#sandor clegane fluff

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird and The Leashed Dog

+:✿ Chapter - 1 ✿:+ New Pretty Cage

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

CW: slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of animal death, alcohol consumption, mention of infant death, mention of parent(s) death, loras being very lgbtq , mention of arranged marriage. 

Leaving the Eyrie at first was exciting. You hated to admit it, you screamed at your father for even suggesting it, you cried like a child, but it was. The Eyrie was hardly a home, It was cold, isolated, and a constant reminder of what you’d lost. Kings Landing was warm, crowded, and offered a future outside of living in the past. 

Your father, Jon Arryn, was more than optimistic that you would find a suitor worthy of your name. Your aunt and now step mother, Lysa Arryn was elated at the opportunity of ridding her and Robin’s lives of you. 

After the death of your mother, Aemma of house Tully, your father married her sister, your aunt. You could have stomached it, you could have even forgiven it, if it weren’t for the fact your mother died during her labors of childbirth. 

As you and your father rode in the carriage, your mind couldn’t help but think of it. You’d spent your mothers entire pregnancy hoping she’d bear a son. You even prayed, prayed to the seven Gods whom you didn’t even believe in. You had hoped if the child was a boy, you wouldn’t have to be wed off to the best house name possible. 

What's worse, not only did the labors kill your mother, but it also killed your brother. You’d prayed for a brother and the Gods gave you a brother. But they took him away and your mother with him. 

You had spent days sulking, wallowing in grief. Unbeknownst to you, all the while your father was arranging his own marriage with Lysa. A son followed behind soon, Robin, the brat. You hated him, even if you were the same blood.

“We approach,” your father said under his breath. It was enough to bring you back to reality. 

“How long will I be here?” You asked, knowing the answer. Your father shot you a look with a furrowed brow, as if to say, “You already know.” You nodded as your concerned gaze turned to a glare as you looked out the carriage into the city. You lost your sweetness after your mother died, you were in no rush to get it back. 

“Who am I to wed?” You asked flatly, your stoic expression and eyes filled with venom shot outside of the carriage and away from your father. 

He sighed and looked upon you softly. “The Baratheon boys are eligible I suppose,” before he could finish you began. “Blondes, I have a distaste for blonde men.” You say as you rest your chin on your fist, still staring outside of the carriage. Your father let out a sigh about to lecture you on the importance of uniting families and the unimportance of such trivial things like personal happiness. But you cut him off, you look at him with eyes filled with venom, “I know you’ve a plan. You don’t go into anything blind.” he let out a small huff of a laugh as you arrived at the impressive castle. Your eyes did move from your fathers however. “You are just like your mother. Filled with angry eyes and hard questions.” Your eyes narrowed a bit, as the door to the carriage opened. 

“Welcome Lord Arryn, welcome Lady (Y/N)” 

Later that evening, you met the Lannisters and Baratheons over dinner. 

You took note of the “Baratheon boys” your father mentioned. Sons of the King. From all those story books you'd read as a girl you would have thought that Princes’s would be handsome, kind, gentle, and brave. However you weren’t a naive child anymore. So the scrawny and boyish looking Joffrey didn’t surprise you, but did disappoint you. And Tommen was boyish too however Tommen was just that, a boy, a child. You found yourself praying again, praying you wouldn’t be subjected to an arranged marriage between either of them. 

The dinner was mostly spent with your father and Robbert yammering, and occasionally people needing to remind you that you were being spoken to. 

It was strange, on one hand you were excited to be out of the isolation of the Eyrie, on the other hand you couldn’t care less about the people around you. That was until the royal family's guard stepped into the room. The man was giant, standing at least 6 '6, his shoulders were so broad he had to step into a room at an angle. You felt your eyes linger on the figure just a second too long. Reverting it back to your hands in your lap. 

You felt her cheeks blush, you felt yourself get embarrassed by this. But the thing is you’ve never seen a man like that. You never saw a man that big, a man that broad, ever. The Eyrie was secluded and maybe men from the vale were just shorter. Maybe this was a southern thing. Before you could roll the thought around your brain for long, the hulking figure walked to the opposite side of the room, it was only then when you noticed his face lit by the candle lights.You saw the left side of his face first. His face was masculine, there was nothing about his appearance that was feminine. As you analyzed his face, he turned it towards you which is when you saw the opposite of his face. It was horribly scarred, all the hair on his face was burnt off and ribboned in scarred tissue. 

It was beautiful. You’d never seen anything like it. 

You didn’t break your gaze as it was intertwined with the giant in the room. His deep brown eyes seemed somewhat confused with something about you. You felt the blush returning to your cheeks and nose as you studied him. You only broke your improper gaze once you felt the dread you feel everytime your fathers gaze comes towards you. You were able to look away before he noticed. He grabbed ahold of your hand and shot you a half hearted smile hoping your sour mood would magically improve with this minimal affection. However the daggers in your eyes did not surrender. 

You spent the following days walking around the castle, hoping for another glimpse at the man everyone feared so terribly. You asked your father about him, “He’s the royal family's dog, both the Cleganes are. They are not the kind of people I wish for you to be around.” You rolled your eyes, but the information you got from anyone else was no better. His monstrous and vile actions. His temper is so fierce he’d kill anyone without a second thought. But when you saw his eyes, those deep brown eyes, they weren’t mean or angry they were sad. They were scared.

Days in this shit city were long, and often just as boring as the days in the Eyrie. Only instead of a shivering cold there was a sticky warmth. Instead of Lysa and Robin there was Cersei and Joffrey. At least Robin didn’t kill little creatures and beat girls for fun. 

There were some advantages to living here however. There were more books, more food, more drinks, more dresses, more music. Living so high in the mountain such luxuries were sparse. Luxuries like friends, of which you felt you gained a few. The Tyrells for example were the only people you felt you could be truly honest with. Specifically Loras, there was a sense of vulnerability you two shared with each other. Both of you are unhappy with the prospect of marriage, arranged specifically. You remember the time he confessed to you that he was in love with a man. You walked through the garden together, those times became special. The only times when you and he could speak plainly. You always thought of how lovely it would be to have a friend, someone to trust solely. You always thought it would be a woman but you couldn’t complain. 

You held onto his hands as he confessed. He said he wished he could change, to not be what he was. 

“Never,” You held onto his hands tighter “Never wish for such things. Change even a single thing of you and you aren’t you. And you are my friend, my dearest friend.” You whispered, he embraced you tightly. You however had a slight growing distaste for Renly, a man who brought such tears to your friend. 

To anyone secretly observing, it was courting. To you and he, it was friendship. In its purest way. 

Maybe your father was true to his promise, he’d find you a man whom you’d love, a man who was brave and gentle. Only this love was different. As he was the only person you could trust.

The two of you thought of a plan for you and the wedding of one another. It was a good plan, the two of you would be bound by love and respect of which you both shared for the other. And the two of you would be free to find romantic, and sexual love freely. Loras teased you’d be able to fuck all the KingsGaurd if The Hound did not please you. It made you giggle but blush in embarrassment like a little girl.

Honestly you and he would have had the most healthy relationship of all the realm, and the only difference would be the two of you never consummated. But who would need to know? 

You almost went through with it after the death of your father. If it weren’t for the fact Cersei forced her company upon you so much, you could have ran to the nearest septon and made your marriage official. But Cersei never left you alone, you were either with her, or one of her ladies. And, and you hated to admit it, you’d miss those butterflies in your belly anytime you caught The Hounds gaze. It makes your cheek red and your belly burn. And you loved it, it might have been the only reason you could have lived during those days. You spent anytime you got alone with Loras talking about The Hound, a topic he grew bored of quickly. So you also spoke of your marriage. 

However these plans changed at the arrival of your cousin Sansa. Upon her arrival you saw a girl who would never handle the city she was stepping into with such naive big eyes and fairy tale fantasies of her future. You agreed with Olenna that Loras should attempt to court Sansa prior to her wedding with Joffrey, one last attempt at her freedom. You began to care less and less of your own.

Selfless yes, but stupid. 

During the tournament you sat beside Sansa, and her father Nedd Stark who had such an affinity to your father apparently it was transferred to you now that he was dead and gone. She begged her father to stop the tournament. You wanted to roll your eyes at it, but you also wished someone would stop it as well. The Mountain, Gregor Clegane, scared you. He was different from his brother. The Hound was almost as big but he had a stoic and sad nature to him, even though everyone told you to beware. The brother you feared was Gregor, he was unstable, rabid, and frightened you to no end. You’d hoped your plan of him using your mare, who was in heat, would work. 

It was a trick, but a good one, if it worked. And it did, it upsets and confuses Gregor's mount. Gregor was thrown off his horse. You felt a wave of relief as Sansa stood and cheered. What you didn’t account for was Gregor's reaction. Gregor, absolutely furious, decapitated his own horse. You, still seated, grabbed ahold of Sansa’s arm as Gregor made his way to Loras. You sat and watched, you hoped someone, anyone would intervene. Renly, Nedd, the King, anyone. 

Just as you were sure that was the end, “Leave him be!” The giant man behind you roared. The Hound swung his sword blocking a fatal blow to Loras. You sat there, your eyes not wide but narrowed and brows furrowed. You studied the battle between these two brothers. You wondered why, why would this man risk his own life just to save one of Loras? If he was the merciless monster that everyone had claimed, why do this? As you watched these men fight you noticed, the noble men all fought as they were trained, this man fought as he knew would kill. He fought with experience. 

You couldn’t help but find it exciting. 

As The King called off this fight, The Hound dodged a fatal blow he simultaneously bowed to the King. This made your lips part slightly as you struggled to conceal a smile. 

As Loras named The Hound champion everyone stood and clapped, but not you. 

You sat and stared at the man, your cheeks with a renewed blush on them. You smiled softly at him, his gaze soon met your own. Once met, it was hard to break. 

You managed to weasel your way out of the sight of the Starks and Lannisters to check on Loras. As you made your way to the stables you didn’t find Loras but The Hound. You felt like you walked into a brick wall as you saw the Giant drinking from a wine skin sitting against the stable that held your own horse. He didn’t look at you as he said “Your pretty boy isn’t here, girl.” as he took another long swig of the wineskin in his fist. 

“I’m sure I don’t know who you refer to.” You lie as you slowly walk over to your horse. 

“Fuck you don’t.” He hissed  “Dirty trick you and that boy pulled.” 

“No honor in tricks.” You say feeding your horse some feed from your palm. 

“Honor,” He scuffs “only cunts believe in that shit.” your brows raised, you’d never heard a man curse so much. They rarely did in the company of a Lady. 

“There was honor in what you did, It was quite brave, Ser.” 

“I'm not a ser, I already told your pretty boy that.” 

“Loras is not my ‘pretty boy’” you said in a mocking tone making the hound crack a small smirk. 

“Fuck off,” He scuffed, “Round that boy you’re as in heat as that bitch mare in that stable.” 

“Is that why you came here? You sit in front of my mare's stable because you wanted to accuse me of having relations with a friend of mine?” You eyes shift from your mare to glare at him with disgust. His eyes locked with yours. He hardly needed to look up at you to see your eyes. 

“I don’t like the way you look at me.” He said flatly

“I don’t like the way you talk to me.” Your eyes went back to your mare. “Don’t talk to me like that and I won’t look at you like that.”

“Don’t matter how you look at me, just that you do.” He said as he took another swig. 

You looked down contemplating what that could have meant as you looked over to him. 

“Didn’t I just fuckin’ tell ya not to do that?” He growled however your gaze did not falter. 

“You did not, you said you don’t like it.” You asserted mockingly, not at all scared of this man beside you, even though you maybe should be.

He stood, showing just how small you were in comparison to him. As he loomed over you, his eyes raked over every part of you, avoiding your eyes. 

“It will serve you well to listen to a man. Save yourself some pain. Some men, like to hit stubborn girls like you. Men who like to beat them.” He said in a somewhat more gentle tone than before. 

Your eyes met him once more, as you looked up at him, you realized he’d never been so close to you. 

“And what of you? Are you one of those men?” You asked teasing him, testing his patience 

“Maybe,” he rasped “You don’t know the things I’ve done,” 

You turned your body towards him to face him completely. 

“You should be scared of me, of any man in this shit city.” 

“I should be, but I’m not. I tried to be, but I can’t make myself feel frightened by you.” You said fidgeting with your necklace. 

“I’m a killer,” He wrapped his fingers around your throat, but his grasp was hardly there at all, almost like he was hovering his hand there. “I could crush your pretty throat.” 

“Do it.” You said quickly, His brows furrowed, “You think I want to live here? Do it.” you held onto his wrist, needing both hands to grasp his thick wrist fully. “No, you won’t hurt me.” You say softly. 

His hand runs down your throat and lays flat engulfing your chest in his palm as his fingers laid on your collar bone. He felt your heartbeat for a moment, savoring it.  “No, no little bird, I won't hurt you.” He conceded painfully, the name he called you made your cheeks blush. With that he turned away from you and stomped out of the stables. 

You felt yourself release a breathe, fuck, you thought to yourself. 

Few questions remained in your mind, ‘Why was he so gentle?’  and ‘Why did he make you feel this way?’

NOTE: Hi, this is my first time writing any fanfiction- believe me it will get better. We will be fuckin I promise we will be laying it down girls!! This one is mainly just world building. Let me know if there's anything you’d like to see going forward! 

Xoxo 

Bambi <3

[rax-writes]

↬ 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.

[fandom-puff]

hello, congrats on 10k! i just read your answer about sander’s first kiss and now my heart hurts :( could we get a baby blurb of sandor and a reader who really, really wants to kiss him for the first time!!

Sandor deserves so many kisses ready mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah

You frowned up at Sandor despite the gentle kiss he pressed to the top of your head. “What was that for?” You demanded.

“What?” Sandor grunted, straightening to his full height and staring down at you.

“You pulled away…” you mumbled, suddenly embarrassed at causing a fuss. But Sandor had always been your protector, and now there was something more there… or was there?

But Sandor was not one to reject your advances, your hugs, your gentle touches.

Only your kiss.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured. “I didn’t mean to offend you… didn’t want to… I thought…”

“You wanted to kiss me?” Sandor asked, his voice a mixture of astonishment and incredulity, a frown etched on his scarred face. When you nodded he cocked his brow. “And why the fuck would you want to do that?” He said, his thumb subconsciously rubbing at the scarred half of his lips.

You covered his hand with yours, moving it slowly. When you cupped his face-the burnt side- he almost jolted back like a jumpy horse, but soon melded to your touch. Slowly, he lowered down to your level, and when your lips brushed against his, he did not recoil.

Instead he pulled you closer.

[asa-do-your-thing]

Sleigh Ride

Merry early Christmas @gefionne <3

Sansa Stark x Sandor Clegane 18+ MINORS DNI WC: 3,3k Warnings / Tags: fluff, christmassy theme, canon times, massage, sex, breeding king, pregnancy, no beta reads no checks no nothing im sorry

The bells on the horses' harness collars jingled merrily as they kept their calm pace, puffs of hot steam coming out of their nostrils. The sleigh continued its peaceful journey through the snow-covered forests of the North. Sansa snuggled deeper into her furs, sighing contentedly. Despite the bitter cold, she felt warm and safe next to Sandor. He kept his eyes fixed ahead, guiding the horses along the narrow path. Sansa studied his face in profile, the ruined side she once feared now so dear to her. She smiled, remembering how reluctant he'd been to don the red Father Sevenmas hat she'd playfully plopped on his head before they set out.

"Bloody hells," he'd grumbled. But he wore it still - if Sansa asked, who was he to say no to his little bird?

Up ahead, the trees opened up into a wide clearing. "Look!" Sansa gasped. A snow castle rose in the center of the field, its turrets shimmering in the dimming light. As they approached, the gates swung open and a jubilant group of children streamed out, bundled in furs and warm fabrics. They were all from Castle Cerwyn, and as the Lady of the North, Sansa had made a promise to her people to bring joy to their lives after enduring war, harrying, and famine.

Sansa beamed at Sandor. "Your little admirers await."

He harrumphed, but she caught the twitch of his mouth that meant he was pleased. When the sleigh halted, the children swarmed forward, young voices rising excitedly.

"Father Sevenmas! Father Sevenmas!"

Sandor's eyes softened as he reached into his bag and began handing out gifts - simple things such as nuts, dried fruits and small mittens and scarves. Sansa's heart swelled watching him interact so gently with the babes. Despite his gruff exterior, he had much goodness in him. She took his hand and squeezed it fondly. This was a perfect Sevemmas, indeed. It wouldn't be long until he could be their child's father chrismas, she thought with a smile.

Sansa gazed affectionately at Sandor as he handed out gifts to the delighted children. She placed a hand on her still-flat belly, imagining him one day doing the same for their babe.

After the gifts were distributed, the children begged for a story. With a gruff chuckle, Sandor obliged, his raspy voice spinning a tale of adventure and heroism. The children listened, enraptured, as if Sevenmas had come early. Too soon, the short winter day faded into dusk. Sandor wrapped up his story and helped the sleepy children back inside the gates of their snow castle. As the gates closed behind the last child, he turned to Sansa with a rare, soft smile.

"Well, little bird? How did I fare at playing Father Sevenmas?"

Sansa wrapped her arms around his broad chest. "Wonderfully. I owe you something."

He stroked her hair, his touch infinitely gentle. "No, Sansa, I... I did it for you, you don't owe me anything."

Reluctantly, Sandor helped Sansa back into the sleigh and flicked the reins. The horses began the journey home, back to Winterfell. Sansa nestled against Sandor's side, thinking of the life growing within her.

Sansa gazed up at the night sky as they traveled, the stars twinkling like a thousand candles. She thought of all she and Sandor had endured to find their way here, to this place of quiet contentment. The path had not been easy, but she had no regrets.

"What are you thinking about, little bird?" Sandor asked in his raspy voice.

Sansa smiled. "The future. Our future." She took his hand and brought it to her lips.

Sandor's brow furrowed. "Sansa..."

"I have news," she blurted out. "Wonderful news. I'm with child."

Sandor froze, staring at her. The sleigh slid to a stop. "Truly?" he finally asked.

Sansa nodded, her eyes bright. Sandor let out a shuddering breath and pulled her into his arms.

"You've made me the happiest man in the seven kingdoms," he said gruffly. He tilted her chin up and kissed her deeply.

When they finally broke apart, Sansa laughed. "I believe you were already the happiest man before."

Sandor's eyes shone. "Aye. But now..." He placed a gentle hand on her belly. "Now I'm the luckiest bloody man in the world."

The bells on the horses' harness collars jingled merrily as they kept their calm pace, puffs of hot steam coming out of their nostrils. The sleigh continued its peaceful journey through the snow-covered forests of the North. Sansa snuggled deeper into her furs, sighing contentedly. Despite the bitter cold, she felt warm and safe next to Sandor.

As they glided past towering pines and old oaks draped with icicles that glistened in the setting sun, the soft crunch of snow beneath the skids filled the air. The scent of fresh evergreen needles and frosty breath hung in the frigid night, mingling with the spiced cider from a flask Sandor passed to her earlier; she took a sip, feeling it warm her insides.

"I love you so much, there's nothing I would've loved doing more today than this, seeing children having fun and... well, telling you about our little one. But it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise, seeing as we... did enjoy ourselves a lot as of late," she said contentenly, resting her small, gloved hand on his muscular thigh. Gods, she thought and blushed, how nice it had felt to sit on top of him, their bare bodies touching each other, his thick member buried deep within her heat.

Sansa watched her big, rough-looking protector – but he was so much more than that now – as he kept his eyes fixed ahead, guiding the horses along the narrow path as he blushed and cleared his throat. "Don't tease me, little bird, or soon you'll have a second, third and fourth babe on the way."

To this, Sansa blushed as much as he did and grinned happily.

Sandor looked over at Sansa and couldn't help but smile when she rested her hand on his thigh. He'd always loved the way she blushed when they talked about their intimate moments together. It made something inside him warm up and he felt protective of her, like he always had.

He squeezed her hand gently, his own rough calloused one contrasting with her soft gloved one. "You're an absolute flirt, you know that?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

As they continued down the path through the snow-covered forest, the air was filled with the sound of jingling bells and the crunch of shifting snow beneath the sleigh runners. The trees towered above them, their branches heavy with ice and snow that clung to every bough. The sun was setting fast now, casting long shadows across the landscape as they traveled deeper into the woods.

The sweet scent of pine needles filled the air as they rode along, occasionally a gust of chilled wind rustling them, sending a shiver down Sansa's spine. She looked up at the starlit sky and leaned against Sandor, enjoying the warmth of his arm around her shoulders. The crunching sound of snow under the horses' hooves was like music to her ears. The warmth of his hand holding hers was a welcome contrast to the icy air nipping at her cheeks.

Suddenly, Sansa noticed a small cabin in the distance, lit up by a single candlelight flickering through the window. It was nestled amidst towering evergreens and snowdrifts that reached almost as high as the roof. "Is that our destination?" she asked softly, feeling her stomach grumble with anticipation for some hot food after their long day.

Sandor nodded, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "Aye, Little Bird. We'll rest there for the night and get some hot food inside us." He guided the horses towards the cabin, their hooves thundering on the frozen ground beneath them. They stopped outside a small hut, its door creaking open as they approached.

A faint scent of smoke wafted out, filling their nostrils with warmth and comfort.

Sansa's eyes lit up as she gently took a step closer. "Sandor... I... That wasn't necessary!"

He, in turn, gave her a small smile and gently kissed her forehead. "Merry Sevenmas, my dear."

As Sansa entered the cozy cabin, she shivered slightly from the cold that seeped through her thick coat. The warmth of the fireplace instantly enveloped her shivering body, and she let out a sigh of relief as her cheeks became rosy from the heat. The scent of wood smoke and freshly baked bread filled her nostrils, making her mouth water. It was soothing to her senses after their long day traveling through the frosty night.

Sandor helped Sansa remove her gloves and coat, hanging them by the door, before leading her over to a small table where a steaming pot sat. There was fresh bread, drizzled with honey and some sort of sweet preserve she didn't recognize, and a bowl of steaming rabbit stew. The juices sizzled and popped as he dished out two big helpings onto plates for them both.

"This is lovely," Sansa breathed out, taking a mouthful of the warm food that melted on her tongue like velvet. She closed her eyes in contentment at the taste – rich broth with tender pieces of meat infused with aromatic spices and vegetables. Sandor watched as she savored every bite, his eyes glowing with pride.

"I'm glad you like it," he grunted between mouthfuls of his own meal. "The old caretaker left some provisions for us." He gestured to a basket near the fire, which looked like it had been brought over by one of Winterfell's servants rather than an old caretaker, yet Sansa didn't care.

As she sank into a worn wooden chair by the fireplace, her fingers lazily tracing the carvings on its backrest while Sandor took his own seat across from her, she let out a contented sigh. She watched as he tore off chunks of warm bread and dunked them into the hearty stew, his cheeks hollowing as he savored each bite. The crackling fire cast dancing shadows on his rough-hewn features, turning them almost angelic in their playful dance. The smell of smoke and wood mixing with the savory scent of the soup made her stomach grumble appreciatively.

"Sandor, this is delicious," she murmured between bites, her voice soft and reverent. "I can't believe how good it tastes after such a long day." Each spoonful filled her mouth with warmth and comfort, melting away any lingering chill from their journey. She leaned back in her chair, watching as he did the same, thinking that perhaps this was their best Sevenmas yet - warm food, a cozy cabin, each other's company.

He nodded in agreement, wiping his beard-stubbled chin with the back of his hand before reaching over to take her smaller one in his large palm. "Aye, Lady Sansa. It's been a long time since I've enjoyed a meal like this." His eyes met hers for a moment too long before looking back down at their empty bowls. "Go lie down on the bed, my sweet, I've something for you, something I think you'll love even more than the stew."

As Sandor spoke, Sansa's heart began to race with anticipation. She placed her spoon down gently and stood up from her chair, swaying a bit as she walked over to him. Her stomach churned with both excitement and fear, wondering what he could possibly have planned for her next. He escorted her to a small bed in the corner of the cabin, made up with soft furs that smelled faintly of woodsmoke and evergreen.

She felt his warmth behind her as he helped her undress, feeling his calloused hands move up and down her skin, sending shivers through every inch of her being. She could feel the heat radiating from his body as he undid the ties on her bodice, letting it fall to the floor. His fingers brushed against her bare skin slowly, teasingly, causing goosebumps to form in their wake.

Her breath hitched as he pulled off her stockings and pushed her down onto the bed, watching as he collected some sort of thick oil from a small chest near the fireplace. The crackling flames cast dancing shadows on his rugged features as he walked back over to the bedside. Sansa bit her bottom lip nervously, not sure what was about to happen but ready for whatever it was.

Sandor poured some of the hot oil into his hands and began to massage Sansa's shoulders, kneading out the tension she hadn't even realized was there. The scent of spices filled the air and made her moan softly.

As Sansa lay down on the soft furs, feeling the warmth seep into her bones, she felt Sandor begin to massage her tense shoulders. His big hands moved with a deftness that belied his rough exterior, kneading away the knots and kinks that had built up during their day-long journey. With each passing moment, her body relaxed more under his skilled touch. The scent of spiced oil filled the air, mingling with that of sweat and leather from his clothes.

Her heart raced as he trailed his hands down her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh in just the right way to relieve all the tension. He moved lower, kneading her stomach and hips before slowly working his way back up to her thighs. A soft gasp escaped her lips when she felt one of his rough hands glide between them, teasingly brushing against her folds beneath her shift. He paused for a moment, looking into her eyes as he saw the desire there.

She parted her legs slightly, inviting him in, feeling a hot pulse of arousal course through her veins as he rubbed small circles over her most sensitive spot. His touch was feather-light at first, but grew bolder by the moment. The fire crackled and popped in the background, echoing their deepening breaths as he expertly worked his magic on her nerves.

Sansa arched her back into his touch, moaning softly as he continued to pleasure her, his warm, oily hands making her feel things she's rarely ever felt before. Every stroke sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her veins, making her arch back into him and gasp for breath. His rough fingers teased and prodded until she couldn't help but whimper for more.

"Please," she whispered hoarsely, her voice catching in her throat. "I... I want you to bury yourself in me, oh..."

Sandor moved his hands to the buttons of her dress as he knelt between her spread thighs, eyes hungrily devouring her body. The sight of her supple flesh in the soft light of the fire sent a shiver down his spine. His rough fingers fumbled with the buttons, undoing them one by one until they fell open, revealing her creamy white skin to his greedy gaze.

She was breathtakingly beautiful in this moment, her nipples standing at attention under the thin fabric of her shift. He gently pushed it aside, exposing her perfect breasts to the warmth of the firelight's caress. He took one in his mouth, sucking on it hungrily as he ran his free hand down to cup her slick folds.

Her pussy was wet and ready for him; she was soaked with desire, begging to be taken. He rubbed her clit as he sucked harder on her nipple, causing shivers to race through her body. Sansa moaned loudly, her legs shaking as she felt the onslaught of pleasure coursing through her veins.

Sandor couldn't believe how much he enjoyed hearing those sounds escape from her perfect lips, how she trusted him enough to let him touch and taste every inch of her beautiful body. It drove him wild with love and lust.

Without further ado, he lifted himself up and positioned himself at her entrance, his cock already hard as a rock. Nodding needily, Sansa rubbed her soaked heat over the tip of his cock and gasped as he quickly inserted it, filling her up to the brim. Lifting her perfect, delicate legs over his shoulders, he groaned as she rolled back her eyes and squeezed herself around him.

As their hips met and he slowly began to move within her, Sansa's back arched off the bed, a primal cry escaping her throat. The roughness of his skin against hers only made the sensation more intense, and she felt herself grow wetter for him with each thrust. He was pumping into her steadily now, hitting her sweet spot with each powerful stroke.

She reached up to clutch at his shoulders, digging her nails into the toughened flesh as he took her harder and faster. His growls of pleasure echoed in the small space as he took what he wanted; it turned her on more than anything else. Lifting a leg to wrap around him tighter, Sansa dug her heel into his side, begging for more friction.

The cabin filled with their moans and grunts as they moved together, lost in each other's rhythm. The scent of sweat and sex mingled with that of the firewood, creating an intoxicating aroma that fueled their passion. Sandor's rough hands roamed over her supple body, feeling every curve and indent as he slammed into her from behind. He leaned down to capture one of her nipples between his teeth, sucking hard as she cried out in delight beneath him.

As Sandor slammed into her with a growl, Sansa's head thrashed back and forth, her long hair spreading out behind her like a waterfall of fire. Her eyes were slits, filled with desire and need, as she looked up into the his reddened face. She felt him hitting her deep and hard, drawing out exquisite moans from deep within her. His rough hands roamed over her body, leaving trails of goosebumps in their wake.

One hand found its way between them, rubbing her clit just right as the other cupped the weight of one of her plump breasts. She arched her back, pressing herself against his hand while his cock pounded into her from above. The bed groaned beneath them as they moved together in perfect unison. It was raw and primal, driving each other to new heights of pleasure they had never experienced before.

The oil they used earlier on their skin slickened their bodies as they moved together; it created an almost musical symphony that echoed throughout the tiny space.

Sandor's mouth found its way to her neck, his teeth scraping gently against her skin while he thrust harder and faster inside her. He growled low in his throat, "That's it, my sweet girl," he breathed against her skin. "Take it all from me."

His hips bucked fiercely against her and just as he felt her cunny fluttering and clenching around him, he felt his own release nearing. Sandor's muscular body tensed, and his lips curled into a sharp snarl as he felt his imminent climax approaching, a low growl rumbling from the back of his throat.

His hips jerked violently against Sansa's tight, wet cunny, his cock pulsing with the force of his desire for her. Her walls clenched around him, milking the last drops of pleasure from his rigid shaft, begging him to fill her completely. He bit down on her neck softly, just hard enough to leave a mark, claiming her as his own.

Sansa whimpered softly, arching her back as she felt him pulsing inside her, filling her up with his seed. She clenched around him one last time, milking what remained of his orgasm before he pulled out with a harsh groan.

Their sweat-slicked bodies slid against each other, their breaths still ragged and fast. He stayed buried deep inside her for a moment longer before pulling out and collapsing beside her on the small bed. She lay next to him, their chests heaving in unison as she let out a shaky sigh.

"You're mine," he murmured against her neck, planting a kiss there with a roughness that made her shiver in delight. "You always have been. Merry Sevenmas, my little bird."

[atomic--peach]

Her Grace's Handmaiden Pt.11

(Cersei Lannister x Fem Reader x Sandor Clegane

Cersei x Jaime: murder, fluff, mentions of pregnancy)

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

"OoOoOoOh gods"

You fell stomach first onto the bed that had been supplied for you and your husband in the keep the party had stopped at for the night. You didn't remember the keep's name, nor it's Lord or Lady, and frankly you didn't care at this point.

When you promised Lady Stark you would watch out for her girls, you hadn't fully realized what you were getting yourself into.

Arya, sweet as she looked, was practically feral. News of what happened by the river had swept through camp like wildfire, Cersei was an absolute mess of rage, and now the woods were full of Lannister and Stark men all looking for the lost girl.

Your husband was out there as well, doing gods knew what.

It was well after dark, and you decided Sandor or no Sandor, you were getting some sleep.

It felt weird, sleeping alone.

Once upon a time it had been all you ever knew, but now the bed felt empty without another body in it. You supposed that's why Cersei kept so many bed maids.

It was the middle of the night when you heard a ruckus from below your window. You glanced over the sill for a moment to see red capes surrounding a small figure.

Her father must not be far behind, you told yourself as you looked out into the darkness with bleary eyes.

From the shadows you watched a large black horse trot down the dirt road and sighed.

Finally.

Letting you eyes focus, you frowned when you realized there was something draped over the back of Stranger's saddle.

No, not a something. A Someone.

You crawled back under the covers uneasily and wavered between sleep and awake until you heard the door open followed by heavy foot steps. You flipped his side of the covers up and patted the cushion.

"Come to bed"

"Go back to sleep" your bear sighed.

"Trying" you mumbled, rolling over to face him with half closed eyes

"Sandor?"

"Yes?"

"Do I want to know what happened in those woods tonight?"

There was a long silence between the two of you in the pitch darkness of the room. You could hear the buckles of his plate unlatching as he shrugged his armor off.

"No."

"The butcher's boy?"

"You don't want to know" he growled. "Trust me."

You fell silent.

In matters such as these, you knew it was just best not to pry.

You knew what he was when you married him, even before that, and you chose to stick around all the same.

"Come to bed" you repeated, patting the bed again. "I can't sleep alone anymore"

The bed sunk under his weight as he all but collapsed into his side of the bed. Instinctively you rolled towards him and draped a leg over his hip while burrowing yourself under his arm.

There was a heavy peace, filled only with the sound of your combined breathing.

"Go to sleep" you finally said, pulling the blanket up over him and closing you eyes.

Hopefully tomorrow would be better.

------------

It hadn't been.

Nor the day after that.

But when you finally saw the silhouette of the Red Keep in the distance you almost went slack with relief.

Only a few more hours.

You wished you were able to ride ahead, cut the time as much as possible. But Cersei had insisted you ride with her today, and as much as you would usually appreciate that, the walls of the carriage felt claustrophobic.

"I've asked the driver to keep us behind a bit, so the messenger bringing your dress can meet us outside the city" she explained.

You could not help but think it would just be easier to meet the messenger at the keep itself. But after this last disastrous month of travel, it was best not to ask any challenging questions.

"Your Grace" a steward knocked on the carriage door, "a messenger has brought a package for you."

"Finally" the queen breathed, opening the door and snatching the brown paper wrapped box half the size of your body from the steward's hands.

The windows and doors shut creating a stifling atmosphere but you tried to remain good natured as the queen opened the box.

"I had him make this one specifically for our arrival. It's best to arrive looking like you belong. It will make things easier for you."

The closer you got to Kings Landing, the more you realized how daunting your arrival would actually be. You had left a servant, nameless. You would be returning a married lady and favorite of The Queen. There would be so many questions to answer and you weren't sure how to go about it.

"Your Grace" your voice shook a little as she unwrapped the gown, "what am I to say? If anyone asks? I mean if they ask who I am, why I'm here?

Cersei's eyes traveled your face for a moment before snatching your hands into hers. "You, my dear little doll, have nothing to explain. Just keep close to me, and I will do all the talking."

This was a great relief to you and you leaned back on the seat with a sigh.

Getting dressed in a carriage also proved a greater challenge than you had anticipated. Cersei did her best to make sure all you hems were straight and the dress fit as it should.

It was a little tight actually, pressing your bust and ribs, but the queen assured you it would be fine.

"Clegane" she called out the window, beckoning your husband to double back. "I have something of yours I thought you might like to escort into the city personally."

"Tired of her already?" He deadpanned. "I supposed I can take her off you hands."

He pulled over a just long enough to let you get out of the cramped carriage and his breath caught in his throat as you climbed out.

He honestly hadn't ever given a damn about house colors, but the sight of you decked out in black silk trimmed with yellow gold was overwhelming. The draping sleeves Cersei had styled after her own gowns were edged with embroidery beaded with black glass. At the bottom there was a scene of hounds prowling around your skirt etched out in black glass and silk thread.

He assisted you up on Stranger's back with one arm and tried not to tense as you wraps your soft arms around his chest.

Cersei was pleased beyond words. Her plan was working out perfectly.

The King's Gate opened for them to the sound of blasting horns. The small folk gathered eagerly to catch a glimpse of the parade, and you felt a million eyes suddenly land on you.

You told yourself you were overreacting, that no one would even bother to look your way, after all you were just another lady on a horse. But as the procession left the poorer straights of the city and drew closer to the castle, you could hear the whispers through the sounds of wheels and hooves on cobblestone.

"Looks like The Hound mounted himself a Bitch" was a comment that stood out from the crowd, and while you couldn't tell who said it, you tightened your grip on Sandor.

"Keep your eyes ahead" he muttered under his breath. "Don't even look at them"

As the keep grew closer, the crowd grew wealthier and soon you were through the gates and stopped fully.

You didn't remember getting off the horse, or bowing deeply as Robert and Cersei left the group first, followed by their children. When they were gone, the rest of you were free to move.

"Keep close" Sandor trapped your hand in the crook of his elbow as if you would be swallowed by the crowd. "And keep your mouth shut."

You nodded and plastered the least offensive smile you could across your face.

It didn't take long for someone to approach, and that someone ended up being a face familiar to you.

"Clegane" a jovial young man decked out in green bounded up to them. His face was handsomely made with a trimmed black beard and dark eyes. "I hear you've brought back some plunder from the North."

"Something like that."

"Lord Renly Baratheon, a pleasure to meet you, My Lady." The King's youngest brother scooped up your hand and kissed the back of it politely. You curtsied deeply in response.

"Where's Stark?"

"He hung back" Sandor shrugged, "We had some trouble on the road with one of the wolves"

"Ah" Renly nodded grimly, "so we've heard. Well, I'll leave you two alone" he winked cheekily before slipping away.

"One down" you breathed with something that might have been relief.

The air was knocked out of you as Sandor swept you out the the court yard and behind a stone pillar.

"Seven Hells" you grunted, trying to breath with his arm gripping you tighter than it ever had before. "Sandor, Darling. Please"

"Sh" he hushed you harshly, peering around the column.

There he was, bold as fucking brass.

Gregor Clegane towered over even his brother, living up to his name as a mountain among men.

He was looking for you.

"Fuuuuck fuck fuck fuck" Sandor swallowed, trying to figure out how to get you out of here with being seen.

"Sandor, my love." You wiggled out of his arms and straightened your dress, you had never seen him afraid before. It frightened you.

"Listen, maybe it's best to just get it over with now. There are plenty of people around, if he does anything the guards will help. And he clearly already knows so hiding me won't make any difference."

Sandor thought about this, shaking his head instinctively. You took his hand in your smaller one and kissed it gently.

"Come on. It has to be done."

You were right.

Gods did he hate that you were right.

Gregor caught sight of Sandor before he ever saw you, but when he did you felt like a rabbit in the eyes of a bear.

"Brother." Sandor grunted plainly.

"You got married" Gregor squinted at you, wincing as if in pain.

"Aye"

You moved in front of Sandor so your new brother could get a proper look at you. He sniffed, unimpressed.

"Pregnant yet?"

"I'm not sure" you confessed plainly, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.

"Hm"

That was all he said, leaving the two of you and stomping between courtiers towards the training pits.

You blinked, "do you think he already knew my name?"

"I don't think he really cares" Sandor breathed a sigh of relief that the worst part was over.

The Hound's Quarters were well furnished enough to impress you but small enough to be unintimidating. You had no trunk to unpack or belongings to move from the servants' quarters, but outside the door you were greeted by a small, tanned man with a mousey look to him.

"The fuck are you?" Sandor growled.

The small man sputtered either out of indignation or fear. "Her Majesty the Queen has sent me for the Lady Clegane"

"The Lady Clegane is indisposed"

"Sandor" you admonished him with a patient smile for the man. "What has Her Grace sent you for?"

"My Lady" he gave a short bow before motioning to a small tower of boxes stacked beside the chamber door, "a gift from her Majesty, made by my own hands. Only the best quality, I assure you."

When the Queen said she would be sending for new clothes, you thought she meant a two or three gowns to be presentable at court, not an entirely new wardrobe, complete with slippers for each gown.

After toting arm loads of boxes in at a time, the dressmaker made you promise to come to him if you needed any alterations before being hastily escorted out the door.

"Mother's Mercy" you breathed, eyeing the stack. "Did she tell you it would be so much?"

"You think she tells me things?" Sandor scoffed. "What a spoiled little thing you've turned into."

"I am not spoiled." You protested, leaning against him and pulling his arms around your shoulders.

"Spoiled rotten" Sandor teased, laying kissed over your hair "just look at you"

"What do I look like?" You prompted him, motioning to your new gown that wrapped you in the colors and symbols of his house. "Hm?"

"You look-" he breathed, taking all of you in for a moment.

Like a vision.

Perfection.

Like my wife, he wanted to say

My wife, my life, my Lady, mother of my children

"Like you need a good spanking."

"Sandor!" You pushed him away laughing, "don't you dare!"

-----------

Cersei weighed the emotions in her breast as she watched you and Sandor from the balcony over the courtyard.

She wondered if the two of you looked as natural as you did with him.

How you shimmered in that gown, the glass beads catching the light and the golden silk glinting in the afternoon sun.

Had she ever looked like that? Had she and Robert, even once, looked as happy as you did with Sandor?

She should have had you wear the red one, she thought jealously then reconsidered it. Undressing and redressing you in her mind.

"You look lost in thought" Jaime approached, stripped of his armour and dressed in a quilted vest of Lannister red over a plain white shirt. "What are you thinking about?"

"I gave her to him to keep her close" she murmured, "but I didn't think she would sink so perfectly into him. I didn't think it was possible for anyone to do that."

"Well," Jaime crossed his arms, leaning against the wall in the shade. "I tried to tell you they'd get attached to each other."

"I knew he'd get attached to her, I just didn't think-" she snapped at him before sighing contritely. "I'm sorry"

"You know." Jaime approached her closely and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Since you've taken on your little project, I can't lie. I've been a little jealous myself. It's like you've been avoiding me since that nastiness in Winterfell."

Cersei looked away. The prospect of Bran Stark waking haunted her every moment.

But she couldn't hate him for it, not really. After all, he'd done it for her. For them.

You may have been a bright and shiny new toy for the Queen to play with, but Jaime knew that you were no replacement for her other half.

"Don't worry about it." Jaime soothed his twin kindly, a strange light behind his eye. "She'll be with child soon anyway. And when she is, I'll still be here."

[tinfairies]

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.

[taereaderwriter]

Game of Thrones - Recommendations

Sador ‘The Hound’ Clegane

The Hound and the Vulture (ongoing?) - @summervale

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

P1 note: Third person reader-insert! A wandering widow and a wanted warrior. They're no "The Bear and the Maiden Fair," but they're close enough, right? After saving his life, the scavenger is half tempted to sell him out and half tempted to have her way with him. The dog is half tempted to throw her in the Trident and half tempted to throw her in the Blackwater Rush. 

if he’s as bad as they say, then i guess i’m cursed (complete) - @diorstarr

Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: It starts like most bad things do. Because Joffrey finds it funny. Or, you get married to The Hound. 

Love? (complete) - @justallamaimaginingthings

“A/n: That was not even requested, but after 8x05 I needed some Sandor fluff, so there you go. Hope you enjoy it and don’t hesitate to drop by my askbox whether it is to request anything, leave a comment or just to chat”

Sandor Clegane x Reader (Wildling) (complete) - @lunnybunny12

“A/N: The reader is a wildling in this story and has never heard of the hound before.”

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death and no fluff

Listen to me (complete) - @myfictionaldreams

Request: “The reader is a fighter an she almost gets killed in battle but sanders saves her once the battle is over he finds her in her room and they get into an argument that leads to rough smut with biting marking and dirty talk if you don’t mind”

The Hound’s Wedding (complete) - @myfictionaldreams

Summary:  King Joffrey needed a way to send a message to your brothers in Winterfell. What better way than marrying you off to the bloodthirsty Hound.

Warnings: +18 readers only, Loss of Virginity, Size Kink, Reader is a Stark, Size Difference, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex

The Teasing Game (complete) - @myfictionaldreams

Summary: There was nothing you loved more in life than teasing Sandor Clegane. What happens when he can’t take it anymore and he finally snaps?

Warnings: 18+ readers only, smut, teasing, size difference, jeaousy, mentions of masturbation, choking, biting, marking, rough oral sex (male receiving), rough sex, multple orgasms, dirty talk, hair pulling, threats of violence

Sandor Clegane/ The Hound NSFW Alphabet (complete) - @brrahbrrahcharacterimagines

The Lamb and The Hound (complete) - @brrahbrrahcharacterimagines

Part 1 | Part 2

P1 Warnings: Light attempted rape mentioned (not by Sandor), Battle of Blackwater, fire mention

P2 Warnings: Sex, Dom(M)/Sub(F) dynamic, maybe a size kink, sharing a bed, boner?, cursing, loss of virginity, possessiveness, breeding kink, cum

Tormund Giantsbane

Cold Hands (complete) - @author-morgan

Summary: After the Battle of Castle Black, Jon needs someone to ensure their wildling prisoner makes it through the night. Because Tormund's the type you just want to rage fuck and I've been looking for an excuse to write for him since like 2017.

Lord Robin Arryn

Grown Up (complete) - @brrahbrrahcharacterimagines

Chapters

[promptthebear]

Kissmas Day 9

Prompt: Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x Reader

CW: Female reader, lots and lots of swearing (It's Sandor c'mon now), reader is pregnant, some mentions of canon typical violence. If i forget anything please let me know!

A/N: Hello! This is a little different from the last few fics I wrote. I was going for like something cozy? So the pacing is a little slower and it's sort of a "not much happens but there's vibes" kind of fic. Hopefully you all enjoy it. I just really wanted to give my boy a story where he's safe, well fed, well rested, and doesn't have shit trying to kill him for like five minutes.

It was still dark when Sandor awoke, and colder than a wight’s arse. He could see the earliest light of dawn, though, through a nearby window. Pale yellow rays were starting to kiss the tops of the large, gloomy pines that encircled your cottage, and he knew it would be several hours yet before the sun would provide any proper warmth.

Grumbling and cursing under his breath, Sandor pushed back the furred hide that served as a blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He hissed when his feet touched the floor, the chill so fierce it bit at his soles, even through the two layers of woolen socks he wore. Everyone, from great Kings to common fools, knew that Winters in the North were bitterly cold. But it was one thing to hear the tavern stories and another thing all together when you were trying to live through it.

He wondered, as he tugged on his boots, why he didn’t make for the Free Cities and Dorne like the few remaining knights did when the whole world finally fell apart in flame and ruin. Yes, the stories of the fine wines and glimmering cities where even beggars could be Kings might have been exaggerated, but it couldn’t be any worse than here. At the very least, it might be nice to live somewhere your piss didn’t freeze midstream and your cock didn’t stick to your hand each time you used the privy.

Sandor turned the idea over in his mind, finding that its appeal grew with each passing moment. However, any thoughts of leaving vanished the instant he glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of your face peeking out from under the edge of the blankets. Your expression was peaceful, almost serene.

He leaned over you, his hair falling around his cheeks like a curtain, and placed a quick kiss against your temple. You stirred slightly in response, your eyelashes fluttering as a soft moan escaped your lips.

“Whassamatter?”

Sandor chuckled and reached out to deliver a gentle pat to your side before answering.

“Nothing. Gonna go cut some firewood. I’ll be back before you’re up.”

You mumbled something in reply, too faint for him to make out, before sleep’s embrace claimed you once more. He chuckled again and fondly shook his head.

At one point, nobody wanted to spend a night in his bed, not even when he'd gone to a brothel. Those girls had been too frightened of his face to give him more than a few hours at most, leaving him to wake to a cold bed and empty purse the next morning.

You, on the other hand, were comforted enough by his presence to stay through the night. You even claimed you slept more soundly when he was with you. It had taken a while before Sandor believed you, but after over a year of waking with you warm and content beside him, he was starting to see that you’d been telling the truth.

The bedroom door squeaked as it opened, which made the large, shaggy dog the two of you kept leap to its feet and growl deep in its throat. Sandor shushed the animal, which immediately bounded over from its spot by the fireplace, tongue out and tail wagging at the sight of its master.

“Stupid mutt.” Sandor said, as he began to rumple and massage the dog’s ears. “Good thing you’re loyal, or else what use would you be?”

The dog, which you’d so cleverly called Nameless because Sandor had refused to give it one, eagerly leaned into his touch and gazed up at him in squinty eyed delight. You’d found the poor beast roughly around the same time Sandor had been able to walk again, where he’d been left to die in some abandoned crofter’s hut.

At first, Sandor had wanted nothing to do with the animal. As far as he was concerned, you didn’t need another mouth to feed, what with him still half crippled and you were only able to set the most basic of rabbit snares. There had barely been enough food for the two of you, let alone a walking gut disguised as a dog.

He’s a big, black dog you’d insisted on just like your crest. If that’s not a sign from the gods, I don’t know what is.

Bugger the gods had been Sandor’s reply, but in the end, he’d yielded, if only to have some peace from your griping. Since then, Nameless had followed Sandor around like a second shadow. He’d cursed the beast and the bitch that whelped him each time he got underfoot, but eventually this gave way to begrudging acceptance and finally a quiet sort of affection.

Whoever left Nameless behind had, whether they knew it or not, forfeited a skilled hunting dog. Despite his sweet nature with people, he could catch rabbits and squirrels as skillfully as any wolf, which kept you and Sandor well stocked with meat despite the North’s unforgiving climate.

Once again, Sandor found himself questioning why he’d chosen to live in the frozen arse end of the world as he tried to open the front door. A thick layer of ice had settled over the tiny cottage you called home, a parting gift from last night’s storm.

Despite ample shoving and force, the door was refusing to cooperate. With each attempt, the aged wood groaned and creaked as though in protest, but wouldn’t budge. Though he couldn’t see it, Sandor had a feeling the damn thing had frozen shut in its frame, which was a much more common occurrence than he would’ve liked it to be. With a muttered oath, he threw his shoulder against the wood, swearing louder at the shock of pain that came after.

A thin sweat had broken out on Sandor’s brow when he finally gave himself a moment to breathe, half slumped against the bastard door and wishing agonies upon whichever fool god made ice to begin with. He stole a glance over his shoulder, hoping the racket hadn’t woken you, and was greeted with the sight of Nameless. The dog was sitting a few feet behind him and watching the entire process as though it was a Mummer’s show Sandor was putting on especially for him.

“Are you just going to look? Or are you going to be helpful for once in your sorry life?”

By way of response, Nameless rose to his feet, stood for a moment, squinted at Sandor, and then let out a quick, loud sneeze that sent forth a spray of drool and dust motes into the chilled air. Satisfied, the dog sat down again with a bump, and stared at his master. He cocked his head to one side, and spread his mouth wide in a lolling, doggy grin, as if two of them were sharing some sort of secret joke.

Sandor couldn’t help but grin back, albeit a little lopsidedly, before returning to the problem of the door. Once upon a time, he could’ve split the bloody thing in two with the heel of his boot and a well-aimed kick, but he had been a different man then. The Hound, with all his strength and rage, had died with Gregor the day they both went over the falls. Now, all that remained was Sandor, who had to huff and puff and struggle with frozen doors just like anyone else.

When the door finally gave way, it did so with a mighty crack, which shattered the morning air in a flurry of loose snow that tumbled off the roof and bits of ice that shimmered like diamond shards as they fell.

Sandor stumbled outside, shoulder first since he was mid shove when the door decided to open. Instantly, he was blinded by the sheer, sterile whiteness of fresh snow and sunbeams that cut like yellow knives after the dimness of the cottage. For a moment, he had little choice but to wait and lean against the door frame while his vision cleared.

Despite the early hour, the woods were already awake and teeming with life. Around him, Sandor could hear all manner of birdsong, as well as the chattering of squirrels and the far off call of a solitary deer.

From behind the cottage came the sounds of the sheep, small, squat, shaggy creatures with more wool than brains between their ears. They bleated mournfully from inside their little shed, hoping it would get them fed all the sooner, but their cries stirred no pity in Sandor’s heart. He could hardly stand the sight of the fool things, with their empty eyes and the way they ran in panicked, useless circles every time they were frightened.

When you’d first asked Sandor why he hated the sheep so much, he told you it was because he had no patience for anything, man or beast, that was too stupid to know how stupid it actually was. You’d laughed at that, a bright, musical sound that made warmth bloom in Sandor’s chest, but you hadn’t left the matter alone like he’d hoped.

As far as you were concerned, there was no point in wasting time hating something so pathetic and harmless and so you persisted. If Sandor was stubborn, you were twice as much, pestering him with that unfaltering cheerfulness each time you went you to feed the damn things. Eventually, he relented, the name and reason tumbling from his lips like rain after a drought.

Mycha.

From the ashes of Sandor’s rage, shame had blossomed, and with it a thin, choking vine that clenched a little tighter around his heart each time he’d thought of the boy. He’d lived what felt like a thousand different lifetimes since that fateful day by the river, and no matter how much he’d drunk, fought or fucked, he couldn’t seem to shake that one particular ghost. It was as though a small part of Mycha had always been there, slowly poisoning what little shreds of goodness Sandor had managed to grasp hold of, and for a while, he supposed that was what he deserved. Until you came along.

You, who had dragged Sandor out from the water when he was little more than a half drowned corpse. You, who had set every broken bone, stitched every wound and fed him spoonfuls of broth even when he’d cursed you after each one. With your constant, stubborn, infuriating cheerfulness, you had talked Sandor into talking, smiled him into smiling, and somehow loved him into loving you back. You had become the sun that rose and set on each day of Sandor’s life. You were what got him up in the mornings and kept him working until dusk. The thought of losing you, or worse, having you cast him aside, scared him more than dragons, others, and his cunt brother ever had.

That was why, in the end, Sandor had chosen to tell you the truth. At least then you’d hear it from him, instead of whatever exaggerated horseshit the village gossips would invent. Ugly as it was, Sandor knew honesty would be his friend in this matter, and he’d had more than his fill of liars after spending so much time in service to the Lannisters.

And so you came to know the whole sordid tale, one dreary morning in the sheep shed. He spared no detail, no matter how gruesome it was or how poorly it reflected on his character. If you were going to keep loving him, it was best you knew the sort of man you’d chosen, lest the truth curdle what little affection he’d earned.

At first, Sandor wasn’t sure how you were going to take things. He half expected you to try to brain him with the bucket of sheep’s feed, then drive him off in a hail of shrieking and chunks of dung. Tears were also a likely possibility, though you didn’t really seem the type. But learning that the man who you’d let into your home and bed had the blood of an innocent child on his hands could make anyone behave strangely.

When he’d finally got up the courage to stop staring at his boots and look into your face, you, as always, surprised him. You were smiling at him, that same warm, gentle smile that Sandor remembered from the moment he’d woken up in your arms.

I know is what you’d said. I’ve always known, and I love you anyway.

You’d reached for him after, setting aside your bucket so you could bring your hand up and caress his scarred cheek. Sandor had leaned into your touch, like it was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart into a million pieces. Of course you’d known, who in all the Seven Kingdoms hadn’t heard the stories about King Joffery’s rabid dog and the things he’d done? He should’ve given you more credit.

From there, it had been easy enough to tell you why he hated those sheep. Their cries, the sheer terror in their eyes each time he approached? They reminded him too much of that boy, and regardless of how you felt about it, he was not entirely certain he’d ever be able to forget. It was one thing to have your forgiveness and another thing entirely to be able to forgive himself.

Give it time is what you’d told him And let me worry about the sheep. You’ve got enough to do around here, anyway.

The sound of Nameless’ barking is what suddenly tugged Sandor from his memories and back into the here and now. Somehow, the dog had managed to squeeze past him without Sandor noticing, and he was now diving face first through the fresh snow, on the hunt for grouse tracks and anything else that would provide a decent chase.

Sandor watched for a moment, unable to hide the smile playing about his lips. The sight of the big dog, now sporting a healthy dusting of snow across his shoulders and muzzle, was enough to brighten anyone’s mood. He supposed, after almost starving to death on his own, the idiot creature was simply happy to be alive long enough to see another day.

The two of them would go and check Sandor’s traps later. With any luck, they’d snag a rabbit or two that you could roast for supper and have plenty of bones left for Nameless to enjoy. But, in the meantime, you wouldn’t be cooking anything if there wasn’t any wood for the fire.

It hadn’t warmed up any by the time Sandor walked to the woodshed. The snows frozen crust crunched under his feet as he walked, while his breath floated away in thick, white clouds that dampened his beard. His axe, stuck blade down in the stump a few feet away from the woodshed, was a welcome sight.

It was by no means half the weapon his greatsword had been, but Sandor found comfort in the way its worn, wooden handle fit snugly into his grasp and in its blade that thirsted for pine sap instead of blood.

Before long, the sound of logs splitting filled the air, mingling with the soft creak of trees in the wind and an occasional bark from Nameless. Sandor quickly found his rhythm, letting the weight of the axe guide his arm on the downstroke and pushing aside each long with his other hand to be stacked in the shed later.

He went on like that for a while, cut, push, another log, and do it again. The repetition of the work was soothing, almost meditative. It brought a sense of peace to Sandor the way only busy hands could.

Cut, push, new log, do it again.

It was like the axe was an extension of his arm, with the beat of his heart matching each thud of the blade and his breath moving in time as the axe swung through the air. There was most likely going to be a fresh tree fall after last night’s winds, no doubt with plenty of new wood for Sandor to haul home. It probably wouldn’t hurt to bring a length of rope and the sledge when he went hunting with Nameless later. If they didn’t catch anything, at least they wouldn’t be coming home empty-handed.

The young pine he was currently working on was halfway gone by the time you’d made an appearance. Sandor hadn’t heard you at first, too absorbed in what he was doing. It was only after you’d said his name for the third time that he’d finally stopped and turned to look at you over his shoulder, squinting at you as though he wasn’t quite sure who you were or where he was.

“What are you doing out here?”

His tone, like everything about him, was gruff. You smiled at him all the same, knowing that for Sandor, gruffness and worry were often interchangeable.

“Came to check on you. You’ve been out here for hours.”

Sandor glanced upwards and was surprised to find the sun sitting squarely above his head. A sheen of sweat had also broken out over his arms and forehead, and he could feel where it was pooling in the hollows of his back. With a sigh, he set aside his axe and removed his heavy woolen cloak, before turning back towards you.

“Have you been asleep this whole time?”

The slight tilt of his chin in your direction indicated your odd choice of garments. Born to a wilding father and shepherd’s daughter, you always swore the North in your blood kept you from ever truly feeling cold. Still, a sleeping shift, boots, and knit shawl tossed hastily about your shoulders was a questionable choice in midwinter, even for a Northern girl.

You shook your head and gestured back towards the cottage where steam had fogged up the windows.

“I started the laundry, wanted to make use of the sunlight while we still have it. I figured it didn’t make much sense to change until my other clothes were dry, and then I could wash these next.”

Sandor listened to your explanation, his face unchanging save for an arched brow. When you finished, he raised his arm and pointed back at the cottage with a thick finger.

“You should be inside, you fool, woman. You’ll freeze your tits off out here.”

You laughed before wrapping your shawl a little tighter around your shoulders and closing the space between you and Sandor with a few steps.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. I’m a Northerner. I don’t get cold. We’re not as pampered as you Southern city types.”

Sandor grumbled softly and shook his head, something about “tongue lashing harpy bitch.” There was no venom behind his words, however, only affectionate resignation. Instinctively, he brought his hand to rest on the curve of your stomach, a protective gesture towards the child you’d been carrying for the last five months. You reached up for Sandor’s face, cupping the scarred side as you usually did against the palm of your hand.

Sandor’s eyes fluttered shut in response to the touch, and for a moment, years seemed to fall away from his expression. He turned his head slightly to the side and pressed a kiss against the skin of your wrist. You loved seeing him like this, vulnerable and content. It was like a glimpse into the past, when he was young and full of hope. However, his eyes opened all too quickly, and he was back to being the Sandor you knew. Older, grumpy, and entirely done with your nonsense.

“Inside. Or I’ll sling you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes and bring you there myself”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he’d do no such thing, not while you were pregnant, anyway.

“Fine. But I want a kiss first.”

There was more grumbling, but Sandor did as you asked, catching your mouth against his while his hands snaked down to encircle your hips. You leaned into the kiss, pressing your body as close to his as you could get while still keeping your feet on the ground. His beard was coarse against your cheeks, and he smelled faintly of the woods and sweat. The heat of him seemed to envelope you, like a familiar blanket.

You stood like that for a while, the two of you bathed in morning sunshine and kissing as though you’d never get a chance to do it again. When Sandor tried to pull away, you chased him, closing the space between your mouths by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him downwards. This kiss was a little messier and rougher than the first, most likely due to Sandor’s surprise, but you didn’t mind. It was only when you nibbled at his bottom lip that he broke the kiss off in earnest, catching your two hands in one of his and trapping them against his chest.

“None of that. I told you, go inside.”

You stared up at Sandor and pulled your mouth into an exaggerated pout.

“One more? Please? And then I’ll go, I promise.”

Sandor swore softly under his breath and used his free hand to adjust the front of his trousers before leaning down to claim your mouth again. For a moment, it seemed as though you were going to get your way. Sandor had brought his other hand up to twine in your hair, which only served to deepen the kiss. You welcomed it eagerly, opening your lips and running your tongue against the seam of his mouth. He let out a groan in response, the hand that still held yours squeezing tight. You squirmed against him eagerly, trying to wrap one of your legs around his and haul yourself upwards, your hips seeking the friction they so desperately craved.

This, however, didn’t have the desired effect. Sandor began to laugh, and then placed his hands on your shoulders, gently pushing you back so you could no longer reclaim his mouth.

“I’m not a tree, you little minx, so stop trying to climb me. You said one more, you’ve had one more, and now you’re going to go inside or else.”

One look at Sandor’s face, and you knew there was no use in pushing your luck. With a long, suffering sigh, you stepped away, already mourning the absence of his mouth and hands on your body.

“Fine. But I better see you again before it gets dark. I’ll need to wash those clothes you’re wearing, and I’m not warming up your dinner twice.”

Sandor grunted, the noise vaguely affirmative enough that you took it as agreement. You turned to head back towards the cottage, only to stop mid step when you felt the familiar sting of an open hand strike your ass. You spun back around, your shawl spinning about your shoulders, and stared at Sandor, who grinned wolfishly back.

“That’s not fair!” you sputtered, your already pink cheeks flushing deeper.

“Nothing ever is,” came the reply.

You shook your head, turning once again to leave. Sandor let you do so without further torment, watching the way the sunlight made your hair glisten and the subtle swing of your hips as you walked. Nothing was ever fair, but sometimes things got close, even for an old dog like himself.

[thebookbutterfly]

°•. Sandor Clegane .•°

Fan fiction recommendations from BB’s Bookshelf. All my favourite Sandor Clegane works in one place.

⭐️ = one of my favourites

ONESHOTS:

🦋 Secret Wife [Fluff] In which the reader and Sandor are married but no one knows. When Tormund starts hitting on you, Sandor’s jealousy gets the best of him and the secret comes out. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Punishment? [Fluff] Forced marriage trope. After Joffrey forces you to marry the Hound as a punishment you learn the giant of a man is kinder than he looks. Love ensues. So much for a punishment. << Female Reader >>

🦋 In the North [Fluff] Established Relationship. After The Battle of Blackwater Sandor and the reader were forced to separate. Fluff ensues when you both reunite in the North. Soft Sandor. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Sharing a Bed with the Hound [Fluff] You and Sandor arrive at the inn to find that there is only one bed. You refuse to let him sleep on the floor. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Not Such A Lady [Fluff] Domestic Sandor x Reader. Sandor is shocked to find out just how many swear words his lady knows. << Female Reader, Swearing >>

🦋 keeping warm [Fluff] You’re freezing and Sandor is practically a furnace. Cuddling for warmth. << Gender Neutral Reader >> ⭐️

SERIES:

Coming Soon!

DRABBLES:

Coming Soon!

IMAGINES:

🦋 Bear [Fluff] Everyone calls Sandor the Hound, but to you he seems more like a bear. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

[first-edition]

Fox and the Hound

Chapter 10

Sum-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. 

Cw for chapter- mention of rape,mention of wine, alcohol consumption, description of blood and gore, description of prostitution, Cersei being a mean old drunk, talk of pregnancy, 18+ words and themes overall. Slight angst.

Read previous chapter here

You can hear the yelling and the screams of worry outside your chamber door or people hurrying through the halls. You doors open as you and your maids gasp. 

“My apologies my lady but its time to go to the keep.” He says bowing. 

“Of course.” You say gathering your skirt and hurrying out seeing the other ladies of the court hurrying down the hall. 

“y/n.” you hear your name turing seeing sansa. 

“Sansa!” you sigh of relief as she hugs you before you both continue down the hall with the others. 

“Are you alright?” she asks. 

“Yes just a little scared.” you say she nods. 

“Me too,” she replies her grip on your arm tightens. 

“Where is sandor?” she asks. 

“Fighting, hes still kings guard you know.” you say. 

“Thats right..” she says

“Princess, my lady. His grace the king requests you see him off to the battle.” a guard speaks bowing to you and sansa who gives you a weary look before she nods back to the guard who escorts you both to the throne room.

—------

Hound walks into the court yard with joss and another as the other kings guard men drown themselves in whores and ale. Its silent as he walks through and sits pouring himself a drink. 

“You're not staying underground with you lady wife?” bronn asks loudly as the foreign whore sits nude on his lap. A whore who shouldn't be so brave walks over to sandor placing her hand on his armored shoulder. 

“If your lonely ser i could take care of y- Ah!” sandor swats her hand away so fiercely she stumbles back and falls. 

“Touch me again girl and ill send you out nude first to the baratheon's army and they can have thier way with you.” he grumbles. 

Bronn and some other men chuckle. 

“Loyal to your woman are you? First rounds on me” he asks raising his cup to him. 

Sandor rolls his eyes and presses the cup to his lips chugging the rest of whats in his cup. 

“I dont think he likes me. Hes a prince lord now you see, he married the vixen princess but a while ago.” bronn says to the whore on his lap. Sandor sighs sitting back more than annoyed with bronns voice. 

“Shut the fuck up before I cut you in half you little fairy.” sandor huffs. 

“Its warm in here ser, weve got beautiful women and good ale and all you want is to put me in the cold dark ground. How kind of you.” bronn speaks once more. 

More than before, Sandor is annoyed with bronn. Sandor gets up from his seat and walks over to bronn who now moves the whore off his lap. 

“You think you a hard man, fucking, drinking telling stories and singing. You think thats the thing you love the most, but its not. Killing is what you love most. Your just like me. Only smaller.” Sandor says towering over bronn who also stands. 

“Killing cant be the only thing you love. What about your lady wife” bronn speaks again tilting his head back to face hound who is about to draw his sword but the bells begin to ring and everyone hurries out of the court yard. 

“One last drink eh?” bronn chuckle. 

Sandor grumble rolling his eyes and turing away knowing he shouldve drank something stronger to deal with jofferys whining voice. 

—----

You and sansa along with a few of youre maids behind you, stand in the throne you play with the sleeve of your dress.

“SANSA!! SANSA!” you hear joffrey yelling at him sandor and three other guards follow. The overwhelming fear you felt earlier floods your system hoping you not vomit again. 

“Your grace?” she says hurrying to the king as you stay in place your hand pressed to your stomach. 

“My lady? Are you alright?” you maiden says quietly. You nod shakily. 

You watch as jeoffry makes sansa kiss his sword as he continues to boast about how they are going to win as they outnumber them even though kingslandings guard is half the size of stannis.

All the while sandor dosnt take his eyes off you as you watch sansa and jeoffry. He scans you, what your wearing, what you look like, your body language the way you fiddle with the sleeves of your dress. He memorizes every feature of your face. In case hes to die in battle tonight he wants you to be the last thing he remembers.

Another wave of nausea hits you as you stumble to the side your maiden rushes to you keeping you from falling. The wave is not enough to make you cough up your meal but its debilitating enough. 

“My lady!” another hurries to you taking your arm. You give a small whimper in discomfort. 

With out thinking sandor hurries to you as well. You dont notice hes infront of you until he speaks. Your eyes moving to the floor now to his face as he places a hand on your cheek. 

“y/n? Are you alright?” he asks. You open your mouth to speak but only a whine of discomfort comes out. 

More than anything he wants to stay with you but he knows he cant hes not allowed. 

“S-sandor.. I have to tell you something.” you speak pained. 

“DOG lets go!” you hear jeoffry order. 

“Fuck..” sandor mumbles before letting go of you and walking off with the king. 

“Come my lady, we must go down to the queen.” your maid says as you nod looking back to find sandor and the rest gone from the throne room.

Heading down the basement to under the keep you and sansa walk in but your interrupted from finding a place to sit when cersi calls you over to her she sits enjoying a glass of whine. 

You walk over to her and sloppily curtsy. 

“Hmm…you look pale? Has your red flower bloomed?” she ask 

“N-no your grace.” you reply. 

“Mm are you frightened child?” she asks. 

“yes .” you speak plainly. 

“Here. drink it'll ease your fear.” she says handing you a glass of wine. 

“I'm not thirsty your grace.” you speak. Declining the alcoholic beverage. 

“I didn't offer you water, dove.” she snaps at you. 

“F-forgive me your grace but I cannot accept…” you say. Her hardened expression at you softens when she sees your hand rest on your lower stomach. 

“You Are with child?” she ask you nod. 

“Hmm. you shall bare a fine little lord. Does the hound know of your adversary.” she says pulling the glass away pouring the wine into her cup and then handing the extra cup to the maid behind her. 

“....n-no your grace i haven't told him.” you say she gives a slight squint and frown before speaking. 

“You've not told your lord husband especially on a day like this..when did you find out?” she asks rather harshly. 

“T-today your grace just a few hours ago the maester confirmed it.” you speak the wave of nausea finally subsiding. 

“Do you love the hound?” she ask. There it was again the nausea is back. Not caused by the babe in your womb but by the queens insistent ask.

“Yes your grace i do.” you reply. 

“Then why haven't you told him.'' She demands more than asks. 

“He's still a part of kings guard your grace. He’s busy.” you say giving an excuse other than you're terrified of his reaction. 

“Fitting dont you think? He could die out there while you provide life in here…the souls of the dead fuel for the god to give your babe life..a small token of a litter you and my son's dog will have.” she says. 

Everytime someone insults sandor as a dog, or a bitch, of some form of less than animal your blood boils. You want nothing more than to slap cersi across her face and yell but the hand you slapped her with would be cut off and your vocal cords your yelled at her with would be severed as your head rolls on the execution ground. Instead all you can speak is a mere. 

“Yes your grace, it should do me the pleasure of gifting the lord clegane with sons.” you say she gives a smile knowing no matter how hard you try you can t be disobedient. She pats the seat on the pillows next to her gesturing for you to sit down next to her and you do. 

“When i was your age i was pregnant with jeoffry. I did not love his grace the king but i love the children he has given me me flesh and blood my life line. It’s a good thing you love the hound you’ll his children even more.” she speaks before chugging her glass and then holding it out for more wine. 

The entire night cersi drinks and rambles on about children and how shit being queen is. It's only stopped when ser merryn runs into the room. Covered in blood and drink. Women gasp at the sight of his and a few faint at the thought of what outside the gates look like. 

“Your grace they have begun breaching the castle walls.” he says 

“Where is jeoffry?” she says

“On the battle lines with the others.”

“Bring him to his chambers at once. I don't want to hear anything more, do you understand.” she huffs. 

“Yes your grace" he says and runs out. 

“Do you remember when i told you ser ilyn was here to protect us? I lied…when stannis breaches those walls he will take the city but he will not take us..not alive ser ilyn will be doing us a great favor my dove..you and your child will not have to perish under the sting of another mans cock but under a formidable blade.” she says drinking the rest of her cup. 

You glance down before getting up and walking to the doors where guards stop you. 

“Let her go.” cersi speaks you gather your dress enough that once the doors open you hurry out of the room alone leaving sansa and your ladies in waiting behind as you run through the halls and up the stairs you see other guard laying dead in the stairwell and even some servants bleeding to death. 

Hurrying to your chambers you rush through the door seeing three men inside raiding it. You gasp out seeing them bloody as they snicker with their treasures. 

“Oh look what we’ve got here.” The taller one says. 

“Another treasure for us to take, and hmm looks to be a fresh maiden.” The fat one says as he chuckles looking up and down at you smirking. 

“Don't come near me.” You say reaching for a spare blade Sandor had placed in the dresser drawer. 

“Or what you’ll fight with those pretty little hands of yours?... My, my i wonder what other pretty parts you have.” The red haired one says. 

You turn in a hurry to run to the dresser but the taller man grabs you. You scream at the top of your lungs as they throw you down on the ground. Holding you down to hike up your dress skirt. 

“Let’s see how pretty your parts really are!” He says undoing his pants before ripping your dress as you scream and fight desperately trying to get out of the other two's grip as they hold you down. 

The man's face suddenly drops and he falls to the floor with an axe in the back of his skull. You panic as tears fall down your cheek but it settles when you see Sandor in the doorway drawing his sword. The other men getting up and running at him with swords or thier own you crawl back twords the end of the bed. As you watch as Sandor grasp one man by the neck, easily towering over him and stabs his stomach, slashing him almost in two before dropping the body then snapping the other mans neck as his body thumps down onto the stone floor the blood seeping into the bear skin rug. 

Sheathing his sword he walks up to you and kneels in front of you.

“Shh-sh now little fox it's alright I’ve got you.” He says lifting you up despite being bloody you wrap your arms around his hand strokes your hair kissing your head. 

“We’re going.” He says pulling away from you before walking side to side packing things. 

“Wh-where?” 

“Someplace that isn’t burning perhaps north, south.” He says 

“What about Sansa…the king?!” YOU exclaim’

“Fuck the king! He can die just fine on his own.” He says He continues to rummage around the room packing things but stops only when he realizes you're not moving. He looks at you in confusion but you shake your head. 

“S-sandor i..i cant travel i cant leave.” You say He scoffs dropping the bag with a thud. 

“This place is nothing but a burning pile of rubble with a second hand drift of cunts, you really want to stay here and burn.” He says.

“S-stay here with us Sandor.” You say he scoffs, shaking his head at you. 

“Ive been burnt before little fox and its not all fun and games.” He says but continues to watch for any movement you make. But his expression changes from pleading to confusion replaying what you had said just a moment ago.

“Us?” he ask shaking his head. “I'm not staying here with the royal court.” he says 

“No no us.” you say taking his hand placing it against your stomach looking up at him. Your heart beating out of your chest at having to finally tell him. 

“Me and him.” you say again. 

“Come with me.” He says. 

“I-…” you begin.

He grabs your arms and gruffly speaks to you. 

“Please.”

Next chapter here

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[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird and The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 2 ✿:+ White Mare

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

CW: slow burn, MDNI, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, alcohol consumption, mention of parent(s) death, mention of arranged marriage, mention of prostitution, mention of NSFW themes

Word Count: 3037

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Ever since that day in the stable you filled your days with reading, sewing, mindless activities to keep yourself busy. Anything to relieve your mind of the horrors of Kings Landing and your shameful thoughts of the giant who roamed the halls. Loras and you grew distant since you rejected his hand in marriage, in turn you spent your time with the Starks. It was hard at first to be without your only friend but you were determined to get your cousin out of this city. But it wasn’t hard when Sansa clung to you like a scared beaten dog. You were treated no better of course. But at least you knew how to handle such cruelty with a stepmother like Lysa. 

“Don’t let them see you cry,” You’d repeat holding her face “Don’t let it show. Don’t you see how much pleasure he derives from seeing you like this?” 

 Arya would teach you small things she learned during her sword training, and in all honesty it was the most fun you’d had in years. You found yourself becoming more and more invested in those little girls' well being. 

It seemed as soon as Nedd arrived in Kings Landing his time ended. 

That day seemed like a dream. You were summoned by Cersei to her Chambers.

“Has Lord Stark mentioned anything to you about the nature of your fathers death?” Cersei questioned you calmly as she poured wine into her gablet.  

“My fathers?” You asked genuinely confused, she nodded as she sipped her wine “No, your grace.”  

“Good. It would be cruel of him to spark paranoia in the mind of a grieving daughter.” She said as she paced the room with her goblet of wine in hand. 

“Paranoia?” If you weren’t before you would be now. 

Cersei interrupted you once more “Lord Stark will be arrested for treason today. Somewhat unrelated but it would seem that Lord Stark’s head is filled with paranoid thoughts.” 

You didn’t understand why your uncle was on trial for such a crime. You were just a girl to these men, they didn’t speak of such things with you, that is yet. “Little bird, you are a clever and strong girl. I know you are loyal, loyal to the Starks, they are your family. But it is important to be loyal to your allies just the same. Sometimes family will only drag us down, allies however can make us stronger.” Cersei not so subtly threatened you.

You nodded politely, as soon as you could leave you tried to find your little cousins. 

You found Arya by the stables. You noticed the men lying dead on the ground with the Stark girls baggage. You saw Arya holding her bloodied sword after pulling it out of the stable boy.

She was horrified, you approached her slowly and quietly.

“Arya” You spoke gently but that didn’t stop Arya from jumping and pointing needle at you. “Arya, you need to run.” You said softly, almost a whisper. 

She ran to you dropping needle, she wrapped her arms around you. You held her close but kneeled to her height. 

You held her face with both your hands and your eyes bore into hers. “Your family is not safe here. You are not safe here.” Your grasp on her head did not waver. “You have to find a way out, get to the city, find a way out of the city, get to the north.” 

“I can’t!” She began to whine as she cried 

“You can!” you stroked her hair trying to keep her attention “You killed those men?” 

“Just the stable boy” she cried softly

“You killed a man. That's more than most women will ever kill.” You pulled her face closer trying to make sure your words reached her  “Listen to me those men will come and they will kill you. Don’t trust anyone, never tell them your name, never tell them your house. Lie, and get good at it. Kill if you need to.” You said as you grabbed needle and put it in her hand, “Now go.” You say as you let go of her and she runs off. 

‘Good’ you thought as you watched her run away. As you watched you didn’t notice the tears that had fallen from your eyes. 

Soon enough you were summoned by Cersei to witness Nedd’s verdict. 

She didn’t anticipate what came next, and neither did you, watching the death of your uncle. 

You held Sansa through it. As she screamed and cried, you tried your best to conceal her eyes. 

Your eyes however dodged from your uncle to The Hound behind him. You hoped he would do something to stop it, but he didn’t 

And so, it happened. 

The second hand of the king died.

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He thought of it every night. 

The moment he touched you, your skin, the moment his rough hands caressed your throat. 

He rolled the thought over in his mind millions of times. Gods’, it tortured him to no end. He tried to bury himself in his duty, bury himself in any woman who looked the slightest bit like you on the Streets of Silk, even taking himself in his hand at the thought of your scent…. More than once.

The thought of you sparked resentment and anger in his chest. He was Kingsguard now, he had no use for a woman, had no use for these emotions he felt. 

He hated you for it. Hated you for the way he wanted to rip Loras’s head off anytime he saw you and him in the garden. Hated you for the way he thought of your eyes everytime he closed his eyes. Hated you for the way his mind would wonder at you at any turn even on duty. Hated you for the way his chest tightened anytime he caught even a glimpse of you around Kings Landing.  And he hated you for the way your eyes caught his. Each time it was like a deadlock, those eyes, they were a bow and arrow and they shot through him each time. 

He grumbled under his breath anytime you were near. Purposefully look away from you as if you didn’t exist. You pretended not to care, but you fought hard just to catch a single glimpse of his face. The burns that draped across the right side of his face like the sheer lace curtains you had in your room in the Eyrie that distort your view from the window. 

Neither of you had much time to think about these emotions during the following days. You were spending your time mothering Sana as she grieved her fathers death. The Hound was now King Joffrey’s personal bodyguard now that Robert was gone. A terrible task truly. 

Even worse one when your stubborn and rebellious tongue didn’t obey your better judgment around the new king. The Hound tried to convince himself he hated it, but it turned him on even if he didn’t want to admit it. He tried to keep you safe, as safe as he could. Whenever you shot an annoyed glance, a cleverly concealed insult Joffrey's way, the Hound would simply divert Joffrey’s attention to something else. But if you ever got on Joffrey's bad side he couldn’t do much, far be it from him to question a king. On Joffrey’s name day you tested his patience. Joffrey had you and his lady Sansa accompany his side during his Name Day celebration. However you felt a slight sting of joy knowing you’d be so close to him once again. But more so your stomach turned in on itself. Joffrey no doubt invited you for the explicit challenge of trying to elicit some kind of reaction from you in some way. This became clear once he continuously asked for your input on the celebratory fighting. You’d had a small fascination with combat at first. It was like a dance but with blood and swords. but soon you’d grow bored of it. 

As The Hound had beaten a man to a whimpering submissive pulp the fight was over. Joffrey clapped and cheered as The Hound removed his dog helmet.  

Still you were stunned by him. You wanted to hate him for not helping your uncle. You tried to hate him but in all honesty you knew he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He’d no real power, no real way of stopping it.

“Well struck, Dog!” Joffrey shouted, and snapped you out of your trance.

Joffrey turned to you and Sansa “Did you like that?” he asked, taunting you and her. 

“It was well struck, your Grace.” Sansa replied, stoic. 

“I just said that.” Joffrey said, his eyes narrowed, his tone deepened. 

Ser Meryn looked over in Sansa’s direction. You knew what that meant, 

“I found it boring.” You chimed in, your eyes just as narrow as his. 

“You did?” He asked with the same threatening tone 

“Mm” you nodded 

“And what man did your house bring to fight?” 

“Brought no man.” You shook your head 

The Hound returned to his station by the Kings side. He pretended not to listen but he was, intensely. 

“You brought no man to my name day tournament?” He questioned further, you knew he would have taunted you further. To state it was for lack of good men or perhaps your dead father’s power died with him, that your house was to die with it.

“Not one.” Your head whipped towards Joffrey, gaze sharpening. “Not one man wished to celebrate your name day it would seem.”

“Ser Meryn.” Joffrey commanded. 

You noticed the Hound's head tilt in your direction as Ser Meryn walked towards you and slapped you across your face, cutting your lip with the armor of his glove. As Ser Meryn walked away you turned your head back towards Joffrey. 

“You are a pretty girl, a little more plump than I would like, but still a pretty girl.” Joffrey said “You should be more agreeable in tone, or you might find you won't be so pretty.” He smiled as he threatened you. 

“Hm?” He waited for your response as you wiped the blood from your lip. 

As you looked up, “Do you wish for me to cry, your Grace?” you asked almost mocking. 

Joffrey began to dryly chuckle at your remark, probably about to order another hit for you as Ser Dontos Hollard stumbled onto the tournament drunkenly. The Hound cleared his throat, getting Joffrey to shift his attention towards him and not you. With his attention shifted you were safe once more.

Your eyes stayed on the Hound however. You knew what he had done for you, however subtle it was, you noticed. 

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You found yourself spending more and more time near your mare. The moon shined on her just right for her coat to shine almost like metal, and your candle light shined on her just perfectly for her to glow like the sun. Lika, she was the only thing left you had from your home. You’d begin to yearn for the times you’d be furious with your fathers decisions and his useless attempts at comforting you. Because at least if he’d seen you were struck the way you had been, he’d have taken you home. He’d have helped you. But for now, you had Lika. 

As you sat in front of Lika’s stable, you read some book you’d stolen from Tyrion at some point. It was hardly interesting, infact you’d almost fallen asleep but Lika nuzzled her snout into your neck and sniffed you deeply, jolting you awake before you smiled and wrapped your arm around her head. You began to stroke the side of her head as you heard a low and deep voice beckon from the entrance of the stables. 

“Fuck are you doin’ girl.” 

Your head snapped towards him, relief befell you once you saw it was him, the Hound.

You looked back towards your book, “Reading, or I was anyway.” You replied softly

“Read in your room,” He said gruffly as his large hand opened the doors to the stable wider. He was so tall he ducked into the doorway as he walked inside. 

“I’ll decide where I read.” you said defiant as always. 

With a dry chuckle he began to walk towards you, “Words like that are the reason you got that cut on your lip.” 

“You don’t have to remind me of it.” You thought to yourself how this is exactly how you must sound to Sansa.

“Fuck-” He hissed under his breathe “You don’t want my help? Suit yourself.” He huffed “But don’t scream for me when you need it.” 

“I won’t want it.” You say softly “Anyways, you can’t help me.-” You began as he cut you off

“I helped that Tyrell you love.” He said with venom in his voice and a softness in his gaze. 

You furrowed your brows, stood up and faced him head on “And I have thanked you for it.” 

“I know you helped that Stark girl escape.” He said matter of fact

You huffed “What do you want from me?” you asked pained

“I want you to stay away from me.” 

“You seem to forget you came to me.” 

“You should run from me, you should tell me to go.”

“I don’t run.”

“That’s the fucking problem with you, girl. If you’d any sense you’d think of yourself. Change that tone of yours. Change those eyes, the way you look at people… like you want to gut them.” 

“I do want to.” 

“Stubborn” he chuckled darkly “Stubborn will get you beaten.” 

“Why did you come for me?” 

“I saw the light-“

“No. If it were anyone else you’d’ve gone on your way by now.” 

“Fuck does it matter?” 

“Sandor-”

“Don’t call me that.”  He hissed

“Tell me,” You say, raising a hand to his scarred cheek. He flinched and backed away quickly. His scowl deepened. He moved away from you, he turned to face outside the stables. “You wrapped your hand round my throat, and you won't let me touch your cheek?” 

“It’s different, you’re not ruined.” He said whilst he stared into the nothingness outside the stable doors. 

“Am I not?” You asked, your words felt sharp. 

“No, no you are not.” His words felt gentler. 

“I’ve no one, I’ve only this cage I sit in.” 

“You’ve got someone,” He scoffed over his shoulder at me, my eyes looking up at him widening against my will. “You’ve got that Tyrell,” You huffed, “That stark child that follows you like a bloody shadow.” He looked back into the night, “I’ve got no one,” 

“You do,” You say without noticing how bold it was until he turned to you, “Or you would, if you’d let them.” 

“My brother.” he mumbled, his head hung low as he walked closer to you. “Pressed my cheek to the fire.” He finished, unwilling to give anything else. “I know you’ve heard the story, Baelish, that cocksucking rat, no doubt told you.” 

“Course he did.” You didn’t lie, you never could to him. “But I asked you.”

He smirked slightly, his head still slightly turned away from you not wanting you to see. 

Your hand rose to caress his cheek, you did it slowly. He flinched his head away slightly and in turn you pulled your hand back slightly. As his head came back, moving closer towards you. You moved your hand to his cheek once more, slowly. He grabbed your wrist before it could make contact with his face.  

“Look at me,” He hissed “I’m a killer, the things I’ve done-” He thought back on those things “You don’t want this girl.” His grip on your wrist did not loosen, as if he was genuinely trying to protect you. “You’ll wed some lord, you’ll have his sons, and you’ll be far and gone from this shit city.” 

“I don’t want to wed a lord.” Your eyes now are not so hateful but sad. 

“World, doesn’t give a fuck what you want.” His hand reached out, slightly cupped the back of your head, hardly touching. He ran his hand down the length of your hair. Once he reached the end of it he held a lock of it in his hand to examine the color in the candle light. His deep, rich brown eyes reached yours once more. He could swear yours sparkled in any light. 

“I’ll walk you to your chamber.” He said gruffly, peeling his eyes away with yours. He grabbed the book in your hand and walked towards the doors of the stables. 

You let out a staged huff as you followed him. 

As he led you through the halls you realized that you were doing just that, following him. He knew where your chambers were and knew how to get there swiftly. 

The thought lit a fire in your chest. 

As he arrived at your door he stopped, as you opened it you turned to look at him. 

“You stole this from the imp.” He grumbled as he held up the book you did in fact steal. 

Your eyes went from the book to him, “Are you going to report me to the Queen.” You said, you smiled slightly with your eyes. Testing him and his loyalties. He growled under his breath and walked off.

The way you tested his patience stirred something in him. 

He’d definitely be taking himself in his hand that night again.

Is love the death of duty.  Or is duty the death of love?

[ohmy-zabrak]

🌙 Have this part of my wip because we need more silly Hound content 🌙

"Oh, have a cock do you?" The Hound snorts.

"I do, it's massive. Bigger than your's even."

To Bronn and Tyrion's surprise...the Hound giggles. "Let's see it then."

The sound of rustling blankets through the wall.

"No, he's shy," Lady Alice says. "Knock it off, you're scaring him!" She giggles.

The sounds of wrestling.

"There's no cock here-"

Alice yelps but it turns into a moan.

[dr3adlady]

✨🎄🐶🐦🎄✨

[middleearthsdreams]

New World

Chapter 1

Author's notes: Hii, this is my first time posting something of mine here, I hope you'll enjoy. I usually write these for myself so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes or grammatical errors - english isn't my first language. I didn't proof read, I thought of just posting it and see how it goes.

(The reader has a little of self-insert, so she's going to be italian, nothing too evident)

Warnings: so far none.

Enjoy xoxo

chapter 2 / chapter 3

The last thing you remember, was the feeling of sinking. Like when you’re falling in a dream. Then nothing at all.

You gasp for air, hoisting yourself up with your arms. Your vision is blurred, the shapes around you look nothing like your room. The only think you can hear is the hard and fast beating of your heart. Your hands feel wet and cold, like you’ve been laying in the morning grass for a while. Now that you place your thoughts together, it’s not just your hands that feel cold, but your whole body is shivering from the cold. You start to panic. You can barely feel the sheer fabric of your shirt and sweats, as you move around looking for your glasses. You take a hold on them and wear them.

Yes, something is definitely wrong. You have just the feeling that you’re still dreaming. You focus on the tall trees surrounding you, and the dirt you’re touching with your hands. Your eyes can’t lie to you, you’re surely dreaming. Your comfy bed is gone, as is your warm room. You stand up with bare feet. Wiggling your toes to warm them up and to feel the damp forest floor, you look around. The lucid dream you’re in is set in a cold forest, apparently. The reason? Whatever it is your consciousness wants to tell you is very subtle, maybe it is to take a walk? Breathe clear air? You clean your hands form the dirt on your sides. Your grey shorts taking a brownish shade.

You start to wander the path, there’s marks on the ground, like a carriage has just passed by. You feel your mind on a cloud, still not knowing what is happening around you. But yet, you’re dreaming. It must be a pretty normal feeling. You’re surprised by your rational thoughts. You wonder why this forest feels familiar. But again, you dream familiar things all the time.

You whistle a melody while walking, looking around in search of odd things to encounter. Something must happen, for crying out loud. You’re constantly waiting for something to barge or stumble on your presence, but it doesn’t happen. As the minutes pass by you’re overcome by boredom, and immediately after that by fear. It’s irrational, pure and primal fear of the unknown. The trees look all the same and the Sun begins to shine brightly, letting you know that hours have passed by, and not just minutes. You run, pinch your arm, count your fingers. Nothing. You can feel the ache of your lungs from running, the pain in your arm as you pinch it, and again you counted 10 fingers. You huff and puff, leaning on your knees to steady your irregular breathing. Your back stiffens, a loud ‘crack’ coming from somewhere around you. You freeze and quit your loud noises, counting to ten before sprinting in a frantic run. You leap on logs and wet leaves, never stopping. You jump, looking behind for just a second. You heard something very close. You have just the time to look back ahead and discover where the noise actually came from. You bump, very harshly, on a strong person. Not just strong but also firm and hard, since it doesn’t even bulge. You fall – again. This time you know why, at least. And you know now more that before you’re not dreaming. Your head feels heavy, your limbs ache incredibly bad. A loud bark comes from the person you just run over.

“Seven Hells, watch out!”

It screams at you, adjusting its armoured shoulders. Your ears perk up, he sounds familiar. You can tell it’s a he, and he is also very tall. That half-burnt face, you could recognize it everywhere. You squint your eyes, hoping you are wrong. Despite your glasses, and your eyes being the useless muscles they were, you focus enough to trace the coarse face of the man standing in front of you. He looks you down, an angry expression buried in a frown. He’s like this all the time. But you discovered the true and most emotional parts of this giant man. During the show. Because that’s what it was, a show. The Game of Thrones was just a show, and the Hound isn’t standing in front of you. You feel yourself floating, out of this world. Your soul – figuratively – leaving your body. But what was this world if not dreams? It couldn’t be real.

You gasp for air, trying to feel the touch of your numb hands on the ground, but you couldn’t. Your breathing becomes frantic, you’re sure to be having a panic attack. You don’t look up anymore, trying not to focus on the man’s face. It couldn’t be more real. A real panic attack. You feel every little detail and at the same time you don’t. You can’t feel your body from the outside but only form the inside.

The tall man – the Hound – keeps looking at you from above, not really caring what is going on. “Yea, feel bad about it, I ain’t gonna apologize” he says, taking his gloves out. His voice is what makes you feel everything suddenly, all at once. He grounds you back to the moment. Your feet on the ground, hands gripping the dirt: you breathe again.

His eyes wander to your sitting form, wondering if you’re a threat or just some lost girl. While you start to wonder if you’re just batshit crazy. Holding your thoughts back, you stumble up on your feet. You eye the Hound carefully, making sure he’s really there. And if he’s there, you make sure he doesn’t make anything dangerous towards you. Now that you find yourself in front of him, you can see why people were so scared of him. It’s just his whole presence, that makes you shiver – and not in a good way. You carry yourself near him, not too close as not to worry him of harm. Not that you could harm him, in any way. Stranger is right beside him, loaded with weapons and some of his own stuff.

“I apologize Ser” You speak for the first time, not really sure if to bow or how to bow. You decide not to. Now that he’s assured you’re not mute, he looks away from you and grunts. He really just grunts. His horse could have given you a much better answer, you think. “Not a Ser” He just shrugs. You don’t know how to respond to that, so you decide to stay silent. You look around again, since you don’t really know what to do. The forest is quiet except for the birds and unknown sounds. You wonder if you find yourself in the north, but quickly discharge the idea. It would have been way colder if it was. You can stand on your bare feet and not freeze your toes off, so it’s definitely not it. You kick the ground lightly, wondering if you’re gonna be walking into the woods for much longer. You don’t have much knowledge about scouting and hunting, maybe finding a tavern would be the best choice. Of course, it would be, if you knew where to go.

“What were ye doing out in the forest?” His sudden question clears your thoughts, having grown accustomed of the quiet chatting inside your head. You turn your head to him, a question mark written across your face. You have no fucking clue, but here you are. Chatting with the Hound. From the Game Of Thrones. He steadies a bag on the horse, maybe done camping for a night. You wonder what season you found yourself into.

You answer, lying: “I was being chased by a boar”. That would explain your helpless running, obviously. However, since you couldn’t tell him the truth, you start to ponder which lies would have sounded more reasonable. Trying to test the waters, a joke escapes you: “didn’t want to end like King Robert, you know”. You giggle lightly, trying to break the ice. He just huffs but answers your silent question: “aye”. So, it’s past first season, good to know.

“Can I ask you a question?” You try but he stops you “You just did”. You roll your eyes at him, glad he doesn’t notice. “I heard about Stannis Baratheon marching upon Kingslanding, is it true?” You know you’re burning your cards but you don’t know how better to put it. His movements stop for a second, he looks ahead, but he wakes and close up the straps holding the bag quickly. He grunts again, so it’s a yes. ‘Oh’, you smile. He’s on the run, then.

You try to make it sound casual “I just heard about it, it’s crazy what the Imp has done with the wildfire”. He replies with a growl then walks with his steed alongside him, away from you. The ground opens up beneath your feet: what would you do if you were alone? You couldn’t be left alone: you would not survive one day. As you glare at his broad shoulders walking away, the lamp inside your head turns on.

You struggle to walk to him, what long strides he takes. “Wait!” You exclaim, almost running. He doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking. “Don’t leave me alone” You tell him, trying to make him feel something. You know how cautious he is, he is a loner and he has just escaped a city that wants his head on a pike. Despite all of this, he is one of the strongest men in all Westeros, he could keep you safe like no one else could. Whatever that escaping bullshit was, it had to wait. “I don’t know where I am and I don’t know how to live in a forest, I would die by tomorrow or worse” You complain. He just shrugs his shoulders and says “None of my business”. You should have figured he would be like this. But one tiny, little part of you wants to make him feel sorry for you. You’re the damsel in distress.

“At least can you give me a ride? You see, I ran so fast I lost my shoes” you say looking at your feet on the verge of bleeding. He stops himself – and the horse – to turn around and look you down. He bends, looking at your feet with disgust. His hard shell cracks the tiniest bit, because he sighs. “Whatever, where are ye off to?” He offers a hand to make you sit on the horse, but changes his mind: you are far too short. He opens his arms, holding your hips to help you up. His two hands almost engulf your whole waist, his touch making you blush. Here come the nice shivers. “For now, the next tavern, then I’m heading North”. You don’t know why, but you want to separate yourself from Kingslanding as quickly as possible. That damn city. You love the sea and all, but you would prefer to visit the western zones. The North would seem like a good option for now. You lighten up, your eyes glistening. You could try to save Robb, Cathleen and then try to meet all of your favourites. Maybe you could travel north and save Ed and Pip and – your heart races – Ingrid. You could still have time to help Tyrion with the whole trial, and meet Prince Oberyn, save him from the Mountain. There’s still time. You know all of it, the timing is perfect.

Your racing thoughts are pulled away by Sandor’s hand coming close to your leg, to take the reins. Eyes scan your body, you feel embarrassed by your sleeping attire, not very fit for the season. You try to cover your exposed thighs and belly. You went to sleep with some shorts and a small top, since it was summer. Now, you surely hadn’t planned to travel in a fantasy series, otherwise you would have worn much different clothing. Maybe a cute little outfit, you had just the perfect dress for the occasion which you bought for LARP. Sandor – what a sweet name to pronounce – clears his throat and points out “You’re going to freeze your ass off if you’re going North”. You shrug “I’m just going to buy new clothes along the way-” you slap yourself and think ‘yeah, with what money?’. You decide it’s a problem for future you, now you just want to enjoy your first horse ride and to chat a little bit more. Well, not that Sandor’s a chatty man, but you can talk and he can just listen. “Whatever” He just shrugs. You focus on him now, his unbruised half face directed towards you. Then it hits you. You feel like crying, chin trembling. You always forget he dies too, in the end. And you think it’s just unfair: for all the character development he will be going through, it’s just cruel how his story ends. He knows you’re looking at him, but he’s used to be stared at. He thinks it’s his scar that scares people away, that makes him ugly. But he doesn’t know that, in reality, you have a determined face right now. You’re not looking at him because he’s weird – he’s way too handsome in real life. You will save him, no matter the cost. You make it your mission; you will save Sandor Clegane.

“I haven’t properly introduced myself, I’m y/n” You offer him your hand, not receiving any response from him. He just keeps looking ahead, unbothered. You don’t give yourself up: “And you are…?”. You try to not show your real emotions, you’re not the best liar. He scoffs, glancing your way briefly “You know damn well who I am”. You insist “I may know your name, but not the man behind it”. He barks a real and sarcastic laugh – making you jump a little – eyes thin and wrinkled by the grimace “Good luck with that”. Being optimistic, you just nod and say “Challenge accepted”. The shadow of a smile still lingers on his lips, humoured by your attitude. You point your nose up, the rocking of the horse and the thumps of his feet the only sounds remaining.

“Yer not from around here” After some minutes he interrupts the silence, surprising you. You look at him questioning and he clears himself “Ye said your name but didn’t tell me where you come from, lassie”. You open your mouth promptly, but close it again. You surely can’t tell him where you come from, but can’t force yourself to lie enormously. You come up with the most accepting half truth you can muster: “You wouldn’t know, it’s an unknown land from the West”. He doesn’t seem too convinced by your lie, but says nothing. You let out a sigh of relief, then of pensiveness. You don’t mean to brag but you really miss your world: the comforts, the food, your family. You have no clue what is going on the other side. Maybe you’ll wake up in your bed once you’ll fall asleep tonight, maybe not. Does your family know you’re missing?

“But you know, sometimes I miss it, my small town. My mother makes the best pizza of all town, and I’m not saying this because she’s my mom; she taught me how to make it, maybe I can cook it for you one day. I’m gonna need…” You talk and talk, about anything that comes to your mind. You haven’t spoken to someone the whole day: he has the burden to bear with you for quite a while. He sighs, letting you talk.

Your continuous bragging about nothing and everything surely makes Sandor regret his decision. But he’s grown accustomed to boring conversations, so he dissociates from your nonsense. The only thing that intrigued him were the sudden unknown words you spoke – maybe another language. But after some time, he grew tired and began thinking to his own stuff. You know he’s not listening, so you pretend to talk to Stranger. He’s character too, you know. You caress the horse, receiving small sounds of appreciation form him. You tell Stranger all your favourite dishes and hobbies, letting the hours go by.

When the sky starts to turn pink and purple you have shut up for good, hours before. You find the quiet company of the Hound amusing, it’s kind of relaxing. Surely, you want to know many more things than you already know from the tv series. But you tell yourself ‘one thing at a time’.

You rub your cold thighs, shivering from the cold evening air. You haven’t encountered a tavern so far, nor a person passing by. It surely isn’t the King’s Road, otherwise it would be more ‘crowded’. You glance tiredly at the man at your right, his astonishing strength still making him walk. You look at him incredulous: “How are you not tired of walking?” you question him. He just shrugs “I’m used to it”. Your expression drops. You feel terrible for stealing his seat on Stranger, but you don’t know how long you would have gone without shoes. You miss the sensation of warmth that clothes provide, your limbs numb from the riding and cold.

“Can I walk again? I’m hurting my bum up here” You try, his head turning your way, glancing ever so slightly down where said butt sat. He shakes his head “We’re almost arrived”. You sigh, rocking your hips up, trying to relieve the ache between your legs. You’re not used to sit for so many hours. Least to ride a horse. But you’re glad, you thank him silently. You’re overcome by excitement once you hear the indistinct sounds of people talking and drinking, from afar. Finally, people!

Once you – three – arrive at the tavern, you realize you can’t just walk in, this bare you are. Sandor offers to walk inside first, trying to retrieve a dress or something. You thank him, he glances down at you and grunts “Stay hidden, these are not place for ladies to wonder alone naked” and with that he’s jogging inside. You shiver, unmounting Stranger to hide behind his giant form. Your legs wobble and tingle, you let out a moan of relief. You shake and jump on them, warming them up. Your feet are hopelessly cold, you can do nothing about them. You bend to massage your legs, leaning on Stranger to crack your back. The horse looks you weird, like you’ve grown two heads. As you are cracking on the left of your back you feel a presence behind you, its big shadow enveloping you. You’re scared for the first two seconds but take a relieving breath when you hear Sandor’s voice: “What are ye doing?”

“Why are you always bewildered when I do or say something?” You answer, turning back to face him. He’s so tall, you have to tilt your head back to look at him. You take a quick look at his black eyes, unreadable as a stone. He smirks and hands you some pieces of clothing “Cause you’re a funny woman”. His answer leaves you shocked – and amused. Then he turns around and commands: “Put them on”. It takes you some time to distinguish what clothes they are, but manage to put them on. It turns out it’s a long skirt and a bodice, of poor material. You accept kindly, finally covering your legs and arms. Lovely warmth! As you struggle to tie the top piece, you ask “Where did you find these?” referring to the clothes. You hear his shrug thanks to the armour he’s wearing. You decide not to inquire. You sigh loudly, hands behind your back trying to tie the laces but failing miserably. You cross your arms on your breasts and ask quietly “Can you help me?”. You blush, feeling like a child who cannot tie its shoelaces. You still have your back to him. You don’t see him but you can hear him turning towards you, the clanking of metal indicating he’s getting close. Gentle fingers caress your back to find the laces, then a firm pull brings you back. You yelp a little and plant your feet to the ground. He tightens the bodice and knots it. Your blush grows; you’re glad it’s dark so he can’t see it. As suddenly as his hands were on you, they left. He grunts and starts walking back to the tavern. You’re left to yourself for a short second, but you quickly quip behind him. The lingering of his touch burning your back with shivers. The only thing you can see are his broad shoulders, then he moves out of the way and you can finally see the inside of the tavern. It’s so warm and cheerful, you feel overcome by a sudden feeling of happiness. People laughing and drinking, women cheerfully dance to a bad melody. The smell of chicken pie and smoke soaking the environment. Fuck yeah.

You catch up with Sandor to a far table, isolated from the rest. You take a seat across him, excited as a baby to a birthday party. You almost jump from the happiness. Sandor watches you, scrutinizing your every move. He still hasn’t figured you out yet, and that makes him nervous. You’re a small woman, you should be scared of him. Instead, you follow him around and look into him so deeply; you watch him as if you trust him. He knows that, whatever you try to do to him, he’s one of the strongest men in Westeros and could snap you like a twig. So, what is it that makes him nervous? Your gaze rests on his eyes, two seconds too much maybe, and you blush bashfully. He raises a brow ‘what is wrong with this woman?’. Your eyes grow big and wet, your mind racing with thoughts and questions. He looks away, unable to maintain the eye contact. You lower your own gaze.

You get served pie and two pitchers of red wine. It’s not so good – the pie – but since you were starving, you devour it in less than two minutes. Then you gulp down a full goblet of the shitty wine, to ease the passing. All the while Sandor looks at you shocked – as far as his facial expression can go. He’s never seen a lady behave like that, but – after all – you didn’t eat a thing the whole day.

A sigh escapes your lips, two more pitchers have gone, equally divided between you and the giant in front of you. The meal went silently, making you grow bored. The alcohol in your stomach – gone to your head – makes you act frantically: you get up and walk towards the dancing women. The Hound doesn’t stop you, just glances towards you with half lidded eyes. You have always been the drunk dancer, so it’s natural for you to go up there and take some woman’s waist and twist her in your arms. The black-haired woman laughs and holds her hand up facing you. You meet her hand with hers and dance in a circle, leaving her to circle with another woman. You quickly catch up the lyrics of the song and sing along with the ones participating. You laugh and dance for a while, head turning and vision going blurry. Your dress moves swiftly, calluses forming under your bare feet. You can feel two holes burning on your back, so you turn around. You make eye contact with the Hound and wink his way, rosy cheeks and hips swaying. He sips from his goblet, eyes lingering down your body. You feel more naked now than when you were wearing your grey shorts. Stomach aching and legs feeling like jelly, you walk back to the table. You don’t know if your stomach stirs  from his stare or from the good laugh you’re having. And your legs are trembling from all the dancing, right? No other reason.

“You’re so dark and broody, I wonder what goes into that pretty head of yours” You exclaim, sitting poorly on your chair. Your hands go to your stomach, as your feet cross over the table. You huff from the exhaustion, taking deep breaths with your eyes closed.

“Ye don’t want ta know” he slurs, gulping his last drink. Your eyes open, legs go back on the chair and hands under your chin, with your elbows on the table. You stare into the balls of his eyes, trying to read him. His whole demeanour changes, he grows stiff and cold. Alright, he doesn’t want to be read.

“And what if I do?” you play, testing the waters. He snaps, eyes go from warm and sultry to dark and frozen. “I don’t!” he half yells. You’re surprised but unfazed by his reaction, you know he’s cutting the edges of his walls to make them sharper. You don’t care, but don’t insist, holding your hands up in defeat.

“I get it, sorry” You apologize, the energy drained from your body. Your many drinks starting to show their effects, you lay your head on the table. You gaze up at him from down there and ask “Can we go to sleep?”. He’s still stoic and cold, but places two coins on the table, making it jump. You jump too, standing with him. His strides are longer but he’s going slow on purpose, to keep an eye on you. He nods towards a narrow hallway upstairs, leading you to a room.

As soon as you see a bed, you launch yourself on it. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’s soft. And big. It’s a king-sized bed, but you don’t put much thought onto it. Sandor still stands at the feet of the bed; you look at him from behind your shoulder. “Come” You pat the other side of the bed, distancing yourself from the other end. “I won’t be too close, I swear” You plead him to stay. First of all, because you didn’t want to steal another comfort from him, today. Second, you are still a bit cold and the warmth of another body could help with that.

You can see the thoughts behind his eyes, wheels stirring and twisting. You thought he wouldn’t agree, but he sits on the edge of the bed. He starts taking his armour off, struggling to unclasp the straps in his drunken state. You crawl to his left, eyes asking silently ‘can I?’. You don’t touch him unless he asks you to, so when he growls, frustrated by his inability to do basic things, he nods. You help him get out of his heavy armour, eyes never meeting. You’re too embarrassed to look him in the face since he’s too close. His face inches from yours, you can smell the alcohol coming from his mouth. His eyes though, they don't leave you for one moment. Travelling down your face, then your exposed shoulders, the curve of your breasts, then to your hands. He burns with restraint: you surely wouldn't want to do anything with him. Yes, you're just using him for protection, he knows that. When you’re done, he hastily gets up and goes to lay on his side. How could someone ever want him. With these thoughts he closes his eyes. You blow out a candle, ‘patience’ you repeat to yourself. You fall asleep very quickly, your backs brushing lightly. Head empty.

[axelsagewrites]

Beric Dondarrian - Home

Pairing: Romantic Beric x reader, platonic Sandor x reader, platonic Thoros x reader

TW: few swears

Request: Reader Jon Snow's twin sister and a warrior. After Jon goes to the wall, she escapes Winterfell and travels for a long time. One day, she encounters Thoros from the Brotherhood Without Banners and then learns that Beric is alive. They met years ago and are friends. They have feelings for each other. They are reunited and do not want to be separated from each other again.

Words: 3805

Masterlist Here

Once Jon joined the nightswatch there was little left in Winterfell for you. The girls had left for kings landing with your father and without Ned there to stick up for you Catelyn had been awful. At least before when she kicked you to the side you had Jon next to you. Now he was gone and she wished you had gone with him. Catelyn barely let you spend anytime with bran and while she couldn’t stop Robb from talking to you, she glared. Somehow you were even more separated than before.

It was time to go.

You couldn’t join the nightswatch despite knowing that you were equally as good a fighter as Jon if not better. You couldn’t join your father in Kings Landing as being a bastard was apparently too much of a scandal there despite the southern king being known for his mistresses and whores. You couldn’t join a sept since you enjoyed freedom too much. And without Jon Winterfell was no longer your home. All you had left was your sword.

So that was it. you had decided to pack up your sword and a few other belongings, only those that fit in a satchel, and bid your brothers goodbye. Robb didn’t want you to leave but could at least understand why you had to go. Rickon however was another story. He cried when you left. He felt like he was losing everyone and in a way he was right. Catelyn glared at you as you tried to console her wailing son but did not stop as finally she would be rid of both her husband’s bastards. She never even complained when you took your horse with you. You weren’t sure if she noticed the full pouch of gold Robb gave you but if she did she never said.

As a solo female traveller, you knew you’d run into some problems along the way but you always made do.  Your sword was never far from your side and most people that stopped you were petty thieves underestimating a girl. However, you noticed the closer you were to Kings Landing the more trouble you found yourself in.

One night when you were preparing to rest somewhere in the hills in the Riverlands close to kings landing you heard a twig snap and suddenly you were placing your hand on your sword. You had spent enough nights sleeping in forests and traveling through hills to know what noises animals made and caused. It wasn’t an animal.

You knew not all people were bad but the ones who tried to stay silent usually did not have good intentions but luckily for you they messed up. Your breathing was low and you stayed close to the ground waiting to see where they would come from. Then they struck.

You sword caught there’s mid-air before it had a chance to come down on your neck. They had tried to surprise you, but 3 men could never be fully silent. Your swords hit a few more times before you had enough and noticed he had no armour on. As you caught his sword again you raised your foot and watched him fall after you had put all your force into kicking his crotch.

The metal clashing had spooked your horse and when the guy fell your horse decided enough was enough and run. Luckily for you he ran right over the guy who fell but unluckily he ran straight passed the Forrest wall into thick tree lines.

But you didn’t have time to stop. The next guy was already coming at you. You caught his sword each time, but the trouble was the third man. You could see him hesitate until his friend had almost hit you, forcing you to duck and throwing you off balance, then he came into the fight as well. You struggled to keep up with their sword and knife but you did, knocking them away each time.

But you were getting tired and you saw the first guy start to rise after being trampled. You were fucked. Part of you contemplated on trying to run but they would catch you for sure. You were barely keeping up standing in one spot you couldn’t run.

You blocked the second guys next blow but you had saw the first man get up and run at you. You waited for the metal to bite your side but you heard his yelp and turned to see him on the ground and a man holding him by his collar.

“Three against one?” he yelled, “Hardly seems fair. Let’s settle the scores” he said before hitting the third guy with the hilt of his sword knocking him out to the ground.

The second guys eyes widened however he quickly had to catch himself as you brought your sword up again. The first guy was finally on his feet again but your new found stranger friend was making quick work of him. Without a second or even third person to worry about you had no issues in your fight.

You brought you sword down on his before kicking his stomach sending him to the ground. As he attempted to get up you swiped his feet out from underneath him and he fell hitting his head which you soon kicked. He flipped himself over and began to run but you swiped your sword across his back and he yelled in pain falling back to the dirt.

The stranger who had been trying to kill you or rob you or worse five minutes previously was a crying mess backing away from you, “I yield!” he yelled but you slashed across his chest, “I said I yield please mercy-“ but your sword had already found its way through his neck.

“This isn’t a fucking dual you idiot,” you said watching as the life began to leave his eyes. You pulled your sword back. Dark red mud gurgled from the hole and spilled down his neck. You turned to see the stranger pulling his sword out the other guys back leaving him to fall lifelessly to the ground. “I’d say nice to meet you but,”

The man laughed, “Beric,” he said walking up to you and shaking your hand.

“(Y/N),” you were grateful at the lack of last names used, “where’d the last guy go?” you asked when you realised the third lacky had disappeared from where he had fell.

“Don’t worry I’m sure Thoros will have gotten him. He didn’t look very good,” Who the hell was Thoros? As you wondered you saw a man walk out the trees with your horses’ reigns in one hand and a bloody sword in the other. “Thoros come meet our new friend,”

“Who said we’re friends?” You asked, putting your sword back in its sheath.

“I did,” Beric smirked, “we did save your life after all and don’t hit me with the ‘I didn’t need your help’ shtick because lets be real lady but you did,”

You rolled your eyes, “Thanks for the help but I best be off. Need a new spot to sleep now,” you walked over to the apparent Thoros and took the reins from him, “Thanks for finding him,”

“He found us more like,” Thoros said, “You sure you gotta be off so quickly?”

“Im tired,” you weren’t lying but it wasn’t why you were leaving.

As you began to walk into the forest Beric called after you, “We have some rabbits. Already skinned and everything. Just need to light a fire and cook em. You’re welcome to join us,”

You stopped and without turning back asked, “what’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Beric said and you could hear a smile in his voice, “Just want to give a pretty girl her dinner,”

You took a breath debating whether it was worth the hassle and before figuring if they were gonna kill you they wouldn’t have let you rest and feed you first. You turned back around, “Don’t be expecting nothing because I shared your rabbits,”

“All’s we want is your company,”

Dinner lasted longer than expected.  You never told them about your now half full coin purse but Beric had no issue paying for you to have your own room in an inn. You were essentially a sellsword company of three doing smaller biddings for small lords. it sounded so insignificant, like such a downgrade from Winterfell, but it was wonderful.

You fought, you were respected, you were paid, you had two guys that always had your back and whom you quickly considered friends. Thoros was drunk or asleep more often than he was awake or sober leaving you much time with Beric and you were not complaining.

He was handsome. Like really handsome. It took everything in you not to swoon like you saw Sansa and her lady’s do at the prince. But this was no wimpy blonde brat. This was Beric Dondarian. But he was also your fellow sellsword and somethings were too precious to mess up.

One morning you were eating in a tavern bellow the inn a small lord had put you up in when everything changed. You were always the last to sleep and first to rise but Beric came down not long after you to share breakfast with you. Breakfast with Beric was your favourite part of the day. He was too tired to notice your long stares and his morning voice gave you a light warm feeling in your chest. Like dancing butterflies.

Today was like no other. Beric sat across from you silently eating oats and staring out a window while you stared at him. Until you heard the whispers. Even in his sleep state Beric noticed them too.

“Hey, you,” he said, turning and leaning to talk to a table of poor looking knights, “What’s everyone whispering about?”

“Haven’t you heard? The kings dead. killed by a boar,” your heart jumped. What would happen to your father with no king to serve? Could you finally return to Winterfell with him? Or would he be stuck as regent for a boy king with no manners.

You hadn’t told Beric or Thoros about your family but they had noticed your silence that day. “Cat got your tongue?” Beric asked as you three walked back to the tavern for dinner after serving yet another lords dumb mission. “You’ve not said a word since breakfast,”

“Not in a talky mood,”

“Funny that,” Thoros chimed in, “Because this is the first time you’ve shut up since we met you,”

You ignored their laughs and entered the tavern, heading straight for the stairs to the inn when Beric grabbed your arm, “Look we’re not happy the old bag died either, but I don’t understand why you’re so quiet,”

You sighed and looked around the tavern for an empty table. “Its not about him,” you muttered leading them to a table in the corner. The waitress came and took your order and finally you told them, “It’s about the hand. Well, im not sure if he’s still hand of the king. Ned Stark,”

“That guy,” Thoros said, “Seems like a nice bloke,”

You laughed, “He is. Really nice actually,”

“What?” Beric said, “You fuck him or something?” his face was sour but yours twisted worse than his.

“Gods no you prick. He’s my father,” and so you explained everything and they tried their best to understand, “I just worry what will happen to him,”

The waitress brought over your dinners at that point, “You’s on about the hand?” she asked, and you nodded hesitantly “Haven’t you heard? He’s called the new king a bastard. He must have lost his mind if he thought that crazy Cersei’s  cunt would let that fly. I’ll tell you I wouldn’t even dare dream of saying nothing like that in front of no Lannister,” all the colour had drained from your face. Questioning a king’s birth, right? The smell of war was thick.

You ate dinner in silence before placing a coin from your own purse on the table. “What’s that for?” Thoros asked.

“I have to go,” you said getting up and walking out of the inn.

Beric followed, “Go where?” he asked

“Home,” you said as you began to ready your horse, “My father isn’t making it out of Kings Landing alive. My brothers will need me. Robb won’t sit quiet after this,” you knew what your younger brother was like. He would start a war for your father and as would you. “I’m sorry but I must go,”

You grabbed the saddle about to pull yourself up onto your horse when Beric grabbed your arm and spun you back around, “I’ll find you,”

“What?”

“When this all blows over. I’ll come to Winterfell. I’ll come now if you need me to,”

“You can’t Beric. Your place is here. Thoros needs you,”

“He needs you too,” Beric said as he took both your arms in his hands, “I need you. These weeks since we found you have been the most important weeks of my life. Give me an hour and we’ll come too,”

“I don’t have an hour,” You said, “I need to get to Robb before he does something stupid. When the time comes come to Winterfell,”

“When?” he asked.

“You’ll know when,” you assured him before engulfing him into your embrace. He held you even tighter. Tears slipped from your eyes, “I’ll miss you,” You whispered.

“Ill find you. Promise. Maybe no war will come,”

“Maybe,” you pulled away this time and he rested his head on yours. “Goodbye Beric,” you placed a kiss so light on his lips you barely felt it before you turned to your horse. Beric helped you climb on before waving you off.

It was three years later before you saw him again. You had made it back to Robb and fight in his wars. You had been on his council and told him it was stupid to worry of weddings and wives while your sisters were captives, but Catelyn insisted the Frey’s were necessary alliance especially after Robb had married a stranger. Unfortunately for Catelyn by dooming her son’s life she had saved yours.

She refused to let you attend the wedding, insisting a bastard had no place. Robb had tried to defend you but you told him it didn’t matter. Someone had to watch the horses. Then you heard the first scream. Then the next. Soon you heard the Frey’s laughing. You barely made it onto your horse in time before the Frey’s came for you next.

For the next months you travelled somewhere between the Riverlands and the vale. You weren’t too sure. You debated ending it all till your horse trotted past something at first you thought was a dirty rock. Till it moved.

You swiftly jumped from your horse, unsheathing your sword, and approached the figure on the ground. Its breath was shallow and as you got closer you saw the dry blood crusted on its skin. “Who are you?” you asked knowing while he posed no threat you couldn’t be certain he was alone.

Then he said it, “Arya?” he asked his voice horse and barely a whisper, “Did you,” his breath sucked in,” come back?” he wheezed. His eyes were barely slits and you knew he couldn’t see you.

“Who are you and how do you know my sister?”

“Sansa?” he tried to move before wheezing in paid.

“I’m not Sansa. Im not a stark,” you said, dropping your sword and crouching before the man.

Finally his eyes met yours, “You’re that snow girl aren’t you?”

“I’m that snow girl alright,” you said as you took the water from your side and forcing it to his lips, “Drink,” you told him but he refused.

“Wine, I want fucking wine,”

This time you slapped the dying man, “I’ll give you wine when You’re not dying in your own piss and blood,”

You weren’t sure why you stopped for him. If he had never have said her name you probably wouldn’t have stayed long. Perhaps blessed him with a quick death. Instead you spent the next few days nursing him to health before traveling with a snails pace with him as he healed.

You were close to running out of wine and clean water when Ray found you both and took some kind of pity on you. While Sandor cursed and spat at him you thanked him for his help and now you travelled with his flock. He allowed Sandor to be pulled along in a wagon which he denied he needed but the once great man could barely walk.

Over the months the hound finally recovered. You’d become accustomed to Ray and his crowd, enjoying the spirit of the group. Sandor was a different story. Despite being semi friends with him he’d pissed you off after getting into another toss with Ray after 3 men threatened your sept and Ray seemed not to care. You followed him into the forests to lecture him as he cut wood. However when you returned Ray was hanging from his own makeshift sept and everyone else was dead and their belongings stolen. No words were spoken between the pair of you as you took your sword and he his axe and hunted the men that did this.

It didn’t take long to find them but you hadn’t expected them to be about to be hung. “These men are ours to kill!” Sandor roared when he saw them, stomping up the group. You paid no attention to the other men and started into the eyes of the man who had threatened you hours earlier. “Tell your light lord to pick another prick to take,”

“These are our men,” you heard someone say but you ignored him and walked to the man who had started the argument with Ray. “They were our brothers first,”

You maintained eye contact with the ring leader who’s head was now decorated with a rope necklace. He squirmed under your gaze, “What’s your name?” you asked a mere foot away from him.

“Lem,” He stuttered. The brotherhood around you had fallen silent. “They call me- “

“I don’t care what they call you,” you stopped him, “I just care that I get to watch the life drain from your eyes like you did with my friends. I just want to see you die. And I want to enjoy it,”

“(Y/N)?” Your head snapped to the side and soon you faced with a man you missed daily.

“Thoros? Where’s Beric?” you panicked thinking he had died before you had found him again.

Sandor groaned, “Don’t tell me about your friends with this light prick?”

“Light prick?” you questioned.

“I worship the god of light now. He helped me bring Beric back from the dead,”

“Yeah after I killed him like I plan on killing these pricks but when I kill you,” he faced the men about to be hung, “You’ll stay dead. got it?”

“Where’s Beric now?” but you were ignored.

“They were our brothers first,” he said as he approached you, “but out of fairness I will let you have one,”

“Two,” Sandor argued.

“One,” Thoros still looked at you.

“Three,”

“One,”

“One each,” You interrupted their bickering “One for me. One for Sandor. One for you. Got it?”

“Fine,”

“Fine,”

And so, it was done.  As the men hung their dying you turned to Thoros “Now tell me. Where the fuck is Beric? If he’s dead just told me already and- “

“He’s not dead,”

“Oh, thank god,”

“He was-“ Sandor interrupted.

“But the god of light brought him back,” Thoros cut him off in return, “Let us take you too him,”

Thoros led you and the other Brothers and Sandor’s to a make shift camp they had set up. As you approached you saw a man covered in scars, bruises, and with an eyepatch sitting on a log sharpening a knife. It was him.

“Beric,” you called as you sprinted towards him.

He had barely had the chance to stand before you crashed into him and wrapped your arms around him, “(Y/N)?” He whispered finally hugging you back. “I thought they killed you. Your brother I heard- “

“I was outside. I never made it inside the wedding,” You whispered as tears fell from your eyes and drowned his shirt. “I survived barely,”

“And I will thank my god every day for your return.” Your bones could crush under the sheer force of his embrace but you did not care, “And I will beg him to never take you from me again,”

“Or you from me,”

You heard Sandor talking in the background but you did not care. After a few moments you pulled back to see him and the other brothers had wandered away slightly but not far enough to be out of side.

“How have you been?” You asked trying to step back but he kept you in his arms.

“Miserable,” he replied, “I was only every happy in my dreams when I would get to see your face,” Beric moved the hair out of your face and rested his hand by your jaw, “Though I understand mine may not be the one you remember,”

“I could never forget your face,” You whispered, trailing a finger over his eyebrows, down his nose, and finally around his lips, “Never not once. I saw you die in my dreams. Over and over. I thought the gods were telling me something. To give up. But I never did,”

“I died six times already. Once by your friend over there,”

“Friend is a strong word,” you said and he laughed, “He’s not as bad when you know him. Not fond of fire though,”

“Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like me,” Beric laughed and his smile was infectious. “I missed your smile. I missed your eyes looking into mine. I missed breakfast. I missed your lips,”

You smiled. For the first time in years you felt at home, “Then you shall never miss them again,” Finally you closed the gap and pressed your lips firmly against his. You melted into the kiss and Beric’s hands found his way to your hair. It was soft and gentle and harsh all at once. Your hands held onto his waist and pulled him closer.

After some moments he pulled his lips away. You could see tears on his cheeks and you knew you had some of your own, “I fear,” he started, “I miss them again already,”

“Then let’s fix that,” you chuckled as your arms went around his neck to pull him in again. You vowed to yourself you would never leave his side again. You realised he was home. Not a house or castle or piece of land. Beric was your home.

[tinfairies]

im not sure if this is consensual because of the s/o being in the state of intoxication,, but how would sandor, cersei, petyr, oberyn react to having an innocent s/o that is an insanely horny drunk??

Sandor tries to hold back his laughter as his beloved tries to climb him. They requested a kiss, getting up onto their tippy toes and nearly fell in doing so. "I think you need to lay down." he tells them, gripping their shoulders to steady them. They giggled and pressed their body against his, heir hand immediately groping his crotch. "Hmm only if you come with me." they look up at him through their lashes. Damn they knew exactly how to wrap him around their fingers.

Sandor sighs, and picks his lover up. They cry with laughter and wrap their arms around his neck, burying their face into his neck and leaving kisses in their stead. He was going to have fun trying to wrangle them.

Cersei certainly finds it entertaining when her lover is drunk and thinks they're being smooth with their flirting. She'll roll her eyes and brush them off, but truth is she loves the attention. She'll capture her beloved's chin between her finger and her thumb and make them look at her. Of course they try to lean in and kiss her, she dodges them and they fall forward onto her lap.

"I say it's time you switched to water." she'll say raising a brow. Her lover just buries their face into her thigh, their hands running up her legs. Cersei smirks, she knows what they want. She could certainly give into them, but what's the fun in that. She wants them to beg.

Petyr would definitely take advantage of this opportunity. His beloved is hanging all over him, and it's truly amusing to him. He asks them questions, silly little ones at first, then he starts asking more serious ones. He has to make sure they truly love him and want to be with him of course.

"My love, I can't bed you while you're in this state." Petyr lies, he just wants to hear them beg, and they do. His lover pouts and keeps pulling at his shirt, saying they need him. It's certainly a stroke to his ego to hear that his beloved is not only devoted to him, but is willing to beg for his cock.

Oberyn is quite amused. His beloved is very shy when sober but after half a glass of wine and they're trying to undress him in public. He calms them down, holding their hands and kissing their lips.

"We have plenty of time later to wrap ourselves around eachother. For now let's finish our party." he smiles softly as they pout. Oberyn loves their wandering hands and flirty eyes. He can't wait for an opportunity to drag them off, why must politics rely on his presence. He wants to just ravage his lover already.