or how damningly angelic you look as you sleep. He commits your face to memory like he did the night before and almost, almost thanks the gods for those not-nothing moments
• Sometimes you catch him staring. You’ve gotten quite good at knowing when he’s looking. Even with your eyes closed, you start smiling.
“Goodmorning, Sandor.”
• He used to call you a witch, he used to grunt in reply, he used to find a detail to complain about because how could it possibly be a good morning?
He’s since stopped hesitating and stalling, replying with a gentle, “Goodmorning, love.”
#game of thrones#x reader#imagine#sandor clegane x reader#sandor clegane#sandor clegane imagine#reader insert#sandor clegane headcanons#poiboidrabbles
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S & K : The Queen's Guards
Sandor Clegane x Fem!Reader x Kylo Ren
Summary: After being named heir to the throne, your father brings you two men to be your guards.
Warning: NSFW, cursing, kissing, we are fucking them ladies, throuple because why not!
A/N: TBH this fanfic was never going to see the light of day because i was so nervous how people would react but I haven't seen a Sandor x Kylo fanfic so fuck it. Here ya'll go, enjoy! -L || Border Credit: @cafekitsune
Word Count: 9.9K
You were grateful that you have been bestowed with two guards to protect you. They were given the order to follow your every move and stay by your side since your father named you heir to the throne. Most were happy that you were heir while others condemned it to be the most horrific thing known. A woman sitting on the throne was a joke for them.
Blessed to have a father like yours, he quieted the people that had doubts and reminded them that his word is law.
At first you dreaded the idea of two unknown men in your company but your father insisted since they were the best. While being introduced to them you will never forget how they stared down at you with their dark eyes. You couldn't help but blush under their gaze. You learned that they were both second born sons and that they didn't have much but they were highly skilled. They were new to the kingdom and looking to offer their service. They had gotten through your father’s difficult test and proven their loyalty to him. They were both granted to protect and serve you.
The first guard was named Sandor Clegane. He was the tallest and the oldest. Your father had mentioned to you about his appearance before arriving. Sandor's right side of his face was burned. You were a bit relieved when you saw him for yourself because your father made it seem like Sandor was a grotesque monster but he wasn't. The unburnt side of Sandor’s face was handsome. He had a thick brow and brown eyes. His hair was long down to his neck, he had parted his hair to the side to mask the burn side of his face. He had facial hair, his beard and mustache were thick and dark.
The second guard was named Kylo Ren. Kylo was tall but fell a few feet shorter than Sandor. Kylo gave you a smile when he first saw you. His plushy lips twisted upward at you. He had long dark locks that went down to his shoulders. His beard and mustache was neatly trimmed then Sandor’s. Beauty marks were splattered on his face and he was leaner than the older guard.
Small talks between your father and you occur as they continue to stare at you.
“I do this for your safety, my dear. One day all of this will be yours and there are people out there that will try to take it away from you.” Your father walked in front of you and placed his hands on your shoulders.
“I accept them.” You told him.
Your father stood behind you as Sandor and Kylo kneel in front of you and swore their allegiance, their protection to the heir to the throne. Something melted in your chest at the sight of these men kneeling in front of you. Many had knelt in front of you but these two had sparked something in you.
The first week was the hardest, since they were going to follow you everywhere to get to know your routines. You decided to get to know them more. You found out Kylo was more social than Sandor.
Sandor kept to himself, mostly drinking a cup of wine while Kylo talked about himself. You found out Kylo had a twin brother named Ben. Kylo was the second twin born. You gave your condolences to Kylo when he mentioned that Ben died at war.
Kylo was flirtatious with everyone and he was charming when he wanted. You noticed wandering eyes from the servants looking up and down at him while serving the meals and drinks. Some servants who weren’t afraid of Sandor tried to talk to him but he ignored them or just told them to ‘fuck off.’
It was a month later when you found out more about Sandor's life. Kylo had left to do a task for your father so it was just both of you. You were sitting down on the loveseat in the library while Sandor stood by the entrance. After a few minutes of begging the tall man to sit down with you, he obeyed. Finally able to wear out his cold exterior, Sandor told you about his life and how he got hurt. His older brother had pushed his face against the burning coal of the fire when he was a child. His older brother was still alive and causing havoc far away from here.
Sandor had come to this place for a fresh start in life. Sandor’s body tensed when he felt you grab his hand. He wanted to curse at you for touching him but he couldn't, not when you were looking up at him like that. You looked at him like he was a normal man, you looked at him as you looked at Kylo.
“Thank you for telling me.” You told him as you pulled his hand on to your lap. His breathing came to a halt when you began to play with his fingers. Your thumb glides across his hard knuckles. You couldn’t help but smile when you compare your hands along with his. They were huge, they completely covered yours.
“My father said a good man should have rough hands. It means he’s a hard worker. I know for a fact you are a good and hardworking man.” Sandor was shocked by your compliment. He rarely got compliments back home. This was new for him, he didn’t know how to react. He just kept looking at you as you caressed his hand on your lap.
He finally had the courage to say something when the door of the library opened. He quickly ripped his hand away from your grasp as he stood up from the loveseat. He was about to draw his weapon but stopped when he saw it was Kylo. He ignored your stares as he walked away back to the doors. He couldn’t believe that he had gotten so distracted by you. A simple touch from you and he let his guard down.
Sandor and Kylo took turns when it came guarding you at night. You had told them that it’s outrageous to have someone standing guard at your door during the night but they simply told you that it’s their duty to protect you know matter what time of the day.
It had taken Sandor a week for you to finally convince him to come inside your room and take a seat on a chair so he could rest his legs. He had mentioned to you that he had injured his leg back home. It took a month for Kylo to finally come inside your room during the night and sit on the same chair as Sandor.
Kylo kept quiet while sitting near the fireplace. Kylo had to admit you were the nicest person he’s ever guarded. You always had a pitcher of water and a couple of books in the Latin language for him. He had mentioned to you once that he adores reading in Latin and the very next day you have gotten books for him. One night you couldn’t sleep, you tossed and turned in your bed. It was Kylo’s turn guarding you that night. He had seen that you were unable to sleep and had suggested reading to you in Latin. You knew nothing of the language, but hearing his soft, deep voice relaxed you. After a few minutes of him reading out loud to you, you were fast asleep
What you didn’t know was that as soon as you were asleep. Kylo and Sandor couldn’t help but look at you. They stood by the end of the bed. They envy the sheets and blankets that touched your body. Whenever it was Sandor’s turn he was too frightened to even touch you so he stared. He felt so unworthy to even touch you. He wanted to touch the hand that touched him. You had no problem grabbing onto him whenever he guarded you during the day. You don’t even ask permission to hold his hand or his arm. He felt like he needed permission from the Gods themselves to even touch you.
Kylo looks over at you when he hears soft snoring. He carefully gets up trying not to make a sound as he walks to your bed. He knew it was wrong to touch you while you were sleeping but he couldn’t help it. He enjoys the touch of your hair. It was soft to him, with shaky hands he touches your fingers as well. His lips tremble to kiss them. Kylo admits he’s a sinner, he’s always been one. He was always in the company of women to feel something. To feel whole but it never worked but being in your company was something else. Something pure and something out of love.
As the days became months and the months had become years it was two years since Kylo and Sandor became your guards. They knew their job was going to get harder when your father became ill. He was unfit to be king anymore and because of it, people in the realm started to second guess your father’s decision of choosing you as the heir to the throne.
It had happened so quickly when your father was bedridden when a lord from a house had spoken out.
“Let me remind you of this, Lord Peter of House Mancen.” Sandor watched as you stood up from your seat. He wanted to cut this man's head off for barging in and disrupting the council's meeting.
“Two years ago, the King of this realm had appointed me as the heir of the throne.” Kylo watched as you walked towards the man while you spoke.
“It is my duty, my birthright and my throne. Let this be known and tell anyone who has doubts. I will be queen, I will rule and I will defend my throne from anyone who is stupid enough to try and take it away from me.”
Lord Peter of House Mancen frowned as you walked back to your seat. Sandor and Kylo were quick to move when they saw the man reach for something.
“Stop.” You shouted. Kylo and Sandor froze as well as the Lord.
“This is your last and only warning, Lord Peter of House Mancen. Speak out of turn or betray me, I will end you. I will end your house and I will end your family. I will make your house disappear, I promise you that.”
“Shut the door on your way out.” You said when the Lord didn’t speak. He bowed at you and walked out, shutting the door behind him. The council continued and ended successfully. You didn’t notice how Sandor and Kylo looked proud at you from behind.
The proud look on their faces turned into pity when your father had passed in his sleep two days later. Sandor and Kylo had put their differences aside even though they worked together for two years now, they still had a few issues among themselves. They did it when you became depressed the first few days after your father’s death. Only your ladies-in-waiting entered in and out of your chambers. Sandor and Kylo couldn’t help but feel a bit sad at the fact you didn’t want to see them. They heard your cries and the voices of your ladies-in-waiting consoling you behind your chambers door.
A week after they were allowed to enter your chambers. It was the day of your coronation, they stood in awe as you stood in front of your mirror. You looked over your shoulder at them. You turned to face them and greeted them with a small smile.
“Forgive me, Sandor and Kylo. I haven’t been myself these few days. I was embarrassed of both of you seeing me in such a state.”
Kylo shook his head. “No need to be embarrassed. I..” Kylo stuttered for a moment and quieted down.
“Speak.” You said softly looking at him. Sandor eyed the brunette and knew what he was going to say. They had talked before entering your chambers.
“I know we are your guards but I would like for you to think of us as..” Kylo’s cheek grew red as he couldn’t finish his sentence. He couldn’t help himself. You looked so beautiful in front of them.
“Friends.” Sandor spoke, finishing Kylo’s sentence. Sandor felt the same way. “You can think of us as close friends, perhaps. If you like.”
They watched as your smile grew and walked closer to them. Without a word you grabbed one of their hands and gently gave them a squeeze.
“Yes, I would like that very much.” Looking up at them, you give them a smile. Before any of them can respond, you bring Kylo’s hand up to your lips, pressing a kiss on his knuckles. You did the same with Sandor’s hand.
Kylo and Sandor knew nothing more could happen between you and them. You were to be queen and they were just simply guards. No relationship can come from it but your kiss, a simple gesture made their hearts blossom for you. They were utterly in love with you.
The coronation was beautiful. They stood on either side at the bottom steps of the throne as they watched you walk down the aisle. You wore a white and red dress with a long cape trailing behind you. You walked with poise and your head held high as everyone stood by the sidelines. You were nervous, you were frightened that something would happen. You looked ahead at the two pairs of brown eyes and you felt confident. Kylo had told you that they made sure no one had a weapon with them. Sandor had his own men guarding each entrance of the grand hall.
You felt safe as you sat down on your throne and the crown was placed on your head. The people cheered with glee as you were announced the Queen. Kylo and Sandor walked up the steps and bow, taking their place behind you.
The sight of you sitting down with two large, virile men standing on either side of you looked like a painting. Their eyes were dark and narrowed as they stared at the crowd. Their silver armor they wore was polished, the red cape hung from their broad shoulders was a bright red, the color of the Queen’s guards.
A year has passed and many have come to terms that you were queen. Few had their doubts and it made you angry. You were honorable and merciful. You kept Kylo and Sandor as your personal guards. Since you became queen, they were the only people you trusted with your life. They were your only friends and your only true companion.
Kylo remained coquet. You often listen to your ladies-in-waiting gossiping about seeing Kylo with another lady. Part of you didn’t mind it, he was a guard, a friend nothing more but he would compliment you and make you feel like you were the only woman in the world. He made you blush and feel warm inside.
The feeling was the same with Sandor. You feel his gaze when he guards you. Unlike Kylo, Sandor was quieter and kept to himself. He talked only when spoken to. He tended to keep to himself but whenever bothered he had a vile tongue. Just when you thought you were making progress by breaking down Sandor’s wall to finally make him feel comfortable with you it would blow up in your face. A simple touch, he would draw back. If you got close to him, you saw how his lips were pressed together into a frown. Sandor had his good and bad days and Kylo knew that. He would bother Sandor when he noticed the older guard in a mood just for kicks.
They didn't get along, they were like cats and dogs and while Sandor kept to himself Kylo was more open with everyone. Sandor rolls his eyes every time Kylo would flirt whenever they passed by a woman. Somedays he would yell at Kylo to shut the fuck up. Kylo was too cocky and always had a smirk which Sandor hated.
“Are you done looking at her?” Kylo looked over his shoulder as Sandor stood guard by the door. He rolled his eyes at Sandor and went back to the same position as Sandor. His back to the door.
“Just making sure she’s alright.” Sandor scoffs at Kylo’s words.
“Trying to get a peek more like it, you ass.” Kylo clenched his jaw.
“Like you haven't tried it.” Kylo answered back, making Sandor turn to him with a frown.
“Don't try to deny it. I see how you look at her. You probably think about her whenever you're alone.”
“Fuck you.” Sandor snarled at him as he looked away from Kylo. Embarrassment washed over Sandor, he always made sure Kylo never saw him staring at you.
Kylo let out a chuckle. “It’s like you think you might have a chance with her. We are nobody compared to her.”
“Even if we were somebody, I doubt she will pick yo-” Sandor quickly pushed Kylo against the wall with his arm against Kylo’s throat. Kylo let out a gasp as Sandor pushed his arm harder against his neck. Kylo looked up at the man and Sandor gave him a scowl.
“Do you want to end up like your brother?” Sandor hissed, making Kylo glare at him at the mention of his deceased brother.
“Fuck you.” Kylo said with a hoarse voice. His face was about to turn red but Sandor let him go. Kylo coughed as he held his neck with his hands while looking at Sandor walking back to his post.
“If she had to pick it would be me-”
You were about to thank the seamstress as she took notes of your measures when you heard shouting. You quickly walked out of the room and looked down the hall to see your guards fighting each other. Their swords banged each other as they shouted. You looked between them as Kylo yells at him. Sandor was stronger though and got Kylo to fall on his back but Kylo was quicker and blocked Sandor’s steel that was aiming for his head.
“Enough.” You shouted as you walked towards them. They stopped at the sound of your voice. Their eyes widen at the angry sight of you and knelt down on one knee. You watched as both men looked down at the ground waiting for you.
“What happened?” You questioned them. They both were out of breath as they looked up. They didn't know what to say. Both were ashamed that you had to witness them. They were fighting like children over you.
“Such boys.” You said as you shook your head at them. They quickly rose up when you started to walk away from them.
“No.” You shouted when you looked over your shoulder to see them following you. You pointed a finger at them, “I discharged both of you tonight. I don't need boys to guard me. When you're done acting like one, come to my chambers.”
They watched as you turned around and walked away. Kylo let out a sigh and put his sword back to his scabbard, Sandor let out a tsk and looked away.
Kylo didn't want to end badly with Sandor. Kylo wanted to continue guarding you and servicing you. He wasn't going to let Sandor get in the way of that. Kylo wasn't stupid, he knew the older man had a crush on you. He knew it because he himself had one on you as well.
“I’m sorry.” Kylo said. Sandor remained silent as he looked at Kylo. He didn’t trust Kylo, he was waiting for Kylo to attack again since you were gone but he didn’t.
“Let me buy you a pint as an apology.” Sandor let out a sigh and nodded. He followed Kylo as they walked down the hall. He wasn’t going to say no to free ale.
The tavern outside the castle was filled that night. The serving girl quickly got Kylo and Sandor a table and a pitcher of a dark ale when she saw the sigil of royalty on their armor. Sandor sat across from Kylo as they shared a pitcher of ale.
“Sorry about bringing up your brother.” Sandor said after the first cup of ale. Kylo looked up from his own cup. He was surprised that Sandor spoke to him. He thought the night was going to be quiet.
“It’s fine.” Kylo said. Sandor watched as Kylo looked back down at his cup.
“You miss him?” Kylo nods at Sandor. “He was my best friend. We were twins. The day he died, a piece of me died with him.”
“Do you miss your brother?” Kylo asked. Sandor didn’t answer, he only shook his head no.
“How do you know about him?” Sandor asked as he looked around the tavern.
“I was there that day in the library.” Kylo said shyly, he looked at Sandor who was now glaring at him.
“Motherfuc-.”
“I’m sorry. I was walking in to relieve you when I heard you speaking to her.” Kylo said before Sandor could finish.
“If you tell anyone about this.” Kylo shook his head.
“I won’t but can I just say I do hope your brother dies. I can’t imagine ever hurting my brother like that.” Sandor took a gulp of his drink before answering.
“I hope he dies too.”
“You think he’ll follow you here?” Kylo asked.
“Why you asking so much fucking questions?!” Sandor growled at Kylo. Kylo tossed his hands up showing defeat and sighed.
“Just asking questions. Trying to get to know you better.” Kylo said, making Sandor roll his eyes.
“You talk to fucking much.” Sandor commented.
“Well if we are going to guard the Queen. We might as well try to get along. She was pretty upset when she saw fighting.”
Sandor was about to agree when he saw a young girl walking behind Kylo with a smile. She wore a dress too small that showed her curves and her cleavage was about to spill over the bodice she wore on top of the dress.
“Well, hello there.” The woman said as she placed a hand on Kylo’s shoulder.
“You look pretty lonely here. Want some company?” Sandor looked away as he poured more ale into his cup.
He was shocked when Kylo rejected the woman’s offer and told her he’s busy. Sandor looked at the young woman who had a surprised face, she couldn’t believe that he rejected her.
“She could have made you happy.” Sandor told him as they both looked over at the girl who was making her way towards another table.
“I don’t want her.” Kylo said, grabbing the pitcher from the table.
“The queen then?” Sandor asked.
“Yeah. Just like you, Clegane.” Sandor shook his head about to disagree.
“Fucking hell, I know you do because I heard the maids gossiping about you.” Sandor made a face as Kylo spoke.
“What did they say?”
Kylo grinned. “You haven’t fucked anyone since you started guarding her even before that when you came to the kingdom.”
“That has nothing to do with me wanting her.”
“Sandor! Men fuck. It’s what we do. We kill and we fuck. You want her or you just want cock, do tell me. There’s a stable boy who might be a fit for you.”
“I don’t like cock.” Sandor stated.
“You’re quite popular though. The maids at the castle want to see what you got hiding under that armor .” Sandor shook his head.
“You are popular. Even the Queen looks at you. I catch her plenty of times staring at you, especially when you’re fighting in tournaments. You with that helmet shaped like a wolf.”
“It’s a hound.” Sandor corrected him and continued on. “She watches you as well. When you’re riding or reading that damn book in Latin.”
“Guess she looks at both of us.” Kylo said.
It was about midnight when Kylo and Sandor decided to go back to the castle. Sandor had to admit Kylo was interesting. He wasn’t like anyone he met in King’s Landing. Kylo spoke more about his brother after the fourth pitcher of ale. He told Sandor how his twin brother fell in love with a lady from a house. A girl named Rey and Ben had gone to war for her. Kylo went with Ben since he always follows his brother no matter what. Ben died protecting Kylo during the war. At the end it was for nothing, Rey didn’t mourn for his brother. Not even a single tear was shed for his brother. Kylo told Sandor she got married with some lord the following days. Kylo has been alone since then doing all sorts of jobs to get him by. The ale got to Sandor too, the older man told Kylo about his fights in King’s Landing and how he used to guard a little bitch prince who was the product of incest. He wouldn’t forget the sight of Kylo’s face when he told him that the Queen was fucking her twin brother. They both talked among themselves as they made it to the castle.
“We should apologize.” Kylo said standing outside of your chambers.
“Aye.” Sandor answered before knocking on the door.
They heard you grant permission to enter. Sandor was the first to enter, he felt Kylo walk beside him. Both stood still as they saw you sitting in front of your vanity. You wore your night clothes, a dark red robe over your pink nightgown. You kept staring at yourself at the mirror as you brushed your hair.
“My queen.” Kylo said after clearing his throat. “If this is a bad time, we will come back tomorrow.”
“No.” You said putting the hairbrush down and looking at them through the mirror. You turned around and rose up from your chair.
“You're done being childish?” You asked them.
“Aye, we're sorry, your grace.” Sandor told you as you walked towards them. You crossed your arms over your chest.
“Why were you fighting?” You asked them as you looked between them.
When they didn’t respond quick enough you spoke again. “Are you both not happy with me?” Their eyes widened at your words. Guilt filled their hearts at the thought of you thinking they weren’t content with you.
“Haven't I been kind? Not generous enough?” You asked knowing damn well that can’t be the reason. They get paid well for guarding you.
“I let you fuck with whoever you want and not say a word.” You told Kylo who’s face paled.
“Do you know the embarrassment I go through when someone tells me that my guard has been seen half naked coming out of the servants quarters?”
You looked at Sandor. “I kept my promise to you about not speaking about your past. I had lied to my father for you before he passed away. The council will have my head if they found out the reason why you left Westeros. My throne would be in jeopardy for keeping a secret like that.”
Sandor dropped his head. You looked at them both with a pained expression. “The servants have heard and seen your little fight. It spread like wildfire through the castle. They think I'm incapable of handling both of you.”
You walked away from them as you shook your head. “They look for ways to find anything wrong with me so they can take my throne.
“Tell me at once. Why were you both fighting?” You shouted. “If you don't then leave and never come back.”
“We want you.” Sandor's mouth dropped at Kylo’s confession. He looked to the right to see Kylo staring at you.
“What?” You questioned looking at both of them.
“He’s right.” Sandor added, perhaps it was the ale running though his system but he knew they had to tell you the truth. It was the only way for them to continue to stay with you.
“You have me already. I don't understand.” Kylo shook his head at you.
“Not that way, your grace. We want you, all of you. We want to be with you.” Kylo told you.
“More than guards.” Sandor said, walking towards you. Sandor has never felt this way before towards a woman. You gave him sympathy, you treated him as a human something he's never experienced before. In some way it frightens him but if you were to reject him then he would leave, if you command it.
“I want you.” Sandor’s words came out in a whisper when he looked at you.
“Both of you do?”
“Yes.” Kylo answered you, he followed Sandor’s steps towards you.
“It was because of me you were fighting, then.” you walked closer to them. You smell the ale on them, they were awestruck when you grabbed their hands with your own. With Kylo, you grabbed his hand with your left hand and you grabbed Sandor with your right hand.
“Both of you smell like you have drunk the entire tavern. How do I know your words are true?” You asked them.
“The ale is helping with our confidence.” Kylo admits giving your hand a squeeze.
You took a deep breath as you looked at them. “Why do you think I have not accepted any proposal?” You asked them.
Sandor and Kylo looked at each other for a second before looking back at you. This was very true, the years they have been with you. You’ve rejected all the many proposals you received.
“I had hoped that one of you would step forward and claim me as theirs but now I have two.” You dropped their hands softly before backing away. Each of them looked disappointed. They can see you were deep in thought. You looked around your chambers then at them.
“If this happens. No fighting between both of you.” Sandor lets out a sigh of relief when you speak.
“This must be between us.” Sandor nodded.
“And I don’t share.” You said looking at Kylo. “Both of you would be mine and mine alone.”
You stared at Kylo wondering if he knew what you meant. You don’t think you have the stomach to see Kylo with another woman but what you are asking of him felt a bit selfish. You’re asking him to just be with you and only you.
A smile appears on Kylo’s handsome face. “I’m yours. Only yours.” He tells you.
Your smile matches his and you held yourself back because at that moment all you wanted to do was kiss him. You look over at Sandor. His face is stone cold, he has no expression on his face. You couldn’t read him.
“Sandor.” You whispered his name, hoping to find the answer you wanted. You wanted him to say yes, you wanted him to hold you and kiss you. You wanted those large hands on you, you wanted those lips and Kylo’s lips over your body.
“I’m yours. Only yours.” He said it with a sultry tone.
Your feet had a mind of their own, you walked towards them. You went to the closest to you, Kylo. His eyes were dripping with desire as you got close to him. Shaky hands make their way to his neck, he leans down to kiss you.
Sandor watches as Kylo cups your face as he kisses you. You pulled away, leaning your forehead against his. “I’m yours.” You whispered against his lips.
You pull away from Kylo and walk toward Sandor. You can’t help but smile at him as you step in front of him. His armor was cool under your touch as you went on your tiptoe to kiss him. Just as Kylo, Sandor leans down to kiss you. He copies Kylo’s move and cups your cheek. He doesn’t want to stop, how can he? He was just kissed by an angel. He feels your hands on his neck now, fingertips touching the ends of his hairs.
“Only yours.” You tell Sandor. You were caught by surprise when Sandor kissed you again. The kiss was soft and so desperate to taste you, you melted under his touch. You feel his hand on your waist, as he pulls away to kiss your neck. You gasped when you felt Kylo behind you kissing your shoulders.
“Before anything happens, the guard down the hall. Discharge him and come back.” You tell them, walking away from them. You dropped the robe as you looked over your shoulder at them while untying your nightgown.
“Hurry. Don't keep me waiting long.” You said before walking to your bed.
Sandor looks over at Kylo who was smirking as he stared at you.
“We lay with her?” Sandor asked as Kylo signaled him to join him to discharge the guard.
“No shit, I mean if you want to watch. That’s fine by me.” Kylo answered him while opening the door.
“I-I never laid with..” Kylo comes to a halt and stares up at him.
“You’re a virgin?!” Kylo’s eyes widened and Sandor rolled his eyes at him.
“Of course, not. I fucked back home. I just never fucked a woman with a man in the same bed.” Sandor wants to punch Kylo in the face when he starts to laugh.
“It’s not bad.” Kylo told him. “I’m not into men.” Sandor said and Kylo raised his brows at him.
“Me too but we both want her and by some miracle she wants us just as much as we want her.” Kylo said as he walked down the hall. Sandor followed him and waited for Kylo to speak with the guard.
“Look, let’s not fuck this up. You stay on one side and I’ll stay on the other side. If you happen to touch my dick then so be it, it’s not going to fall off.” Sandor's cheeks turn pink by Kylo’s word.
“I’m also hoping you won’t kill me if I accidentally touch you.” Kylo said as they watched the guard walk away.
“I just might depending where you touch.” Sandor said and Kylo shrugs shoulders.
“Do it after we do the deed.” Kylo said and they both walked back to you.
Sandor shuts the door behind him after Kylo walks in. Kylo looks over his shoulder at Sandor with a smirk, dark eyes shining with excitement. This is what they wanted, this is what they have been craving for so long and now you are here, ready to be devoured and pleased by them. Sandor unhooks Kylo’s cloak as he turns for the younger guard to do that same with his.
In sync, they took off their armor and weapons quickly and dropped it on the floor as they noticed candle lights appear further in the room. You were waiting for them.
Kylo glances over at Sandor when he is done removing his armor. He notices Sandor breathing heavily almost like he was afraid.
“Clegane.” Kylo whispers. Sandor looks down at him.
“Let’s get our girl.” Sandor nods before walking towards your bed, they notice the nightgown on the floor.
Kylo pulls the curtain showing your bed, you’re sitting in the middle of the bed with your back to the headboard. They noticed you were naked with only the sheets covering your chest. Kylo removes his black tunic shirt and he sees your eyes glue to his chest. Kylo’s chest is toned, his abs are defined and you can see scars on his body from his battles. Sandor does the same and you bite your bottom lip when you see Sandor’s chest. His chest is covered with dark coarse hairs. It went all the way down to his stomach.
Kylo notices how your eyes are drawn towards Sandor and he can’t help but feel a bit jealous of the older man.
“I have never done this before. Never with one man but now I have two. Be patient with me, I beg.” You tell them.
Kylo smiles and walks towards the bed. “You’re in luck, my queen. I happen to be a wonderful teacher.” You smile at Kylo as he sits down on the edge of bed.
“Perhaps my assistant would like to start you off.” Kylo said, looking over at Sandor.
Sandor licks his lips before walking to the bed and sits next to you. His eyes widen when you get close to him, the sheet drops from your chest.
“Fuck.” Sandor whispered as he got close to you.
You look at Kylo who smirks at your shyness. “Go on. Show our queen how a Westerosi kiss their woman.”
Sandor was glad Kylo urged him to make the move. It wasn’t the gods that gave him permission, but it will do. Sandor leans down to kiss your lips as you lean towards him. You moan when you feel his hands on your body. Kylo watched as Sandor held you in his arms as he kissed you. His hands ran up and down your back before settling on your hips. Kylo stands to remove his boots and trousers when Sandor gently pushes you down on the bed and gets between your legs.
You’re moaning as you raise your arms to wrap them around his neck. Kylo watches as Sandor pushes your legs open so he can get between them.
“You’re perfect.” Sandor says as he pulls away and looks down at your body. He cups one of your breasts and leans down to lick your nipple. You squeal when you feel his beard tickle your skin.
“Oh my- oh!” You moan when you feel Sandor suck on your nipples, throwing your head back. Your eyes shoot open when you feel him start to kiss your rib cage, all the way down to your stomach.
To your surprise you see Kylo ahead of you. He’s staring at Sandor and you. You bring a hand to your mouth when you see him jerking himself off. Kylo licked his lips at you when he noticed you’re staring at him pumping himself. You look down when you feel Sandor touch your cunt.
The bed dips down and you feel Kylo over you, his face comes from above. His dark curls frame his face, his eyes glistening with lust.
“He’s going to eat your cunt. He’s getting it ready for us.” Kylo says peeking at Sandor who was looking at him between your legs.
Kylo kisses your lips while Sandor kisses the lips between your legs, Kylo drinks your moans as Sandor slips his tongue into you. Kylo nips your chin as he cups your breast pinching your nipple, looking at you for your reaction.
“Lick them, please.” He obeys without a single thought.
Sandor looks up at you to see Kylo next to you, kissing you while he eats your cunt. He grows hard as he watches Kylo lick your nipples, his pink tongue swirling around the hard nipple.
“Wait-t-t. Please.” You cry out to Sandor who's feasting your cunt.
“You're going to cum, my queen. It’s okay.” Kylo whispered against your forehead before kissing it. He watches you as you arch your back, he continues to play with your nipples. He grins to himself when he hears your moaning as you tremble while coming undone.
Kylo catches his stare and raises a brow. “How does she taste, Clegane?”
“Heavenly.” Sandor said hoarsely as he licked his lips, making Kylo laugh. He looks down at you to move your hair out of your face.
“Did you hear?” He asked you. You nod while blushing. “You feel good?” You nod once more.
“I'll be back soon, I must have a taste for myself.” Kylo said, leaning down to kiss you on the lips. Kylo quickly gets off the bed and kneels next to Sandor.
“Both of you?” You asked as you spread your legs wider. “Is that what you want?” Kylo asked.
Sandor saw how your eyes widened and a blush appeared across your cheeks. You give them a nod.
Kylo winks at Sandor and kisses your inner thigh, Sandor notices your reaction and he copies it, kissing the right side of your inner thigh.
“Fuckk.” Kylo moans when he makes it to your cunt, kisses it softly, kissing your slick cunt, Sandor has done a number on you. He licks up and down your slit a few times as he touches himself. He looks at Sandor who's staring at him.
Sandor tense up when Kylo grabs one of his hands. “Give me your hand.” Sandor leans closer to him as Kylo uses the older guard fingers. He hushes you when you whimper when he softly slips Sandor’s finger into you.
“Yes, move it.” Kylo tells Sandor as he makes room for him to keep fingering you. Kylo licks your clit, kisses it, sucks on it as Sandor pumps his finger into you.
“Shit.” Kylo moans when he has a taste of your cunt. Sandor was right.
Kylo pulls Sandor’s finger and tells him to stick it in your mouth. “Give her a taste of her heavenly cunt.”
You open your mouth wide when Sandor laid next to you. He watched in surprise how you acted. You sucked his fingers, moaning at the taste of your slick on his thick digits.
“Sandor.” You whispered with a mouth filled with his fingers.
He pulls away to kiss you sweetly and gentle. He wants your first time to be good. He bumps his nose with yours and looks at Kylo.
“Look at him.” Sandor whispers in your ear as you whine in pleasure when Kylo puts your legs on his shoulders.
“It’s happening again.” You cry out as you grind yourself on Kylo’s face, his nose is pressing against your clit.
“That’s it.” Sandor tells you. “Cum all over his face.”
Sandor saw you looking between him and Kylo, when you reached your hand for Sandor’s face. He pressed his lips against yours as you came.
Sandor kissed your cheek, pressing chaste kisses on your face as you breathed heavily. You had thrown your head back trying to catch your breath. Sandor watches your body tremble, he just thinks to himself what a beautiful body you have. All these years you have been hiding this body under your gowns, your skin is glowing, covered in saliva and love bites that are already bruising on your body.
Kylo chuckles as he gently pushes your leg off his shoulder, and crawls on top of you. Sandor looks at him as he smiles wide down at you. His face is glistening as he licks his lips.
“Does it always feel good?” You asked as Kylo laid next to you. You look between them.
“Only when we are doing it.” Sandor answers you as he brings his hand up to touch your body. Kylo smirks at him and nods when you turn to look at them.
“He’s absolutely right. Just us. Only us. Sandor and me.” Kylo touches your inner thighs as Sandor touches your hips.
“Aren’t I fortunate, then.” You said after a few seconds. Their hands never left yours, their dark eyes remained on you.
“I would like to return the favor.” They saw you blushing as you glanced between them, glancing between their legs. Kylo looked over at Sandor, the older guard’s face was pink by your words.
Kylo wanted to roll his eyes at him but he remembered. This is Sandor's first time sharing a woman in bed. Kylo can see Sandor was the type to be territorial. Kylo had shared women with men like that. Kylo has decided he will make this enjoyable for them and for you. He wanted Sandor and you to have a good experience, if both of you did. This wasn't going to be a one time thing.
“My queen, what do you know about sucking cock?” Kylo asked.
“I heard of it from the servants.” You admitted shyly making him grin at you as he squeezed your inner thigh gently.
“Do you hear this, Sandor?” Kylo said with wide eyes as he gave a smile at the older guard.
Sandor nods looking down at you, his rough hands still rubbing your body. “Maybe next time.”
Kylo was happy Sandor was taking a stand, he was wondering if Sandor would just follow whatever he said. “I want to make you feel good as well.”
Kylo watched as Sandor gently cupped your face. “You shall. Tonight it’s about you. Alright?”
Kylo nods at him then at you. “We will have more time for that. Let your strong and trustworthy guards learn their way of their queen’s body tonight.” He tells you as his hand roamed down, over your mound. His fingertips found your clit, he hums when he feels you clenching around him when he slips a finger in.
“Such a greedy cunt.” Kylo tells Sandor as he pulls his finger out and grabs a hold of Sandor’s wrist. Kylo wants him to be comfortable around his touch. Sandor tensed when he felt Kylo’s grab a hold of his wrist. Fingers were wet with your slick, he let Kylo take his arm between your legs. He glanced under you and you were staring down at their joint hands. You were joying this just as much as they were.
“So wet.” Kylo mumbled when he bought Sandor’s hand about your clit as he slipped his fingers inside again.
“Help me.” Kylo said to Sandor as he rubbed your clit again. You began to moan when Kylo thrusted his fingers into you as Sandor worked on your clit.
They had you trembling after your third orgasm. They sucked their own fingers after you came. You felt like mush, you didn't hear them talking to one another. Glancing at them, they were close, Kylo spoke to Sandor in his ear. You moved your hands to grab their attention.
“I like you both like this. Not fighting one another.” You told them and they looked at each other.
“No more fighting.” Kylo said as he lay down next to you on his side while Sandor sat, facing ahead.
Kylo kissed you before you could speak. “Are you up for having sex?” Kylo asked you. He kissed your cheek waiting for your response as Sandor remained still.
“I want it. Both of you.” Kylo calls Sandor’s name as he kisses your neck. “Good.”
“Sandor and I decided. Sandor should go first.” Kylo notices how nervous Sandor and you were.
“Sandor can't help himself.” Kylo whispers. “Such a pretty queen with a greedy cunt. Such a greedy cunt wanting to be filled.”
You blushed by Kylo’s words. “Call for him.” Kylo added, looking over at Sandor who still sat.
“Sandor.” You said his name as Kylo kissed your neck. “Please.” Kylo encouraged you to say more.
“Sandor, please fuck me. I want you. I wanted you for years.” Sandor looks over his shoulder at you. He glances at Kylo who kept nodding at him, telling him to go on.
Kylo parts your legs wider and looks up at Sandor. “It’s rude to have your queen waiting, Clegane.”
“Please.” You begged and Sandor was quick to act, removing his trousers along with his boots. The bed dipped under you when Sandor leaned over you. Kylo pushes your leg up to drape it over Sandor’s thick legs. Your eyes remained at Sandor’s cock. His cock intimidated you, it’s thick and veiny. You feel it against you, it's warm and heavy.
“All of that goes in?” You asked looking up at Sandor who kept rubbing your outer thighs. Kylo laughs making you blush as Sandor rubs your abused clit.
“Indeed.” Kylo answers and you notice his hands, he was touching himself. His cock was much longer and a bit thinner than Sandor. You can see his heavy set balls while Sandor’s dark pubic hid his.
“Can I touch it?” Sandor nods at you and brings your hand onto his cock. Your legs tighten around him as you touch it. You barely could wrap around it. Sandor moans and you quickly let go.
“Did I hurt you?” Kylo giggles and you look over at him.
“Not hurting, pleasuring.” Kylo said, moving your hand back to Sandor’s cock.
Kylo mumbled against your ears, telling you to jerk Sandor’s cock faster. You grew happy when Kylo praised you, he kept telling you that you're doing such a good job touching Sandor.
“Fuck.” Sandor was quick to remove your hand and he leaned down to kiss you.
Kylo stares at how Sandor kisses you, the way you let out a small moan when he grabs your face. Kylo touches his cocks, pumping himself when Sandor pulls away with a grunt as he latches on one of your nipples. Kylo hears you giving permission to Sandor to enter you. Kylo grins himself when Sandor looks over at him and sees him touching himself. Kylo winks at him and Sandor looks down at you.
Kylo doesn’t think he has ever been this hard before, the tip of his cock is leaking and balls are heavy when he sees Sandor thrusting into you. Sandor hides against your neck as he pumps into you. The sight of your face and the sounds you were making him. The sounds of Sandor grunting made him blush.
Kylo notices you looking over at him and he can't help but kiss your lips.
“How does she feel?” Sandor moans when he brings his face away from your neck. He doesn't stop thrusting when he looks at Kylo. Sandor grabs the sheets under you, twisting in a tight fist.
“So, good.” You clench around at his words, your hands touch his chest, running your fingers through his chest hair as he rams into you.
“Oh my, your grace.” Kylo says as Sandor pushes your legs towards your chest. Both men are looking at your cunt being spread open by Sandor’s cock.
Kylo can see Sandor’s cock going in and out of you. You’re crying out in pleasure, Kylo is holding your legs open while Sandor’s keeps fucking you.
“It’s happening again.” You whine looking at them. Kylo’s hand slides its way to your clit, Sandor doesn’t stop, he loves it too much. The way your tight cunt wraps around him, so hot and warm. He groans when he feels you clench around him harder when Kylo begins to rub your throbbing clit.
“Cum on his cock. Cum on Sandor’s cock.” Kylo whispers to you making you cry out when he gently slaps your clit.
Sandor curses loudly when he feels you cumming on his dick. He’s about to blow and slides himself off to jerk himself.
“I want it.” You cry out. Kylo watches Sandor moan loudly when he cums. He shoots his load on your belly.
“Fuck.” Sandor said hoarsely. He watches your fingers scoop his cum from your stomach and bring it up to your lips. He saw Kylo whispering to you, this had to be his idea of you tasting his cum.
Sandor thinks Kylo’s some sex fairy for a second but he was glad that you didn’t mind sharing your bed with two men.
“Sandor.” You call his name with a heave. Sandor notices you open your arms for him and he leans down. He flinches when you cup his burnt cheek, your eyes wide with admiration.
“Thank you.” You told him before kissing him on the lips. He welcomes your lips, kissing you as well.
Kylo gulped when he saw you kissing Sandor, his cock is so painfully hard, it’s throbbing and his balls are aching. He spits in his hand before continuing to jerk himself. He notices Sandor pulling away to kiss your neck. Dark eyes look at Kylo, Sandor licks his lips before looking down at you.
“It’s time for him.” Sandor brushes the strands of hairs off your face.
“He’s going to love this cunt just as much as I did.” You smile up at Sandor and look over at Kylo. Sandor rolls off of you and lays down on the other side. He looks up at the ceiling trying to catch his breath.
He hears your giggling when Kylo crawls over to you. The bed dips and Sandor hears Kylo’s praises. Sandor never watched someone having sex before, he never shared any one. Never been in a relationship before, it’s all new for him but he doesn’t want to give it up. He was nervous when Kylo told him to take you first. He was waiting for Kylo to take advantage of his inexperience but he didn’t. Kylo had told him to take you, make love to you and make you feel good.
“You’re so beautiful.” Kylo moans and Sandor hears him thrusting into you. His cheeks blushes when he hears you. The sound of Kylo’s balls slapping against your ass sounded like music to him.
He looks over and his cock twitches at the lubricious sight in front of him. Kylo caged your head with his arms as he kissed you while thrusting into you. Legs wrapped around his waist. Kylo grunts into you as you drag your nails down his back.
“I’m going to move you.” You nod at him and Sandor bites his lips when Kylo turns you around carefully. Kylo held you for a second as he kissed you, kissing your cheeks and forehead as he pushed you down.
“Just like that.” He moans at the sight of you, down on your hands and knees with your ass in the air.
You look at Sandor and smile at him.
“Is this ok?” You ask them. Kylo says yes and you wait for Sandor’s response.
“Yes, just like that.” Sandor says as he grabs your hand and brings it up to his lips, kissing your knuckles at the same time Kylo slides into you. You hold Sandor’s hand as Kylo begins to thrust.
The bed creaks and you cry out for god.
“There’s no god in here, my queen.” Sandor says, making Kylo laugh.
“Just us.” Kylo adds. Sandor chuckles at him as you begin to push yourself back on his cock making Kylo moan.
“You’re right.” Kylo moans and looks at Sandor.
“So..good. So fucking good.” Kylo grunts as he slams himself all the way to the hilt. His hands hold to your hips, he leans over you making sure you are okay. Sandor slides a bit closer to you, he notices your furrow brows, your eyes clenched shut and your whines grew loudly.
“Cum.” Sandor said as he reaches under, his hand goes over your belly and your mound. He knew you were close especially when you moaned. Sandor touches your clit, he moans deeply when he touches your cunt, so wet with your slick.
“Yes.” Kylo shouts, feeling you clench around him when Sandor rubs you.
Kylo holds himself until he feels you cumming, he won’t stop until you cum on his cock. He feels his heart beating out of his chest, his ears buzzing every time you moan. You sounded better than he imagined.
“Make her cum, Ren.” Sandor encouraged him as he pressed down your clit making you scream.
“Yes. Yes.” Kylo repeats like a mad man as his thrusts become harder hitting your sweet spot over and over again.
Kylo thinks he had died and the gods had blessed him. There was no other pleasure in life now, he told himself when you came on his cock. Sandor pulls away and Kylo cries out when he pulls out of you and finishes himself off. Jerking himself with your slick, he aims on your bare back as you drop down completely on the bed from exhaustion.
Kylo’s stomach tense up and he throws his head back when he spurts cum over your back.
“Fuck.” He’s winded as he lays down next to you on the other side.
Sandor sees you trembling. You open your eyes when you feel Sandor grab a hold of your hand. You give him a small smile before inhaling deeply.
“I didn’t know people could experience this.” You told them softly. You feel Kylo lean over you kissing your shoulder.
“I see why you do it so much.” You turn your face to look at Kylo.
Kylo looks at you seriously as he tries to catch his breath.
“Now, I’m only going to do it with you. I’m yours and only yours.” Kylo repeats the exact same words the three of you said before.
“I’m yours and only yours.” You said it back and it made him smile. He leans close to your face, giving a peck on your lips.
You turn to face Sandor who was staring at both of you. “I’m yours and only yours.”
Sandor looks at you then at Kylo.
Kylo gives him a nod, almost like telling him yes, this can work. It won’t be perfect but it can work between them.
“I’m yours and only yours.” Sandor finally said. Your smile grew and you made him lean over you to kiss him as well.
They helped you clean yourself when they noticed you were drifting off to sleep. They were going to leave to their own room after setting you into bed. They didn’t want to push even more, even though they knew they could still keep going.
“Stay.” You told them as you went to the middle of the bed. Sandor lays on your right while Kylo lays on your left. You slept on Sandor’s chest as Kylo spooned you from behind. Kylo and Sandor slept that night in your bed as well the following night and the night after that.
Years passed and the relationship had flourished well between Sandor, Kylo and you. Some days were good and others were bad, having two hard headed knights who were in love with you, their queen was no easy task and yes, there were consequences when they fought with each other. Like Sandor and Kylo kneeling in front of you naked, their faces inches away from your wet cunt. They have to share and act like good boys for them to be forgiven. Of course, they were good boys, they shared you with your leg over on each of their broad shoulders. They would eat you out until your legs shook and their faces were soak with your slick.
A/n: Can't get this scene out of my mind.
I can imagine one night the three are in bed and it’s the middle of winter. It’s the harshest winter that the kingdom has ever endured. Everyone is cold af and Sandor being the bear he is, is keeping you warm while Kylo is much leaner, he’s freezing his ass off no matter how many fur blankets he has on.
So when Sandor hears you say to Kylo that he should sleep on Sandor’s side to keep warm a mini fight breaks out. Sandor does not want Kylo to touch him in his sleep. You threatened them, that you were going to sleep in front of the fireplace without them and they quickly shut up.
“Fuck, get over here so I can sleep.” Sandor snaps at Kylo.
“Put your arm around him.” Sandor holds his tongue at you and obeys.
“This is nice.” Kylo said, wiggling his eyebrows at you making you giggle as he and you laid your head on Sandor’s chest.
“Stay still.” Sandor said with a huff as Kylo pulled the blankets up. Everyone went to sleep after that, all nice and toasty thanks to Sandor.
#sandor clegane#sandor clegane x reader#kylo ren x reader#kylo ren#kylo ren imagine#sandor clegane imagine#game of thrones#the last duel#sandor clegane au#kylo ren au#throuple#rory mccann#adam driver
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Sandor Clegane*Brat
Pairing: sandor x f!princess!reader
Kinktober Day twenty-three: brat taming with Sandor Clegane – after growing sick of a princess’s bratty attitude Sandor decides to teach her how to behave
Word count: 2147
Warnings: brat taming, secret relationship, teasing, reader being a brat, jamie slut shaming, fingering, p in v sex, rough sex, spanking, degrading, swearing, smut 18+
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Your footsteps were somehow both silent and quicker than his horses, something Sandor loathed as he chased about after you. being your personal guard was apparently an honour however the past two years of this honour made him consider if locking princesses in a tower was still socially acceptable.
While sure you had your moments of being tolerable, sometimes even pleasant, to the giant they called your guard dog, right now was not one of them. Usually, he appreciated your sarcastic remarks to your younger brother Joffrey, agreeing with most of your snippy quips, however today it had led to a fight between you both.
This then led to you storming around the castle, with Sandor falling behind, then to a fight with your mother which Sandor had to listen to through a door despite being absolutely starving, then when he could finally go and eat you decided to go on a walk through the forest unannounced and he had to track you down and bring you back.
“Try not to get lost again princess,” Sandor said through gritted teeth, trying not to let his stomach grumble.
You rolled your eyes as you sat on your love seat in front of the fire. “I was never lost. You just couldn’t find me,”
Sandor rolled his eyes as he went to leave however Jamie fucking Lannister decided to stop him. “The queens requested for you to stay in this room and guard the princess,”
“What about my fucking break?” Sandor spat back, not having the same gentle voice as your uncle.
“Well, it will have to wait. There are Dornish ambassadors riding into court and we cannot risk her getting…lost again,” Jamie said, and you couldn’t help stifling a laugh making Sandor want to fling you out of a window. Jamie leaned in closer, whispering to Sandor and getting his slimy breath all over him, “Prince Oberyn is coming, and we cannot risk her sullying her reputation,” he said however only Sandor was able to hear him.
“But me staying in her room all night is fine?”
Jamie looked the hound up and down before putting on his most cunty smile, “Don’t worry. I don’t think anyone will question your activities. Goodnight Clegane, best behaviour princess,” Jamie called to you before leaving, the door slamming behind him.
Sandor Groaned as he began to strip off his cloak. Like fuck was he gonna be kitted up all night in this. “What did he whisper?” you asked, reaching over to grab a grape. Sandor couldn’t tell if the way you popped it in his mouth made him more hungry, horny, or fucking angry.
“Prince Oberyn is coming to court,” Sandor said as he tossed his cloak on a chair, “So I’ve to guard you all night so you don’t go falling in his bed,”
Most women would gasp or swoon or deny the accusation, but you just barked out a laugh. It was another one of your few redeeming qualities in Sandors eyes. “How much of a whore does he think I am?” you joked, picking up your wine. Sandor stomped over to the table, snatching the wine from your grip before plopping down in a chair. “Hey!”
“Hay is for horses,” he grumbled, gulping down the wine, “You’ve been a fucking brat all day, the least you owe me is a drink,”
“My, my, swearing in front of a lady, a princess no less,” you tsked at him as Sandor began to unbuckle his armour, “Not very honourable of you ser,”
“I’m no ser,” he said, discarding the battered metal as he reached for the next piece, “And besides I’ve done far less honourable things to you than curse in front of you,” this was of course his favourite quality in his princess. Even when you annoyed him to his core you were still the best fuck he’s ever had. “Fuck you’ve said worse things than I have,”
“Like what?”
“You know what,” he chuckled, beginning to undo his breast plate which would leave him in just a shirt and trousers. “You and that dirty mouth of yours,” he said, thinking back to all the thoughts and whimpers you’d moaned in his ear.
He did his best not to meet your eyes as they travelled down his frame, “Watcha gonna do about it?” however sent a spark down his spine. Prince Oberyn was not the one they should be worried about sullying your reputation.
Sandor dropped the metal breast plate, ignoring the clatter in made as it hit the floor as he moved to stand in front of you. his hand gripped your jaw, easily holding your whole face as he made you look him in the eye, “Don’t test me princess. You’re already on thin fucking ice,”
“Why would I want to be on ice when I could be on your…” you said, eyes trailing down his frame with a fiery spark.
He growled as his lips smashed into yours for a brief kiss that knocked the air out of your lungs. He broke the kiss, pushing your frame back into the love seat making you gasp. Within seconds his boots were off, and his arm was around your waist, hosting you over his shoulder making you squeal. Your back hit the soft bed as you desperately tried to sit up, but he was already on top of you.
“How expensive is this dress?” he asked, his fingers trailing the neckline.
“Your annual salary,” you replied and gasped when a tear ripped through the air, “Sandor!” you gasped as the cold air washed over your bare chest, your nipples perking at the feeling.
He’d ripped it just enough to be able to pull it off your body without having to hassle with any ties or laces, “Please as if you wont just pout and get a new one,” he scoffed.
“I don’t pout!” you objected, now feeling more exposed under his hungry eyes.
Sandor laughed, his eyes moving from your tits back to your face, “All you do is pout princess. All fucking day,” he said, his hand cupping your jaw as his thumb tracked over your pouted lip, “And all day I’ve been having to look at these fucking lips,” he said, his thumb prying open your mouth so he could stick his thumb inside, pressing down on your tongue, “and think about how much better they’d look around my cock,”
His words sent a shiver down your spine that didn’t go unnoticed by Sandor. “Is someone excited?” he asked, his hand gripping your thigh before slipping between them. His fingers trailed up your slit and you felt his chest rumble as he chuckled, “So wet for me already,” he said, his smile dropping for a moment, “Suck,” he commanded.
Instantly you complied, sucking on his thumb and trying not to whine as he rubbed slow circles on your clit, “Good girl,” his head dipped, moving to kiss along your collar bones as his thumb slipped from your mouth. He rubbed the spit over your bottom lip before his hand moved to tilt your jaw up, giving him space to kiss softly up your neck.
You bit your lip, slight whimper escaping as he worked on your bundle of nerves. When his fingers slipped away you whined but gasped when you felt him push two in, “Cmon don’t act like you cant take it,” he chastised, nipping at your skin enough to make you gasp but never to leave a mark, “I’ve seen you take far bigger,” he said, grinding his bulge against your leg to emphasis what was to come.
His fingers began to curl slowly inside as his thumb rested over your clit. When you whined again, this time louder and enough to make his cock twitch in his trousers, he moved his other mouth to clamp over your mouth, “Quiet,” he grumbled, curling his fingers deeper making you moan against his hand, “You know the rules princess,”
You nodded, meeting his eyes for a moment before they shut as his fingers began to brush against a familiar spot. You could feel your peak soon arriving but when you felt him pull his fingers out not even his hand could fully cover the loud whine you made. “Gods you really are a desperate thing,” he chastised, his hands moving to squeeze your hips tightly.
Before you could protest, he’d flipped you on your stomach, hand coming down on your ass leaving a stinging slap. “Hey!” you whined only to be met with another slap.
“Behave,” he chastised, keeping one hand on your ass, fondling it as the other moved to push down his breeches, “Maybe if you behave I’ll let you finish around my cock,” he said, gripping it with one hand and with the other forcing you onto your knees, ass presented perfectly for him, “Bet you’d like that wouldn’t you? me fucking you silly like some whore,” he said, running his tip up and down your wet cunt making you whine.
Instead of responding you grabbed a pillow, moving to lay your face in it when Sandor suddenly grabbed your hair, “I asked you a fucking question,” he growled, his tip pushing in slightly as your back arched.
“Yes,” you stuttered out.
“Yes what?” he asked, pulling your hair tighter, pushing slightly further in.
“Yes, I want your cock please I need it,” you whined, your hips trying to move further back onto to be stopped by Sandor, “Please I’ll be good,”
Sandor let go of your hair, your body lurching forward as you fell back into the pillow, “Wonder when I’ve heard that before,” he grunted, his hands moving to squeeze the soft flesh of your ass refusing to push his tip any further in.
“I promise,” you whined, gripping at the pillow, “I’ll behave I promise I-fuck,” you whined as you felt his cock sink further in.
Sandor hissed as he felt your cunt squeeze around him as he pushed his way in till he felt himself fully inside. He left one more slap to your ass, smirking at the way you bit the pillow instead of protesting at the stinging slap, before he started to set a steady pace.
His thrusts were slow and precise at first, making your whole-body lurch forward as he fucked you and your fingers tightened in the sheets. He could hear the stifled whines you let out and reached forward to grab your hair once more, this time gentler as he turned your head till the pillow muffled your mouth. Before you could question him, you moaned into the fabric as his pace began to quicken.
His slow thrusts had turned into heavy pounds that shook your body and made a knot grow in your stomach. His spare hand moved to squeeze your hip one more time before slipping forward to rub fast circles onto your clit. His grunts and groans were like music to your ears as your legs began to quake but falling was not an option.
Sandor cursed at the way your cunt squeezed around his cock, sucking in breath as he screwed his eyes shut. Despite how hard it was for him not to finish right there he had a job to do. He bit his lip, opening his eyes to appreciate the sight beneath him.
He could hear your muffled moans through the pillow and felt the way your body jerked and squeezed around him. “Aw is my little princess gonna cum?” he teased, his thrusts growing harder, “does she deserve to cum around my cock?” he asked but your response was muffled. Sandor pulled your hair, lifting your mouth up from the pillow, “I asked you a question,”
“Please sir,” you moaned like music to his ears, “Fuck please let me please,” you begged.
“Do it then,” he grunted, shoving your face back into the pillow, “Cum around my cock like a good whore,” his words were all it took to push you over the edge as your peak crashed around you.
However, this was not going to make him stop. Instead, his thrusts became harder and less precise as he fucked you mercilessly chasing his high while you rode yours out with eyes rolled back into your skull. It didn’t take long for him to feel the familiar twitch and suddenly pull out. With only two more jerks his seed spilled across your ass as his eyes screwed shut.
“Fuck,” he gasped once he felt he could breathe again. Gently he moved his arms to lay you down on the bed.
You were too busy catching your breath to notice him searching for something till you felt him running a damp cloth over your ass to clean you up. “Still think I’m a brat?” you asked, still trying to catch your breath.
“Fuck yes. But you’re my brat,”
Taglist: @clairacassidy @nyotamalfoy @valeskafics
#sandor clegane#sandor clegane smut#sandor clegane x reader#sandor clegane imagine#sandor smut#sandor x reader#sandor#the hound#the hound smut#the hound x reader#the hound imagine#game of thrones#game of thrones x reader#game of thrones smut#game of thrones imagine#kinktober
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