#the Hound got

[tojigasm]

He won the idgaf war

#sandor clegane #game of thrones #got #the hound #the hound game of thrones #the hound got

[megggyeggy]

The Hound and The Wolf

Trigger warnings: Non con is involved, if you don’t like that kind of stuff then DO NOT READ. 18+ only. Minors do not engage. Some mentions of blood. Physical abuse is involved. Foul language? If that is even a trigger. I believe that is all.

Keira had heard about her father's death from Winterfell, her brother Robb wanted to go to war to avenge their father. Of course, Keira wanted revenge. But their little sisters were in King's Landing. There could have been casualties.

"Are you sure about this?" Robb questioned Keira, who was preparing her saddle bag. "No." Keira answered with raised brows as she looked over at her brother with a soft sigh, "But one thing I'm sure of..is that Sansa and Arya can't be alone in King's Landing for much longer. They don't have anyone they trust or know to look after them. I will go there." Keira reassured her younger brother with a faint smile before mounting her horse.

"I don't like this, Keira." Robb told his sister, worry written over his features. Keira's eyes softened as she looked down at her brother before shaking her head, "I will be fine. Keep Winterfell together while I'm gone." Keira spoke with a faint grin, which Robb let out a soft chuckle while nodding his head. "Of course." Robb responded with a small smile.

With that, Keira rode off to Westeros..

/// //// //// //// ////

Keira had arrived in Westeros a week later; Robb of course couldn't wait for Keira to return with their sisters. He had already started a war. Keira didn't wait to be greeted; she didn't tell the little bastard of a King that she was arriving. She simply stormed into the castle with her chin held high. She slowed her strides when she heard her sister's weak voice, "Your grace. Whatever my traitor brother has done, I had no part! You know that! I beg you, plea-" King Joffrey over spoke her. "Ser Lancel, tell her of this outrage." Lancel, Joffrey's scrawny little cousin paced back and forth as he spoke. "Using some vile sorcery, your brother fell on Stafford Lannister with an army of wolves. Thousands of good men were butchered."

Lancel took a deep breath before continuing to speak, "After the slaughter, The Northmen feasted on the flesh of the slain." The common people began to gasp and mutter amongst themselves in terror. Keira couldn't help but smirk at the outrageous lies being told but she found it quite amusing. She continued to make slow strides, making her way forward. King Joffrey had his cross bow pointed at Sansa, "Killing you would send your brother a message." Keira could hear her sister sobbing in fear, her head hung low. Keira shifted her jaw in anger at this. "But my mother insists on keeping you alive. Stand." King Joffrey demanded as he placed his crossbow down.

Sansa stood immediately as her cries had quietened, her cheeks red and stained with her tears. "So, we'll have to send your brother a message some other way. Meryn," King Joffrey spoke up which Meryn stepped forward and began to approach Sansa. Keira tensed up at this, narrowing her eyes. She was like a mother wolf..waiting to attack at any given time if her pup was to be hurt. "Leave her face. I like her pretty." King Joffrey demanded as he sat down with a cruel smirk on his face.

Meryn grabbed Sansa by the shoulder and punched her as hard as he could in the gut, causing Sansa to cry out in pain. Meryn unsheathed his sword and hit Sansa in the calf with the back of his sword, causing her to stumble to the ground in pain. "My lady's over dressed. Unburden her." Ser Meryn stepped behind Sansa at King Joffrey's orders before ripping the back of her dress open. "If you want Robb Stark to hear us, you're going to have to speak louder!" Joffrey demanded with an evil glint in his eyes. Ser Meryn raised his sword and got ready to strike Sansa which caused her to scream in fear.

Keira was quick to step forward, taking slow and confident strides forward. "I got your message quite loud and clear, Your Grace." Keira spoke up, a smirk on her face when she saw the shock on Joffrey and Ser Meryn's face. As well as Joffrey's dog, The Hound. Sansa looked up at her sister with teary eyes and let out a sob of relief, hugging her sisters hip as she sobbed. Keira looked at Ser Meryn with narrowed eyes, shifting her jaw. She could hear some people murmuring, "That's Wolf Kissed!" The crowd murmured in fear. "If you want to send a message to my brother, why don't you choose someone your own size?" Keira questioned Ser Meryn, her eyes locked on his. She didn't show fear.

"Or do you enjoy beating little girls...because they can't defend themselves?" Keira smirked at Ser Meryn, his jaw clenched in anger. "Watch-" Keira backhanded Ser Meryn as hard as she could, causing him to grunt in pain..his lip split open from the harshness of the strike. "You can't hit him!" King Joffrey complained with an angry pout as he stood up now. "Kill her!" Joffrey demanded but a new voice spoke up. "What is the meaning of this?" Everyone froze, Keira turned her head to see Tyrion Lannister. "What kind of Knight beats a helpless girl?" Tyrion scoffed while Ser Meryn sheathed his sword and snarled angrily, "The kind who serves his King, Imp!"

"Careful now, we don't want to get blood all over that pretty white cloak." A new voice spoke up, an older man with black armor said with a smug look on his face. Keira smirked at Ser Meryn and hummed, looking him up and down. "Although, it would look much better with a splash of red." Keira spoke in a low threatening tone, the man whose name Keira did not know, looked her up and down with a curious gaze before smiling at her with an amused gaze. "Lady Stark," Tyrion greeted Keira with a look of surprise, Keira smiled politely at Tyrion. "Lord Tyrion." She returned the greetings before helping her sister stand.

"Someone get the girl something to cover herself with." Tyrion demanded, which The Hound was quick to walk over to Sansa and yank his cloak off his back and placed it onto her shoulders as she bowed her head in shame. He didn't seem to give Keira a second chance. "She is to be your Queen." Tyrion scolded his nephew with narrowed eyes, making his way up the steps. Joffrey glared down at his Uncle with narrowed eyes, "Have you no regard for her honor-" Joffrey scoffed, "I'm punishing her." Joffrey explained as if that explained anything. "For what crimes?!" Tyrion exclaimed with raised brows, "She did not fight her brother's battle, you halfwit!" Joffrey's voice seemed to get softer, in embarrassment perhaps. "You can't talk to me like that! The King can do as he likes!" Joffrey raised his voice near the end of his sentence.

"The Mad King did as he liked, has your Uncle Jaime ever told you what happened to him?" Tyrion spoke with narrowed eyes, "No one threatens his Grace in front of the Kingsguard!" Snarled Ser Meryn as he stepped one foot closer. "I wasn't threatening the King, Ser. I am only educating my nephew. Bronn, the next time Ser Meryn speaks..Kill him." Tyrion demanded as he kept his eyes locked on his nephew. Bronn simply nodded while Keira stifled a snicker. "That was a threat. See the difference?" Tyrion exclaimed as he looked at Ser Meryn with raised brows. Ser Meryn kept awfully quiet now, a coward is always a coward. Tyrion turned and began to walk towards Sansa and Keira. "I apologize for my nephews behavior." Tyrion apologized to both the Stark Sisters.

//////

Keira had gotten settled in King's Landing, she even had her own chambers now. How exciting. Sansa wouldn't return home, and Keira wouldn't leave without her. Not only that, but Keira couldn't find her youngest sister, Arya.

"Rest for tonight, take a lavender bath. Yes? I've had your handmaid's prepare one for you." Keira told Sansa with softened eyes, kissing her sister on the forehead before taking a step back. "I'll be back in the morning, okay? You aren't alone anymore." Keira reassured her sister with caring eyes. Sansa quietly nodded as she looked at her older sister with bloodshot and teary eyes. "Thank you." Sansa whispered softly. Keira swallowed thickly as she faintly smiled and nodded, "Always, little sister." Keira spoke just above a whisper before turning and exiting the room.

Keira made her way down the corridor with her chin held high, she let out a soft sigh as she walked. However, when she turned down the corridor, she had bumped into someone. "Pardon-.." Keira said with a smile, but her smile dropped when she saw who it was. Sandor Clegane. The Hound.

Sandor stepped forward while Keira stepped backward until she was pinned against the wall. Sandor placed his hand beside her head as she looked her up and down with a smirk. She knew that look. Nothing good ever came of that look. "You think the King will be okay with the little wolf ruining his fun?" Sandor spoke in a stoic voice, his eyes holding a certain glint within. Keira forced a smile as she let out a scoff, "Oh, I'm sure he is having a tantrum as of now-" She grunted in surprised when The Hound grabbed her by the bicep, squeezing so harshly that she was sure her arm would snap in half. "The King doesn't have any use for you," Sandor said through gritted teeth, his eyes narrowing as he glared into her eyes.

"That means he will either kill you...or he will reward some of his men with a little wolf.." Sandor said, an evil grin forming across his features. "And I do sure hope I am one of them, little wolf." The Hound's voice dropped, leaning in closer as he took a sniff of her scent. Keira glared up at Sandor as she gritted her teeth, "Unhand me." Keira snarled angrily, which caused Sandor to cackle. "Or what? What can you do to me, little wolf?" The Hound snapped, barring his teeth. "What're you doing, Clegane?" A familiar voice spoke, Keira turned her head to see Tyrion. Oh, her hero. Keira looked back at Sandor who removed his hand from her and looked at Tyrion with a bored expression.

"Never mind it..I was only-"

"Go find a tree to piss on." Tyrion demanded, which caused Sandor to glare in the dwarf's direction before turning and walking away. Keira cleared her throat and raised her head to try and show that the interaction didn't bother her one bit. But the way her heart was pounding against her ribcage, said otherwise. "Thank you, Lord Tyrion." Keira spoke in a calm voice, looking at the dwarf with a softened direction. "That is twice you've helped my family. I'm grateful." Keira said with a faint smile, while Tyrion looked surprised that she spoke to him so kindly before his eyes softened. "Would you like me to escort you back to your chambers, Lady Stark?" Which Keira smirked down at Tyrion.

"I appreciate the offer, Lord Tyrion. But that won't be necessary." Keira spoke softly as she started to walk away. "You need to be careful, Lady Stark. The Hound wasn't wrong. You are of no use to The King nor the Queen. Who knows what The Lion will do to The Wolf away from its pack." Keira arched her brow at Tyrion's analogy. Keira looked down at her feet, pursing her lips in thought. He wasn't wrong though. She was in danger. "I'll keep that in mind, Lord Tyrion." Keira responded before walking back to her chambers.

/// /// /// /// Two Weeks Later /// /// /// ///

Keira was laying in her bed, in a deep sleep..she had a dream..a curious dream. There was a baby lion that was feasting on a corpse of a wolf. The baby lion was surrounded by corpses of wolves. Keira didn't get to finish her 'wonderful' dream because she was yanked out of her bed by her hair, she cried out in pain as she dug her nails into the gloved hand that was intertwined in her hair. She blinked fast to try and focus her sight, looking up to see Ser Meryn. Keira grunted in annoyance, "That isn't a face I wanted to wake to,"

Keira grumbled before hissing in pain when the Knight shoved her to the ground harshly, she fell to her side and didn't have time to catch herself. She was still in her nightgown slip, it was sheer and didn't do much to hide her body. She stumbled to her feet only for Ser Meryn to grab her by the hair again and drag her along, "The King has great plans for you, Wolf Kissed." Ser Meryn sneered her nickname with venom, dragging her to the throne room where King Joffrey sat, The Hound standing guard in front of him like a good dog.

Ser Meryn shoved Keira to the ground in front of the iron throne, Keira groaned in pain when her knees hit the ground. Keira looked up at King Joffrey with narrowed eyes, her lips twitching into a smirk. "Is that how your mother taught you to wake a lady?" Keira questioned which some of the crowd in the throne room had chuckled at her remark but Ser Meryn easily backhanded her which caused her lip to split open, some blood dribbling down her lip and onto the ground. Keira's head jerked to the side and she let out a moan of pain, her eyes narrowing.

"Lady Keira, if you are going to stay here in King's Landing. You will need to have some type of use. You can't just stay here without pulling your weight." King Joffrey said with a smirk, his eyes raking over her body that her sheer nightgown did nothing to cover. Keira looked up at King Joffrey and shifted her jaw to loosen it from the harsh impact. "Oh yes, my apologies." Keira snorted as she shook her head in amusement, "And how will I pull my weight?" Keira said with an amused gaze, looking up at King Joffrey who clenched his jaw.

"By doing the one thing that you were created for. Baring children." King Joffrey said with a smug look but it quickly dropped when Keira laughed loudly, "Sorry-..sorry..it's just-.." Keira snickered as she tried to stop herself from laughing, shaking her head. "You're not my type, your Grace. I'm flattered, though." Keira said with an amused gaze which it was Joffrey's turn to smirk and chuckle. "Not my children, you dumb wench." Joffrey spat as he looked around his Kingsguards and his eyes landed on The Hound. "Dog..how would you like a little breeding bitch?"

King Joffrey questioned Sandor, who smirked faintly down at Keira. His eyes raking over her body slowly before he hummed in approval. "Aye." Is all Sandor said which caused Joffrey to chuckle, looking down at Keira with an evil glint. "Alright then, you two shall be wed!" He exclaimed, while a Septon had begun to emerge from the crowd, standing next to Sandor. Keira's brows raised as she looked at Sandor with a glare before looking at the Septon. "What? Now?" Keira scoffed softly which Sandor nodded his head with a smirk. "Your father is dead. You don't have any family here aside from my beloved. No one to hand you off. You're no one special. So, no need to make it all grand." King Joffrey chuckled and gestured his hand towards Keira which Ser Meryn grabbed Keira by the hair and yanked her to her feet.

Ser Meryn dragged Keria to Sandor and the Septon, shoving her into Sandor's chest who caught her roughly with a stoic expression, staring down at her with narrowed eyes. Although, within his eyes-..she could see the amusement.

///// ////// ///// ////

Keira was a married woman now-..or she officially will be when she and Sandor consummate. Which is why Sandor was dragging her roughly by the arm to Keira's chambers. He shoved her inside and she just barely caught herself, gasping softly. Keira turned to glare at Sandor as she gritted her teeth. "If you think I will lay a fucking hand on you-" Keira was backhanded harshly, her head jerking to the side and she had to grab ahold of her bedpost to keep herself from falling. Keira cupped her cheek as she looked at Sandor with wide eyes who looked at her with a cruel smirk.

"Keep talking, girl and I will fuck you bloody." Sandor warned as he began to approach Keira who quickly climbed onto the bed to try and avoid the man. Sandor patiently began to remove his buckskin belt, not bothering to remove his armor.

"I will not let you do this, you fucking imbecile!" Keira snarled only to yelp in surprise when Sandor grabbed her by the ankle and yanked her towards him. "I warned you, little wolf." Sandor said as he grabbed Keira by the shoulder and tossed her onto her stomach on the bed. Keira reached behind her and shoved her hand against Sandor's armored chest. "Don't fucking touch me!" Keira snarled, barring her teeth like a cornered animal. Sandor simply laughed as he looked down at her with an amused gaze.

"What will you do, little wolf?" Sandor questioned in amusement as he shoved his pants down his legs before yanking the skirt of Keira's nightgown over her hips, he let out a hum of approval at the sight of her pussy. "Freshly shaved, it's as if you knew." Sandor proved with a smug smirk, grabbing Keira's arms and pinning them behind her back harshly. Keira hissed in pain, and she could feel angry tears threatening to spill. "Please, Ser!-"

"Ser?! I am no Ser! I am a dog, remember?!" Sandor raised his voice now; it was filled with venom. "And you are my little wolf. A little breeding bitch." Sandor said with a smirk, even though he truthfully didn't care to have children. That's not why he was doing this. It was for the pleasure. Hot and angry tears rolled down Keira's cheeks as she closed her eyes tightly. "Please, don-..Ah!" Keira's pleads were interrupted when she felt Sandor pushing the head of his cock into her cunt. She wished she could say she was dry as a desert, but that would be a lie.

"Seven hells," Sandor growled through gritted teeth when the woman's walls clenched around his cock. He grunted softly as he sheathed himself deep inside of her, balls deep. Keira couldn't stop the moan that escaped her. Sandor raised his brow and smirked widely, "Are you enjoying this, little wolf?" The Hound mocked her, which caused Keira to glare back at him, tears continuing to roll down her cheeks. "Fuck you." Keira snarled which Sandor wiggled his hips inside of her, "You are." Sandor responded with a wide and cruel grin.

Sandor gripped Keira by both of her forearms and began to pull her back against his hips, pounding into her. The movement made the bed shake, the bedpost clanging against the wall with each thrust. Moans were being dragged out of Keira's mouth as she screwed her eyes shut, Sandor grunted along with each thrust. "What would your brother think?” Sandor mocked her as he thrusted harshly into her, drawing a sob of a moan out of the woman. “Hell, what would your father think? Perhaps he is looking upon you now, seeing you clenching your cunt around my cock.” Sandor continued with mocking Keira.

Keira cried out softly as she screwed her eyes shut even tighter, Sandor thrusted even harder into her which Keira could feel the tip of Sandor’s cock surely bruising her cervix. The sudden pain caused her body to jolt forward which caused Sandor to snarl, “Where do you think you’re going? Stay right here, little wolf.” Sandor chuckled out as he gripped her forearms even tighter as he pounded into her.

Keira could feel her stomach twisting and tightening, she felt the way her insides warmed up. Keira let out a loud and drawn out moan when she came around Sandor’s cock. Sandor let out a breathy laugh as he continues with his harsh and quick thrusts. Until he sheathed himself deep inside her, releasing his sperm deep inside of her. Keira could feel Sandor’s thick cock throbbing from inside of her as he emptied himself within her. Sandor pat Keira’s ass before leaning down, whispering into her ear.

“What a good bitch..you’re a natural.” Sandor chuckled out as he pulled himself out of her and he grabbed a cloth, wiping himself off before tossing the dirtied cloth onto the bed beside Keira. “Clean yourself up.” He said in a stoic tone before pulling his pants up. Keira glared at Sandor before sitting up with a wince and she smacked Sandor across the face. Sandor and Keira both seemed to freeze, staring at one another. Both stunned that she had done so. Sandor grabbed Keira by the jaw, yanking her close to him. “You only get one of those. Next time, I’ll fuck your skull.” Sandor warned Keira with narrowed eyes, gritting his teeth angrily before shoving her back onto the bed harshly.

Sandor then exited the room, leaving Keira to clean herself and comfort herself. Keira grabbed the dirtied cloth with a scowl, glaring down at it as she squeezed it in her fist with a snarl. She took a deep breath as she looked at the door that Sandor had exited from, tears flowing down her cheeks before she inhaled sharply. “Winter is coming.” Keira whispered softly as she clenched her jaw before she began to clean herself.

#sandor clegane #the hound #oc #original female characters #game of thrones #game of thrones the hound #the hound got #sandor clegane x reader #smut #non con #dub con

[ligawolfcosplayandarts]

Sneak Peek of my current Sandor Clegane WIP. he's so so so so so Pretty.

#fanart #asoiaf #my art #game of thrones #house clegane #sandor clegane #sandor hound clegane #sandor clegane books #books sandor clegane #the Hound of house Clegane #the Hound #the Hound asoiaf #the Hound got #he's pretty #pretty boy alert #he's just a puppy

[horizon-verizon]

A lot of us in the ASoIaF fandom throw around the word “antihero” a lot when we talk about certain characters like Daemon Targaryen, Aemond Targaryen, Sandor Clegane, etc. George R.R. Martin himself calls Daemon Targaryen an anti-hero, despite some fans claiming that the book character likely killed his first wife, Rhea Royce, for her property.

But what is it and why do we (some of us) like them so much? 

[Warning: Lots of quoting]

“Antihero” Defintions

An anti-villain is the polar opposite of an anti-hero: a character with heroic qualities, who turns out to be the villain. Their intended goals are usually good, but their methods range from bad to ugly.

Anti-heroes are still good people, but their approach to achieving what they want might be different than what society deems "acceptable". On the other hand, an anti-villain is evil and does whatever it takes to get ahead no matter who gets hurt in the process (StoryFlint)

the central character in a play, book, or movie who does not have traditionally heroic qualities, such as courage, and is admired instead for what society generally considers to be a weakness of their character (Cambridge)

An antihero is a protagonist that displays qualities that do not align with the traditional hero. The qualities can include laziness, greed, selfishness, i. These characters more accurately depict true human nature because of the flaws given to them (Writing Explained)

An antihero is a protagonist or main character who does not embody traditional heroic qualities such as grand displays of bravery or unwavering loyalty/honesty. Most antiheros could be described as ordinary. Sometimes, they even embody unappealing characteristics such as lying and cheating. However, they are overall still a good character that does good things for other people (WoodheadPublishing)

“Antihero” Purpose

[...] an antihero has to work to make readers trust them and feel invested in their storyline. However, with appropriate character development, the end result is a much deeper bond as audiences watch the antihero grow and develop, all the while the antihero is becoming more likable and accepted.

Additionally, antiheros are more easily related to than traditional heroes. Every person has flaws and it can be hard to relate to perfect heroes because they are less like us. With antiheros, there is a very natural and complex sense of growth that results from the events and characters the antihero has to navigate. This mirrors real life more fully than the traditional hero-villain arch. The sense of suffering and overcoming is highly valued in literature, especially in contemporary times (WoodheadPublishing).

The use of an antihero as the protagonist in a literary work can serve several important purposes. By including a main character with flaws, it creates a more realistic main character. It also allows for the character to exhibit growth if he or she overcomes these flaws  (Writing Explained)

“Antihero” Traits

will often do what's best for their own self-interest even if it means putting other people in danger. They're not necessarily evil, but they definitely don't have the same sense of honor and duty as a traditional hero does

belief in something is what motivates them and sometimes they can be morally grey. They're fighting for the greater good, just not necessarily playing by all of the rules that a hero would follow.

...because their methods are often questionable, this can also lead to a lot of inner conflict and turmoil for the anti-hero. They're doing what they think is right, but it's hard to be proud of their questionable deeds when they were selfish or done at someone else's expense

unwillingness to play by the rules and live up to expectations put on them. They don't want someone else telling them what they can or cannot do, even if it's for their own good.

[...] internal conflict [...]; And because they don't always have the best coping mechanisms, this can lead to them being self-destructive or anti-social

don't trust authority figures or people who are more fortunate than them, and they can be pretty cynical about life

one of the reasons anti-heroes act differently than heroes is because they've probably experienced some pretty traumatic events in their lives.  (StoryFlint)

usually has one of the "Dark Triad" personality traits: narcissism, psychopathy, or Machiavellianism ("The Antihero in Popular Culture: Life History Theory and the Dark Triad Personality Traits”)

Disclaimer 

Anti heroes act in or are adopted to have these traits. Since they don’t exist as real people and are imaginative creations that you could use to study human thought patterns, but aren’t solely made for or manifest as such. The below definitions of the “Dark Triad” in regards to literature is metaphorical or just not the same as when existing in real life. The meanings of narcisssm especially come to contradict each other through the historical thoughts on it, and we are in our medical psychological, “everything must be real and individualistic” place.

Narcissism: 

often regarded as an unhealthy characteristic, and investigations of the interpersonal functioning of narcissists support this view. In short, narcissists seem to be interpersonally inept. They make good first impressions, yet are eventually regarded negatively as arrogant and self-centered (“Parenting Narcissus”)

Narcissists want positive feedback about themselves, and they actively manipulate others to solicit or coerce admiration from them. Accordingly, narcissism is thought to reflect a form of chronic interpersonal self-esteem regulation (Britannica)

it tends to be the result of indulgence instead of deprivation ([Karen Horney’s thoughts] Personality and Personal Growth)

Psychopathy (called today, anti-personality disorder if though as a psychological disorder)

basically persistent antisocial behavior

less sense or capacity for empathy and guilt

bold uninhibition and egoism ("Triarchic conceptualization of psychopathy: Developmental origins of disinhibition, boldness, and meanness")

Machiavellianism :

manipulativeness

callousness

indifference to morality (“Studies in Machiavellianism”) By definition, they do not take a moralistic view of themselves, others, or interpersonal relations and should feel no greater qualms at admitting their behavior than they do at performing it

Antiheroes can be on spectrum of relatability, appeal, and intensity of traits listed above, just as villains and heroes and “anti-villains” are.

Who is the most anti-hero and who the least?

#daemon targaryen #anti hero #dance of the dragons #literature elements #literature literary elements #literary devices #aemond targaryen #sandor clegane #the hound #the hound got #daemon's characterization #aemond's characterization #sandor's characterization #fire and blood writing #asoiaf writing #byronic hero #definitions #asoiaf #fire and blood #hotd

[azulolivart]

An unequal marriage in Westeros.

#asoif/got #fanart #fan art #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #game of thrones fanart #got #sansa stark #joffrey baratheon #sandor the hound clegane #sandor clegane #the hound #cersei #cersei lannister #queen cersei #petyr baelish #little finger #varys #asoiaf fanart #sandor x sansa #sansa stark x sandor clegane #sansan #you’ll be glad of the hateful things i do someday when you are queen and i’m all that stands between you and your beloved king

[scurviesdisneyblog]

𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚊𝚛𝚝Ｉᴛʜᴇ ʙʀᴏɴᴢᴇ [ᴅᴀʀᴋ] ᴀɢᴇ (1970 - 1988)

#there are many opinions about wether these are two eras but i think it's one that got gradually worse #disney eras #disney #The Bronze Age #The Dark Age #disney concept art #animation art #art #artwork #illustration #mine #disneyedit #visual development #the aristocats #robin hood #the many adventures of winnie the pooh #the rescuers #the fox and the hound #the black cauldron #the great mouse detective #oliver and company #it's not that dark tbh

[vesubia-jugorum]

Drawing questionable characters is cathartic.

Print

#asoiaf #sandor clegane #the hound #joffrey baratheon #got #grrm #my art #my stuff

[plus-size-reader]

Gentle

Sandor Clegane x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2737 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Ned Stark’s eldest daughter finding herself interested by the King’s loyal protector, and even more disenchanted by how he’s treated

—————————————————————————————————

The King’s arrival in Winterfell wasn’t of much interest to you, if you were being honest.

Of course you understood that it was a great honor and that his Grace was very important to your father, but outside of that, you had no real reason to pay the caravan much mind as it moved through the streets of Winterfell.

Had it not been for the pretense of duty and honor, and more severely, the pressure of your mother’s wrath, you truly believed you would have skipped the entire affair.

You weren’t the object of their visit, after all.

As the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you were much too old to be of much interest to the young Prince compared to your sisters, and the King only came to Winterfell with your Aunt Lyanna on the mind.

Really, you weren’t sure why you needed to attend.

Until, you found yourself staring down the traveling party of the King’s guard, and the striking presence of the man they called “the Hound”

You had heard stories of the man over the years, and you knew where the title had come from, but never could you have imagined the man before you now and that man were one in the same. He hardly struck you as some ravenous monster, even then.

…and as the days went by, you found your opinion unchanged.

You existed in Winterfell simply, a privilege afforded you by your father’s title and the love the families of the North had for the Starks.

For the most part, you did what you wanted and didn’t call too much attention to yourself, content to read on the sidelines and follow after your siblings as they grew into their own. That meant that you escaped a lot of the formalities of nobility, as no one really needed too much of your attention.

If they were looking for a Stark to talk to, you were always fairly low on the list and you liked it that way, especially given all the excitement in Winterfall over the past few days.

With Sansa entertaining the Prince, your father entertaining the King and Queen, and the charms of the North keeping the guard away, you finally had a moment to yourself which only meant one thing. You could finally finish your book.

It was all set, just as you wanted it.

The weather had yet to get so bitter cold that you couldn’t stand to be out, so you grabbed a blanket and set it in the clearing near the market, under a big tree. The septa’s rarely bothered you these days, so you should be able to get some peace and quiet.

Not that you got too far before something else caught your eye.

You had only been reading your book for a short time when you heard the familiar sing-songy tone of your sister’s voice, followed unsurprisingly by the nasally pitch of Prince Joffrey.

They were to be married following this trip, and you knew she was excited. You could tell by the way she skipped lightly as she walked, and how she hung on his every word.

You had never been in love yourself, but you had to imagine that was what it looked like. Perhaps that was why you found yourself watching them as they walked, or maybe it had more to do with the Hound, loyal as always, who was trailing behind them steadily.

He was an interesting man, you’d decided.

Even as he walked, he studied the world around him as if he wasn’t a part of it, rather that he was peering in at it from the outside. You felt that you could relate, in some way, as you had always been that way.

They’d chastised you for being a dreamer as a girl. The Septa would take your books and keep them from you, your mother would beg you to engage in your duties as a lady and even Robb and Theon teased you.

Your head was always far away and even now, you had managed to keep it that way. While other women your age married and had heirs for unimpressive Lords, you remained in your father’s homeland.

A place where you could keep your books and your dreams, without having to endure the ugliness.

Not that ugliness was really the problem in the first place.

You were certain that some found the Hound ugly in all his violence and impropriety, but you couldn’t dare count yourself among them. Even now, as you stared at him over your bound paper novel, you saw nothing short of a dream like all the others.

It wasn’t even something you could truly understand, if you had any desire to try. There was just a softness to him, a quiet contemplation that made you feel as if no harm would ever come to you.

That wasn’t a feeling you’d known before now, as that was one of the things the North had never really had. Your father and brothers would rather die than let something or someone hurt you, you knew that, but it wasn’t so simple.

The comfort his presence held went beyond any physical threat or danger, it was almost warm.

Not that you would have ever ventured to admit it.

After all, you had never even spoken to the man and if you tried to explain the way you were feeling to anyone, they would surely have you committed. The hound was a lot of things, but none would have called him warm.

None outside of you that was.

You continued your staring for quite some time, only occasionally looking away from the sight before you to mindlessly turn the page in your book. You imagined you may have sat there all evening if you remained uninterrupted.

However, when your attention returned to the imposing form of the King’s dog across the way to find him already looking at you, the illusion fell away entirely.

Surely he thought you were demented.

In the entire time he and the King’s guard had been in Winterfell, you had yet to speak a word to a one of them but that didn’t mean he was unfamiliar with you. Every time he turned around, he found you sitting somewhere over his shoulder, that same book perched in your lap.

Anyone else may have just brushed you off, assuming you were a bit out there as your family always had, but Sandor couldn’t quite do that.

After all, he had grown used to the weary glances and fearful whispers between people as he passed, but no one had ever paid him so much mind as you seemed to be.

Naturally he was curious.

No one had voluntarily spent that much time looking at him in all his life, and he needed to know what it was about you that was different.

You tensed the moment you noticed his attention, not daring to look away from the weathered pages beneath your fingers, not when you heard him nearing where you sat and certainly not when he stopped at your side.

Neither of you spoke, and you weren’t even sure if you drew a single breath, but he certainly did as he waited. Waited for what he wasn’t sure, but it just seemed to be the thing to do.

As if you would somehow explain yourself if he stood in your presence long enough.

Though, after a long moment passed between you without so much as a glance from you, he decided to just end the torment for you both.

There would be no sense in just standing here all evening.

“Why do you stare so much?” he wondered aloud, his voice just as gruff as it always was, though you caught something else hidden there too. Just beneath the surface, hiding beneath the walls he’d built hugh within himself.

It almost sounded like a sort of nervousness, though you would have imagined him incapable of something so common.

You didn’t answer at first.

Whether it was due to the humiliation of being caught that held your tongue or the nerves of facing down such an imposing man on your own, he wasn’t sure. All Sandor knew for sure was that this was one of the strangest interactions he’d ever had.

If only he knew.

The real reason for your silence wasn’t some twisted interest or shame but because there was no real answer at all. At least not one you’d confidently admit while those brown eyes had you locked in a stare.

You hadn’t meant it to be disrespectful, of course, because the nature of your admiration couldn’t be farther from distaste. However, to a man like Sandor, that was exactly what it looked like.

…What it felt like.

Naturally, after a life of rejection, Sandor assumed that your staring was like that of every else when they looked at him. He assumed you were disgusted by him, and his grotesque face, or perhaps that you were afraid.

He hoped you weren’t afraid.

In any case, he never could have imagined that you would answer him in the way you did, even if it took you a moment to summon the courage to string any words together at all.

“I suppose I’m interested in you” you decided finally, twisting your face up slightly at the way that must have sounded.

It wasn’t quite right, of course, though it wasn’t entirely wrong either.

You were interested in him, but that seemed too simply a phrasing, like all the gravity and sentiment was missing even still.

Sandor only grunted in reply after a brief pause, his gaze drifting across the market, watching as the surrounding northerners studied your interaction, only to drop their eyes when they met his.

They all feared him, and they were right too, because they understood what he was and what he was capable of. Though, maybe that was another thing that you had done since he arrived that was unique to you.

Never once had you looked away from him.

You had never shrunk away or grimaced as they did, even at a time like this when anyone else would have run for the hills. It was certainly new, even he couldn’t be so stubborn as to ignore that.

“What’s so interesting about me?” he wondered, not daring to move closer or join you as you sat, but not moving further away either. Even though it felt wrong to speak freely with an unmarried noble woman like you, it really wasn’t.

You certainly didn’t think so, and you believed that anyone else would agree.

If anything, you were simply making conversation while he did his duty, watching over the Prince and his future bride.

Now, it was your turn to pause, regarding the words on the page only a moment more before you closed it, and discarded it in the snowy grass.

“We don’t have men like you here,” you allowed, considering his imposing frame as he stood above you.

Though you had only seen him from afar until now, at his impressive height and with your current low position, Sandor seemed even larger than he had before. Still, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be frightened by him, which had to have been because he wasn’t frightening in the first place.

The rest of the realm may have treated him like a monster but you hardly believed that made him one.

You could tell in the way he glanced down at you, surprise painting his features, that he wanted to argue with you but he faltered, because he didn’t understand. He wanted to tell you that there were violent men everywhere, and that most were just better at hiding it, but somehow, he knew that wasn’t what you meant.

No matter how diluted that may have made you seem in the moment.

“Gentle,” you clarified, watching as his mind tried to pin down exactly what you were trying to say, because the most obvious answer just wasn’t possible. “Men here are all the same. They’re either ruthless fighters or cowards and fools. On rare occasions, they may be both but neither are gentle as you are”

That was it.

There were the words you had been trying to find before, but it still didn’t feel as if he understood, or perhaps he just didn’t feel as if you had any right to be the one saying them.

After all, you had only ever been in the North and you hardly knew anything about him, or many other men for that matter. What real ground did you have to stand on when it came to this?

“Trust me little girl, there’s nothing gentle about a man like me” he scoffed, washing away any tenderness you’d been feeling in a moment.

Perhaps he was right, but you didn’t think so.

While it was true that there were no other men like him in the North, you had seen your fair share of guarded men hiding from the truth about themselves. Normally they were trying to convince themself that they were braver than they were, or stronger, but it looked the same.

It made them look small.

“It’s in your eyes. You think I can’t see it because you don’t, but it’s there. It’s the same reason you’re still having this conversation with me, even though the Prince snuck off with Sansa” you countered, gesturing to the missing space they’d previously occupied through the pass.

If he’d truly been keeping an eye on them, and nothing more, he wouldn’t have let them out of his sight.

“Maybe I just want to know what’s wrong with you? After all, I thought the future Lady of Winterfell would be a bit more sociable” he argued, almost poking fun at you in a way you hadn’t seen coming.

Which was a welcome break in that untouchable armor of his.

“I am hardly the future Lady of Winterfell. That title will belong to the wife of my brother Robb,” you informed, gathering your skirts to rise to your feet, only to find his hand outstretched to you, a further invitation behind the curtain.

You took it as gracefully as you could and rose to your full height, though you remained entirely dwarfed by the large man at your side.

“And I have never really taken to being sociable, that’s true. It’s my mother’s greatest upset” you teased, straightening out your gown and taking in the full sight of the Hound in all his glory.

He looked small, if that was even physically possible, as you admired him with those eyes of yours. If you thought his gaze was pointed, you had no idea how he felt beneath the heavy weight of your own.

“You’re a strange little thing, aren’t you?” he grumbled, his question hanging in the air untouched for a moment as you studied him, no longer caring how strange it may have looked to anyone else.

You had been right.

He was anything but ugly up close, and it was a tragedy that so few got to gaze upon him in this manner.

“I suppose. Perhaps that’s why I remain unmarried” you suggested, subconsciously hinting at what you knew to be your own greatest flaw, at least in the eyes of your people and your house.

At the very least, the Hound had been able to make something of himself outside of being a husband or son. He could be a warrior, and he was, one of the most fearsome warriors you’d ever seen.

As a woman, you had never been afforded that kind of privilege and you never would. As far as your mother was concerned, you would live and die a spinster, and there was little you could do to change that.

“Perhaps. Or maybe this place really is full of cowards and fools, as you said” he muttered, sparing you one more heady glance before turning his back to you, his attention fully on the clearing ahead.

That was it.

In all the days you’d been admiring him and making a desperate attempt to understand exactly what lay beneath that shell of his, that was all he had for you.

…and you couldn’t have been happier, because for the first time in a long time, you found yourself looking forward to what the days ahead would hold.

#sandor clegane #sandor clegane imagine #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane x ps reader #sandor clegane x plus size reader #the hound #the hound x reader #the hound x ps reader #the hound x plus size reader #the hound imagine #got #got x reader #got x ps reader #got x plus size readaer #got imagine #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones x ps reader #game of thrones x plus size reader

[chippedcupwrites]

the universal experience of trying to figure out why the Hound is being so gentle to that one girl

#sansan #sandor clegane #sansa stark #the hound #got #game of thrones #gotedit #gameofthronesedit #rory mccann #gotsansastark #gotsandorclegane #sansastarkedit #sandorcleganeedit #my edits #my sets #my got sets #my sandor sets #my sansa sets

[enveine]

when doves cry - s. clegane: chapter one (pilot)

pairing: sandor clegane x f!eldest stark reader summary: your loyalty to your family is unwavering, a steadfast commitment that defines your character. however, navigating the turbulent waters of newfound, intense emotions for a man devoted to a family starkly opposed to your own will challenge the foundations of this loyalty. as you stand on the precipice of conflicting allegiances, the question looms: what sacrifices would you make in the name of love? rating: 18+ word count: 4.4k chapter warnings: smut, "we just met but I want to fuck you", kinda ooc sandor, language, story loosely follows the timeline of S1, semi-public sex- very risky, rough sex, reader probably cares more about what's happening then sandor does, hickeys in hidden places, unprotected piv sex, angst, "we just fucked and now we're practically going to be living together".

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The great hall of Winterfell buzzed with activity as the Stark family prepared for the arrival of King Robert Baratheon and his entourage. You were the eldest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, so you knew all eyes were going to be on you; a young woman of noble birth, at an age desperate to be married well. You moved gracefully through the throngs of people, your eyes keenly observing the bustling preparations. You wore a simple but elegant gown, the Stark colors proudly displayed.

A little nervous, to be expected. Nothing a little ride couldn’t fix.

On the way back, you noticed that winter truly had begun its descent upon the land, the air frigid and the wind mighty. The crunch of snow beneath the hooves of your horse echoed through the trees as you headed back towards Winterfell. You were eager to greet the royal party.

As you approached the stable, you hear the unmistakable clatter of hooves against the cobblestone. The royal retinue had arrived. Intrigued, you watch closely to see the beautiful ocean of golden banners, curiosity piqued by the impending arrival of the king.

The gate swung open, revealing the group of visitors. Your gaze was drawn to a towering figure at the back of the party. A man of imposing stature, his face hidden beneath a twisted helm, and clad in dark, rugged armor. He radiated an air of danger that made the other courtiers instinctively give him a wide berth.

Still mounted, you took a step back, closer to your direwolf Nyx. You watched him with a curious gaze. As he sat there, a silent sentinel also mounted upon his horse, you felt a shiver run down your spine as his gaze met your own.

"Who's that?" you inquired, directing the question to a nearby stable boy.

The boy hesitated before answering, "That's the Hound, my Lady. Sandor Clegane, the King's dog."

You clicked your tongue, “King’s dog, huh?” a small laugh, “Interesting title.”

You watched as the man dismounted, your eyes narrowing with interest. He moved with a certain controlled grace, his movements deliberate and purposeful. An unexpected shiver ran down your spine as you observed the mysterious figure. There was something about him that defied the norms of courtly behavior, an untamed quality that set him apart. In a sea of polished knights and well-mannered courtiers, he was a dark anomaly.

You couldn't help but be intrigued by the mysterious figure. Your eyes lingered on him, studying the scars that marred his face. There was a hardness in his gaze that suggested a life of brutality, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the man beneath the armor.

Your eyes met for the briefest moment, a flicker of connection that sent a jolt through your spine. Quickly averting her gaze, you tried ignoring the heart pounding feeling in her chest. The Hound continued on, seemingly indifferent to the glances and whispers that followed him. After his eyes left yours, you couldn’t help but watch his every move again. That man, Sandor Clegane, he was beautiful.

And he was coming right towards you.

As you dismounted her horse, the Hound's attention shifted briefly to her. You felt a twinge of discomfort under his scrutinizing gaze, but being the strong-minded Stark you were, held your ground. Nyx, ever vigilant, growled softly at the Hound, who merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"You a Stark girl?" he grumbled, his voice rough and devoid of warmth.

You nodded, a defiant yet humorous spark in your eyes. "Well I stand before you wearing Stark colors. I’d hope so. (Y/N) Stark. And you are?"

"The Hound. Sandor Clegane," he replied with a hint of mockery. "King's dog, they call me."

You arched an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "A dog, you say?” In a bold move, your eyes slowly moved up and down, taking in a good look of his entire figure. “I don’t see a collar.”

His lips twitched, almost forming a reluctant smirk. It was a rare sight, a crack in his stoic facade.

“Well, dog, I hope you’re house-trained.”

Your exchange was brief, but in that moment, something shifted. A connection, unspoken and unacknowledged, lingered between the two of you. The Hound turned away, disappearing into the crowd, leaving you with a lingering sense of curiosity and an unsettling awareness that even though you’d just met that man—you wanted more of him.

Later that night, the great hall of Winterfell resounded with the clinking of goblets and the boisterous laughter of the guests. You found yourself drawn into the festivities, attempting to put aside the enigmatic encounter with Sandor Clegane. The feast in honor of King Robert Baratheon's visit was in full swing, and the Stark family showed they knew how to put together an extravagant feast.

As the night progressed, you caught glimpses of him across the crowded hall. His presence was ominous, and whispers of him still followed like shadows. Your curiosity mingled with a sense of unease, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that your brief exchange held a significance you couldn't fully comprehend.

You continued to mingle among the noble guests, trying to keep your eyes away from Sandor. But to no avail, you watched in-between pointless conversations as he stood at the outskirts of the celebration. His gaze fixed on the revelry with a mix of disdain and disinterest and you felt a peculiar pull, as if the currents of destiny were nudging you toward the enigmatic man.

An unexpected voice interrupted you in the middle of your thoughts. "(Y/N), you seem quite taken with the Hound," spoke your younger sister, Sansa Stark, her blue eyes glinting mischievously.

You raised an eyebrow and snorted out a laughter, attempting to conceal the obvious interest written in your eyes. "Taken? No, my dear Sansa. Merely curious. He is a formidable figure, after all." You put your arm between hers, nudging her body in the direction of the man who looked quite bored. “You know what mother always tells us. We are wolves, we must be the ones to pounce before the others.”

Sansa's gaze flitted between you and the man in question, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Well, just be careful. Rumors say he has a fearsome temper."

You chuckled at her, feigning nonchalance. "Rumors are just that—rumors. I'm sure there's more to him than meets the eye."

“Rumor has it that I think you’re full of rubbish.” She replied, a playful laugh falling from her lips.

“Oh Sansa, run off. Father needs you.” You nodded in the direction of your father, clearly enjoying his conversation with King Robert and his son, Joffrey.

Poor Sansa, you thought, that boy looks like nothing but trouble.

As the night wore on, you couldn't shake the feeling that their paths were destined to cross again. And fate intervened sooner than expected. The King's squire, Lancel Lannister, approached you with a cup of wine.

"From the Hound," he declared, offering you the goblet.

You hesitated, fingers brushing against the cold metal. You glanced in the direction of the Hound, who merely nodded in acknowledgment. Taking the wine, you nodded back with a small smile, and Lancel retreated into the shadows.

As you sipped the wine, the rich flavor lingered on her lips. As you found yourself drawn once more Sandor, you wondered what he’d taste like lingering on your lips. As your eyes met, a silent understanding passed between the two of you—a forming connection, born from the flames of need for passion.

Eventually, after a few more cups of wine, you found yourself standing at the edge of the hall, watching the dancers twirl to the music. A deep voice behind you interrupted your thoughts. "You fancy dancing, Lady (Y/N)?"

You turned to find Sandor standing there, his burned face impassive. "I can dance if the occasion calls for it," you replied, your eyes meeting his with something you couldn’t describe, but you could definitely feel it.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "She’s a wolf with claws, then."

You were undeterred by his nature, offering a playful smile. "You sure seem to enjoy lurking in the shadows, Ser Clegane. Is that where you find your solace?"

He grunted, a low sound that could be mistaken for a chuckle. "Solace is overrated. I prefer the edge of the firelight."

You tilted your head, curls cascading over your shoulder. "A mysterious man, I see. Are you afraid the light will reveal too much?"

Sandor's lips twitched into a half-smile, a rare sight on his scarred face. "Some things are better left in the dark."

Leaning in, you whispered, "But not everything. Some things are meant to be uncovered." You caught the glint in his eye, a flicker of something lustful beneath the rough exterior.

The conversation continued, the banter growing more flirtatious with each exchange. You teased and prodded, finding amusement in the unexpected connection you felt with the man. He, in turn, responded with a gruff charm that surprised even himself.

Eventually, he left you with short instructions, “Broken tower.”

At last, you found yourself in the quiet solitude with the idea of getting to know Sandor better. In a way you’d known nobody before. The anticipation of his presence weighed on you, and a flutter of nerves danced in your stomach. The air was charged with a different kind of energy, one that held the promise of a connection that transcended the boundaries of right and wrong.

A soft knock on the door signaled his arrival, and when you opened it, there he stood, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of intensity and vulnerability. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow over his scarred face, softening the harsh lines that had witnessed battles and hardships.

"I thought we might continue our conversation," he rumbled, his voice carrying a note of sincerity that caught you off guard, especially when he roughly grabbed your cheeks in his hands and pressed his lips against yours. Your heart raced as you welcomed his tongue inside your mouth, trying your best to close the door.

The room pulsed with palpable tension, igniting like a fervent flame, as your hands yearned to make contact with him in every possible manner. The warmth emanating from your skin created a contrast against the cold, unyielding metal of his armor. Restless and eager, your hands became a silent testament to the unspoken urgency of your desire.

Sandor's gaze remained fixed on yours throughout, ablaze with a passion you had long yearned for—a fervor you couldn't fathom experiencing with the man standing before you.

Your teeth sank into his lower lip, coaxing a resonant, primal groan from him, prompting his reluctant withdrawal. "She's a wolf with claws and teeth," he chuckled, wiping away the trace amount of blood that had emerged from the newfound wound.

Rather than offering a response, your body found itself pressed against the wall, his calloused hand gently mitigating the impact on your head. "Couldn’t very well carry our conversation with your lips against mine," you remarked at last, tilting your head to the side as his lips met the tender skin of your neck.

He stopped for a moment- another faint chuckle coming before continuing, “aye, that was the point.”

Sandor persisted in tracing kisses along your neck, momentarily pausing only to leave subtle bites in places known only to him. In this moment, he recognized that he was on the brink of losing all restraint, evident in the autonomy of his hands, which seemed to explore every inch of your body with a desire you willingly indulged. Oh, how willingly you would allow him to continue.

“Sandor, please, I need-” you were cut off mid sentence by him grabbing your right leg and wrapping it around his waist. The cold metal hid his hardening cock—the feeling of it against your warm skin made you anticipate his every move. “If we’re g-gonna do this.. we need to hurry..”

“You need to keep quiet.”

His lips descended, caressing the delicate fabric of your dress. His fingers deftly maneuvered to release you from its confines with a sense of urgency; there was an animalistic quality to his actions—rough fingers, accompanied by soft growls, responding to the rhythmic dance of your body against his determined hold. A silent plea resonated, a tacit acknowledgment that you craved everything he was willing to bestow upon you.

A hushed stillness enveloped the space for the next few moments, broken only when he skillfully lowered your dress, unveiling your tits. Sandor's fingers delicately traced the contours of each nipple, his unwavering gaze captivated by their response. With each circular motion, they seemed to intensify in firmness, a testament to the heightened sensitivity your body exhibited in mere minutes of his touch. He reveled in the allure of your immediate responsiveness.

If anyone were to walk in they’d see such a pornographic sight: the beloved, eldest daughter of Ned Stark, nipples hard and swollen, dress hiked up to her waist while the Prince’s hound let her hump his armor. By this point, you'd wager that the burgeoning dampness in your silk panties had left its mark on the cool silver surface, a silent proclamation of your possession of the man. Yet, the mutual understanding between you both acknowledged that any unsuspecting onlooker venturing in would be treated to an undeniable spectacle.

If this were your first time, perhaps a hint of nervousness would have crept in, particularly as you sensed his hands gently sliding your panties down to your knees. Yet, even in such a moment, his adept handling imparted a profound sense of security. This man, bound by oath to safeguard his King, was now silently pledging to protect you with equal devotion.

But, fortunately, nothing could protect your body from what Sandor was about to do.

Seating himself on the ground after loosening his leather pants, he then drew you down to join him. As you settled onto his lap, he playfully grazed against your entrance with his cock, all the while continuing his descent of kisses along your neck. With a stern tone, he uttered, "My Lady, speak the word and I’ll stop."

Gazing into his eyes, you found them ablaze with desire, mirroring the fervor you sensed within yourself. His captivating eyes, the unsteady cadence of his breath, and the formidable frame enveloping you in its embrace—you desired nothing else in that moment.

“I don’t think such words exist.” You whispered.

At last, your lips met again with an intense passion, and as he slowly pushed his cock inside, his kiss carried a raw urgency that you eagerly reciprocated. Midway, a soft moan escaped as an indescribable sensation stirred in your stomach. Gazing down, your eyes caught a glimpse of your warmth enveloping him voraciously—a hunger akin to a famished wolf.

Sandor wasn’t even in completely.

His hips moved gradually against yours, a measured rhythm aiming to acquaint you with his full length. Pressed chest to chest, he sensed the rapid cadence of your intense heartbeat, but as his fingers traced small circles on your thighs, he felt it gradually subside. Sandor understood that in due course, he would sense the resurgence of your elevated heart rate, particularly when he ultimately filled you entirely. The connection was palpable, your pelvis intimately aligned with his.

He sustained a consistent rhythm, guiding your hips in a reciprocal dance of thrusts. The entire encounter was swift and purposeful, each thrust delivered with a sense of urgency, as if time were a constraint. In a sense, it was, considering the uncertainty of someone stumbling upon you at any moment.

Yet, beneath it all, an undercurrent of passion prevailed. The symphony of your gasps harmonized with his occasional groans, creating a melodic atmosphere. Your hand remained anchored on the back of Sandor's neck like a steadying handlebar, providing support as his thrusts intensified. It felt fitting that this was how Sandor Clegane fucked his women—clothed, he embodied roughness and intensity; how could one become tender and affectionate when undressed?

The familiar sensation of tightness formed in your stomach, and truth be told, there was a hint of disappointment in how swiftly the entire encounter unfolded. Yet, the lack of surprise lingered; he had proven to be the quickest in getting you into bed. The inexplicable allure he held over you remained a mystery, but in this moment, such thoughts were irrelevant—especially when you stood on the brink of blissful release.

Suddenly, a surge of sensation swept over you as his hand enveloped your throat. Sandor felt the subtle tightening of your walls around his cock, a telltale sign that you were teetering on the edge. He sought to bring you to that exquisite pleasure. Amidst the crescendo of your growing moans reverberating against the tower walls, his grip tightened, not to stifle your ecstasy but to cloak the sounds and shield the secrecy of your rendezvous.

As tears cascaded down your cheeks in response to the overwhelming pleasure, he spoke, "That's it, (Y/N), that's it…" It was as if he momentarily shed his usual demeanor, softening as he observed you in your vulnerable state. However, amidst the whirlwind that had your head spinning and everything fading to white, the only thing you could truly register was the profound impact of your orgasm.

Sandor wasn't far behind, withdrawing as you caught your breath, leaving your back adorned in ribbons of white cum. A soft whine escaped you as you felt it trickle down, accompanied by his heightened groans that surpassed those from when he was inside you. The aftermath left both of you in a hushed stillness, contemplating who would break the silence first. It was him, rising to his feet after moving your body off his lap and discreetly tucking his softening cock back into his trousers. He handed you a handkerchief, a gesture to cleanse the now drying traces from your back.

You wondered whether he would abandon you in the tower, retreat to his quarters, or perhaps rejoin the now dwindling party. To your surprise, he didn't. Instead, he extended his hand, helping you rise and assisting in the process of reclothing yourself. It was a considerate gesture, you acknowledged, yet it only added to the palpable tension that seemed to be mounting. You were certain Sandor could discern it in your expression—the subtle frown betraying your disappointment that the encounter had concluded. As you gazed at him, you searched for any sign of shared sentiment, any indication that he, too, would miss the intimacy you had just shared. Regrettably, you found nothing.

The air outside the tower was crisp, and the moon cast a silvery glow across the surroundings as Sandor led you down the winding path to your quarters. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, the tension between you two lingering even in the cool night air.

The journey was silent, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the soft echo of your footsteps on the cobblestone path. Sandor's hand, firm yet strangely comforting, guided you through the dimly lit passages of the castle.

As you approached your quarters, a mix of conflicting emotions washed over you. There was a longing for something more, a desire to bridge the gap between the intimacy you'd just shared and the reality of the castle walls around you. The silence between you spoke volumes, a tacit acknowledgment of the uncharted territory you both found yourselves in.

Upon reaching your door, Sandor released your hand, and for a moment, it felt like a sudden loss. He stood there, his expression unreadable in the muted moonlight. You searched his eyes for any sign of what lay beneath the surface, but they remained enigmatic.

"Goodnight, Lady (Y/N)," Sandor gruffly uttered, breaking the silence. The words hung in the air, a simple farewell laden with unspoken complexities.

"Goodnight, Sandor Clegane," you replied, your voice soft and tinged with a hint of something unsaid. As you entered your quarters, the door closing behind you, the weight of the night settled in.

Alone in the hushed sanctuary of your quarters, the echoes of the night's encounter reverberated through the room. The emotions, like an unruly storm, swirled within you, and the dam holding them back began to crack.

As you stood there, the weight of what had transpired bore down on you. The tears, uninvited, welled up in your eyes and spilled over, tracing the contours of your cheeks. It wasn't just the physical intimacy that left you shaken; it was the tangled web of emotions that accompanied it.

Regret gnawed at you, and confusion settled in like a heavy fog. What had led you to this precipice, and where did you stand now? The vulnerability of the moment washed over you, leaving you adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions.

Fumbling with the fastenings of your dress, you sought solace in the act of undressing, as if shedding the layers would somehow alleviate the burden you carried. The moonlight filtering through the window cast shadows across the room, emphasizing the isolation you felt.

Laying on the bed, your tears soaked into the fabric beneath you, a silent lament for the choices made and the uncharted territories navigated. The intimacy, though a fleeting connection, left a profound impact, and the aftermath left you grappling with a whirlwind of emotions.

As the night wore on, the tears eventually subsided, leaving behind a quiet ache and a lingering question of what the dawn would bring. In the solace of your room, you found yourself wrestling with the complexities of desire, regret, and the uncertain path ahead.

The morning sun painted Winterfell in hues of gold, casting a warm light over the courtyard. Despite the tender touch of dawn, the echoes of the previous night's emotions still sat within your heart.

A soft knock on your door signaled the entrance of your father, whose countenance bore the strength of responsibility. "(Y/N)," he began with a softness, "gather your sisters. There's something we must discuss."

Compelled by both curiosity and a lingering sense of unrest, you summoned Arya and Sansa to join you in the family chambers. As the three of you assembled, a somber atmosphere enveloped the room, foreshadowing the gravity of your father's impending words.

Ned stood before you, a stalwart figure. "My daughters," he started, his voice bearing both love and gravitas, "a change is upon us. I have been offered the position of Hand of the King by King Robert."

Sansa's eyes widened, Arya's skepticism palpable, and you exchanged a glance with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty.

"We will be relocating to King's Landing," Ned continued, his gaze encompassing each of you. "It is an honor, but with it comes great responsibility. The court is a labyrinth of politics and intrigue, and I need my family by my side."

Arya's rebellious spirit simmered beneath the surface, while Sansa's excitement mingled with trepidation. As for you, the events of the night before lingered, making the move to King's Landing feel like an unexpected twist in the intricate tapestry of your life.

Amidst the familial exchanges, there was another silent dance occurring—one between you and Sandor. His eyes constantly drew your gaze. It was as if an invisible thread connected you, and in those moments, the world around you blurred as your eyes met his, wordlessly conveying a shared understanding of the complexities unfolding.

Ned Stark, seemingly oblivious to the subtle interplay, continued to outline the responsibilities that awaited the Stark family in the capital. As he spoke, your eyes frequently found Sandor's, and each exchange carried a weight of unspoken emotions. His gaze, normally guarded, held a hint of something that transcended the stoic exterior he presented to the world.

When Ned mentioned the unity of the Stark family in facing the challenges ahead, your eyes involuntarily sought out Sandor's once more. In that shared gaze, there was a recognition that echoed the uncertainties of the path ahead and the uncharted territories that lay before you.

The air seemed heavy with the weight of impending change as you sought out Sandor in the quiet corners of the castle. You found him in a secluded courtyard, the familiar hounds of House Stark milling about nearby. The atmosphere was tense, and the silent exchange of glances from before lingered in your mind.

"Sandor," you began, your voice cutting through the stillness. He turned to face you, his expression guarded but expectant.

The words tumbled out, the night before demanding acknowledgement. "What happened between us… it was unexpected, and now with the move to King's Landing, I don't know what this means."

Sandor's gaze, normally impenetrable, softened in a rare display of vulnerability. "It means nothing, my Lady. Just a moment in time, and we move on."

But you couldn't shake the lingering questions. "Is that all it was to you? Just a moment?"

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours with a raw honesty. "It was more than that, but it's not something that fits into our worlds."

A surge of frustration mixed with a tinge of sadness swept over you. "Our worlds? What does that mean, Sandor? We're both headed to King's Landing. We're both a part of whatever is coming next."

His gaze held a complexity that mirrored the conflict within. "In King's Landing, there's a different kind of game being played. I’m not the one to bring into your world, and you sure as hell don't belong in mine."

The words stung, but there was a resignation in his tone, as if he sought to shield you from the harsh realities he faced daily.

You took a step closer, unwilling to let the unspoken linger. "I can decide what world I belong to, Sandor. And right now, I want to understand what this is between us."

He sighed, a mixture of frustration and reluctance. "We're just two people caught up in a storm. Best not to overthink it."

Before you could press further, the sound of footsteps approached, and the courtyard suddenly felt less secluded. Sandor's eyes met yours once more, a silent understanding passing between you.

"In King's Landing, things will have to change," he muttered, his tone a gruff acknowledgment of the challenges ahead.

The bittersweet taste of truth lingered in the air as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your forehead. A silent understanding passed between you, a farewell woven with unspoken regrets and the inevitability of parting ways.

As the distance between your bodies widened, the courtyard seemed to stretch infinitely. The angst that clung to the parting moments left an indelible ache, a silent ache that would resonate in the chambers of your heart long after the echoes of Sandor's footsteps faded into the shadows.

"I don't want to lose you," you confessed in your mind.

#sandor clegane smut #smut #sandor clegane #sandor the hound clegane #the hound #sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane x you #the hound x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #reader insert #got smut

[extraordinary-heroes]

Game of Thrones by Matias Bergara

#game of thrones #matias bergara #jon snow #arya stark #the hound #tormund giantsbane #brienne of tarth #ygritte #tyrion lannister #davos seaworth #night king #GOT #artwork #illustrations

[tojigasm]

Changed lives.

#sandor the hound clegane #sandor clegane #the hound #got #the hound got #game of thrones #game of thrones the hound #vidz

[canisalbus]

I have the vibes Machete HATES mayonaise as a whole, the texture, the taste, etc. Vasco probs does too but maybe if its for a funny bit he’ll lick it

it's half past three in the morning and I'm pondering what my ocs would think of mayonnaise.

#it's hard to say actually #I think mayonnaise is bland and inoffensive in a way that has the potential to fit Machete's tastes but it's also got a specific texture #it leaves this slimy greasy feel in your mouth and makes all the foods it touches sloppy and messy #it would be funny if they were united in their resentment for mayo #answered #anonymous #no mayo in the hound husband household

[norringtondeservestheworld]

"All my life men like you have sneered at me, and all my life I've been knocking men like you into the dust."

#brienne of tarth #jaime lannister #sandor clegane #the hound #MY GIRL LOOK AT HER KICKING ASS #friendly reminder that jaime lannister and the hound are considered two of the best warriors of westeros and yet she won against BOTH #also loving the difference between the duels #the one with jaime being more a dance with the shot on their swords kissing #like they will kiss in the last season foreshadowing that they will fall in love with each other #while the one against the hound is just brutal #love both #braime #jaime x brienne #kinda #game of thrones #got #gwendoline christie

[catsteeth]

The Caged Bird and The Leashed Dog

+:✿ Chapter - 1 ✿:+ New Pretty Cage

next chapter

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

#sandor clegane #sandor x reader #sandor clegane x reader #got x reader #got hc #game of thrones #the hound #got #sandor headcanon #sandor #sandor clegane fanfic #the hound fanfic #sandor the hound clegane #sandor fluff #sandor fanfic #sandor clegane smut #sandor clegane fic #sandor clegane x you #sandor clegane fluff #sandor fic #game of thrones fic #game of thrones fanfic #sandor clegane angst #sandor angst #sandor smut

[azulolivart]

❤️‍🔥Just two beings kissed by fire❤️‍🔥

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

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

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

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

#sansan #sansan fanart #sansan fanfiction #sansa stark x sandor clegane #sandor clegane x sansa stark #sandor x sansa #sansa x sandor #sandor the hound clegane #sansa stark #asoif/got #a song of ic and fire fanart #the little bird and the hound #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf fanart #asoiaf #fanart #fan art #game of thrones #game of thrones fanart #got #got fanart #a clash of kings