sandor clegane x fem!baratheon!reader
summary: joffrey's birthday brings a huge surprise for Sandor when you return to the capital for the celebrations. the bond that was thought to be lost resurfaces.
tw: smut MDNI, legal age gap, p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, fingering, dirty talk, kind of public sex, yearning and cursing because is sandor.
note: finally i had time to write, here is part two, which I hadn't planned but definitely felt necessary. i have to say its the first time i write smut so i hope its not too bad. thank u so much for all the comments and support, enjoyy <3!
The sun beat down mercilessly on the tournament field in the eastern grounds of the Red Keep, the air hung thick with dust and blood. Joffrey Baratheon, perched on a raised platform beneath a golden canopy, clapped with childish delight at every ringing blow that echoed across the yard. It was his nameday, and the king had chosen to celebrate it in the traditional way, with blood and steel.
At the center of the field stood the Hound, towering and imposing. His black armor, dented and freshly spattered with red, made him look like a living shadow. The snarling hound-shaped helm silently bared its teeth, hiding the ruin of scars that devoured half his face. Before him knelt a knight from the Stormlands, gasping, sword broken beside him, the Hound’s blade already pressed lightly against his throat. And the crowd roared for death.
Sandor felt no pride or happiness at those cheers in his favor, nothing but the familiar, grinding weight of hatred, the same hatred that had kept him alive all these years.
From the platform Joffrey shouted. “Finish him, Dog!” So he gave the crowd what they wanted. A single swift motion, and a bright river of crimson spilled across the ground. Still breathing hard, he dropped to one knee before the king, but his heart lurched when he looked up, his heart nearly stopping the moment he noticed you.
Just arriving, making your way to your mother, with the elegance of someone who belongs with ease without failing to stand out. The wind that traveled from the Blackwater Bay played with your hair as though the sea itself had carried you back, he felt his knee trembling, and for a second he thought he was going to collapse right there in front of the crowd.
It was funny how weak he felt at the mere sight of you right after he had just killed a man with ease.
He managed to bow is head as the protocol demanded, but his dark eyes never left you, not for a second, desperately trying to know if this was some cruel trick of his own mind. But there you were, not a hallucination. Those strange feelings he had never managed to put in the past started rising up inside him again like a wave that will soon end up crashing again the rocks.
You were dressed in Dornish silks, in a wine color with gold embroidery that caught the light and made you shine like you had just walk out of a dream. Myrcella stood beside you, clinging shyly to your arm, while your mother smiled again at the sight of her two daughters whom she had missed deeply.
Sandor removed his helmet, his face now in full view of everyone under the bright light of the sunny day, because he didn't care if the young ladies of the court were terrified and all the men were disgusted. He knew that nothing about him would be new to you and that you would continue to look at him in that stupidly kind way only you could give to a beast like him.
Your eyes, those rare eyes that Robert had passed only to you, locked onto his when the victory was announced loudly, without the slightest trace of fear at meeting the face most people recoiled from, you kept your eyes on him, and there was something in your gaze. Not pity or disgust, but recognition, that same thing you always offered in the past and that he hadn’t felt since the day you left.
Joffrey leaned forward, grinning with smug pride as though he himself had been the one swinging the sword. His voice came out high and excited, the voice of a child who’d just been handed a new toy. “Rise, Dog! You fought well today!”
Sandor rose slowly, helm still gripped in his left hand, sword in his right. Sweat ran down his burned face. He moved and took his usual place, at the king’s right, one step back. Close enough to protect, far enough that no one had to endure his presence too closely. But his posture was rigid, every muscle coiled tight beneath the steel.
From there he could see you even better. Just a few paces away, on the other side of the throne, flanked by a Lannister guard and right next to your mother. He had never liked the idea of having a place there, next to all those people he secretly hated, and yet now he was grateful for the privileged view that had been offered to him.
Your eyes found him again without a trace of embarrassment and a small, almost imperceptible smile curved your lips. The very same smile he had dreamed of every night since you were gone, the one he had never managed to forget.
Sandor’s chest tightened. It wasn’t fear, but something worse, a type of weakness maybe, a dangerous hope that had no place in a man like him. He growled low in his throat, a sound lost beneath the cheering of the crowd. He tried to control himself, looking away as if he wasn’t dying to glance at your way one more time.
Joffrey, oblivious to everything, waved a bejeweled hand toward the arena.
“Next fight!” And two other knights came out and the fight started again.
You took a seat next to your brothers and your mother, too engrossed in the conversation and festivities to turn your attention back to the enormous shadow behind Joffrey, who was taking advantage of everyone's distraction to satisfy the hunger he had felt for you in your absence.
The celebrations dragged on long after the sun had bled into the horizon, the Red Keep’s great hall transformed into a riot of laughter and too much wine. Musicians played until their fingers cramped, servants moving everywhere with trays that never seemed to empty, and Joffrey, had finally been coaxed, or rather, half-carried back to his royal chambers sometime after the moon reached its zenith.
Sandor Clegane had performed his duty as always, the silent shadow at the king’s back, one hand never far from the hilt of his sword. He had seen Joffrey safely carried behind heavy oak doors, exchanged the curt nod with the two gold cloaks posted outside, and then without a conscious decision he turned his boots toward the wing where he knew the rest of royal family slept.
The same path he used to walk before you left.
The corridor was quieter here, moonlight spilled silver through the tall arched windows, painting the stone floor in pale stripes. He meant only to take up his old walk outside your door, lean against the wall like a gargoyle, and let the night pass in the familiar burn of wanting something he could never have.
But you weren’t inside this time. You were out on the narrow balcony that overlooked the Blackwater, elbows braced on the stone balustrade, a half-empty goblet dangling loosely from your fingers. The night wind carried the faint salt tang of the bay and tugged at the thin silk of your nightgown, that left little to the imagination.
Your hair was undone now, the long strands danced with the soft night breeze. You didn’t startle when his heavy footsteps sounded behind you. Instead you turned your head slowly, eyes glassy and bright, lips curved in that same small, reckless smile you’d given him earlier in the yard.
“I thought you had broken the habit.” You said revealing that it had never been a secret to you that he used to spend the nights he could standing guard outside your chambers even though it wasn't part of his duties.
Sandor stopped a careful three paces away. Close enough to catch you if you swayed but far enough to feel confident that he wouldn't lose control. “Was busy making sure your sweet brother didn’t choke on his own tongue.” he grunted in a sarcastic tone. His gaze flicked to the goblet. “How much of that Dornish red have you drowned yourself in, girl?”
You laughed, low, breathy, nothing like the careful court laugh you’d used all day. “Enough to survive the festivities” You lifted the cup in a mock toast toward him.
He watched the way your fingers trembled ever so slightly around the stem. Watched the flush high on your cheeks and the way the moonlight slid along the curve of your throat when you tipped your head back to drink again. You were completely drunk.
“Almost nothing has changed, huh?” You said, turning your gaze towards the garden below, dimly bathed in the moonlight. Sandor followed your eyes and let out a low grunt not knowing what words could possibly entertain a woman like you.
But you were drunk enough to not be able to shut up. “I’m gonna get married you know?…” At those words Sandor felt something ignite in his stomach and burn everything inside him. He had to hold back the curses before you started mumbling again. “And I don’t feel anything for him, I don’t wish to go back…but gods Myrcella loves that place.”
Your words ceased to be coherent, and Sandor could only think of those stupid fantasies he had created even before you left the first time. He wanted to run away with you to a place so far away that no one could ever take you away from him again.
You set the goblet on the balustrade with exaggerated care and then you turned fully toward him, a long silence stretched between the both of you, your eyes lost in his, making him want to reach for your face and press a long kiss on your lips. He noticed that the scar on your cheek had disappeared completely and he tried to memorize in those few seconds your face again, to recollect the little details that had changed with time.
You moved swaying but you still managing to take two steps towards him. One hand shot out to steady yourself against the stone but the other one reached, slow and deliberate toward the side of his face. Sandor caught your wrist before your fingertips could brush his burned skin, with a strong grip that would have make any other girl tremble in fear.
Suddenly his heart raced. Sandor thought you must be too drunk to realize what you were doing. His grip on your wrist grew stronger without him even noticing but still you didn’t back down.
“Don’t.” he rasped. Your eyes, those damn beautiful eyes were still on him with that stubborn warmth that had always undone him. He couldn’t understand how anyone could want to touch something so awful. He felt scared. An almost foreign feeling for a man like him.
“Why not?” you murmured in a voice that felt like you were challenging him. And he cursed the seven gods for how weak he felt in front of you.
“You’re drunk, you don't know what you're doing.” Sandor answered in a dark and almost angry tone but right after that he let go of your wrist like it burned him and stepped back. “Go inside.” He said nodding towards the door of your chambers like he was scolding a kid.
He needed to stop this situation before the worst in him took over and he obeyed the drunken proposition you had just made with just a subtle gesture. Sandor didn't even understand where he had gotten the strength not to bend you over that balcony and fulfill all of the dirty fantasies that had started to play in his mind the moment he saw you standing there alone.
You didn’t obeyed to his command, and instead you closed the distance again until your feet brushed the edge of his boots. You had to tilt your head far back to meet his eyes.
“I think I need help getting back to bed...” You said in a barely audible whisper that send a shiver through his body. He could smell the wine in your warm breath and he knew this was dangerous the moment he felt his cock hardening.
For one dangerous heartbeat he imagined tasting the wine on your mouth, letting himself be the beast everyone already thought he was and take advantage of the vulnerable state you were in.
But the thought of waking to your regret, to the way your eyes might look at him when the wine wore off, was enough to make him reconsider everything. You didn’t deserve to be taken by a monster.
He caught your arm with one of his hands and turn you toward the open doors of your chamber, not in hard way but enough to make you move and kept you from falling.
“Inside.” he said again, quieter this time. Almost pleading, trying to keep his thoughts away from anything that involved him on top of you.
You let him guide you, steps weaving, the warmth of you pressed against his side was torture as his mind betrayed him with the curiosity of how your skin would feel under the fabric of your gown.
Once you reached the bed with his help you lay down, letting out a long sigh before looking at him again, silhouetted by the low fire burning in the hearth. Moonlight and firelight fought over his skin. “Will you stay?” you asked. Voice small and vulnerable in a way that strangely turned him on. “Just… outside. Like before.”
You were a complete spectacle, lying on the bed in the moonlight that managed to filter through the windows, the silhouette of your body outlined in the light fabric of your gown. Your eyelids were opening with increasing difficulty, and to Sandor, the whole image felt like something out of his darkest dreams.
He had imagined you like this so many times, and now he was trying with all his strength not to lose control.
He swallowed but in the end nodded, he couldn’t refuse you, not when you speak and looked at him like that, like you trusted him. Your smile this time was softer and tired. ”I missed you…” You said in a whisper, the words felt forbbiden coming from your lips.
No one had ever said such sweet words to him. He stayed still in silent, his eyes darted away trying to act like he hadn’t heard what you just said, he saw then his old handkerchief he had gifted to you the day you left. It was nicely placed on the top of the small table near the window and It was surprising to him that you still had that.
Before he could move you mumbled again. “I dreamt of you so many times…” You shifted slightly on the bed, letting out a long breath, a few second later your eyes finally closed completely as you murmured more words that Sandor couldn't decipher.
He watched you for a few seconds, the way your chest rose and fell calmly as your last words echoed in his mind. It was too dangerous to allow himself to believe your words, to allow himself to feel that you desired him. After all, it was impossible, wasn't it?. That a princess like you could one day reciprocate the storm of emotions he struggled to suppress.
Trying to compose himself and stop his racing heartbeat, he left your room, closing the door behind him and letting out a long sigh. He had no idea how he had managed to remain stoic until now.
Your words and your beautiful image, now etched in his mind, would undoubtedly stay with him for the rest of the night. He suddenly noticed the cup you had left on the balustrade and took the opportunity to finish the remaining wine while imagining the taste of your lips that had caressed that same cup.
It would undoubtedly be a difficult night to spend alone with his dangerous thoughts and only a few meters away from you.
The stables at that hour were nearly empty, most of the knights had gone to supper, leaving only the soft snorts of horses and the occasional scrape of a hoof on stone. Sandor preferred it this way. No eyes on him. His armor was discarded on the floor and now he could move freely on his casual clothes.
He had spent the entire day dodging you. He’d seen you three times, once in the outer yard at dawn, walking with Myrcella toward the sept, your laughter carrying on the cool air like something fragile and wrong in this place and he’d turned on his heel before you had time to get close to him.
Later, mid-morning, you’d passed the training yard with two Lannister ladies trailing behind like brightly colored birds, the moment he caught the flash of your Dornish silks in his peripheral vision, he walked in the opposite way, toward the armory without a backward glance, even though he wished so badly to look at you.
And then at midday, worst of all, you’d been in the gardens with your mother and Tommen. He’d been on his way to relieve one of the gold cloaks at the postern gate when he saw you kneeling beside a bed of late-blooming roses, showing the boy how to snap the stem cleanly. The sight of your fingers so soft and careful, had nearly undone him. He’d stopped dead in the archway for half a heartbeat before forcing his boots to move again, faster this time, until the gardens were behind him and his pulse no longer thundered in his ears.
He couldn’t be near you. Not after last night.
Not after the way you’d looked at him on that balcony, wine-loose and reckless, your hand reaching for the ruin of his face like it was something worth touching.
He’d spent the night outside your door again, same as the old days, listening to your soft breathing through the wood until the sky paled. Then he’d left before the servants stirred, before anyone could see the Kingsguard’s sworn shield reduced to a dog waiting for scraps.
He couldn’t do it again. Couldn’t stand there smelling your skin and wine while every filthy thought he’d ever buried clawed its way back up. So he’d avoided you. After all, your destiny was already written, you would marry a fancy lord and live far away from him.
In the dimming light of the stables, he ran the comb down Stranger’s black flank in long, steady strokes. The stallion stood calm for once, ears flicking at flies. Sandor concentrated on the task like it could drown out the image of you.
He didn’t hear your footsteps at first. But he felt the shift in the air and the way the horses lifted their heads. You stood just inside the wide doorway, outlined against the dying light, still in a elegant gown like the one you’d worn to the tourney, deep green this time, sleeves rolled to the elbows like you’d been helping somewhere. Your hair was braided loosely, a few strands already escaping. You looked smaller without the court around you, but no less dangerous to him.
Sandor kept combing after he caught a glimpse of you. “You’ve been avoiding me all day.” You said in a friendly voice, like you were addressing one of your friends. He grunted but kept his eyes on the horse. You took a step closer, the straw crunched softly under your feet. “Sandor.”
His name in your mouth still sounded wrong. He finally turned his head again, just enough to glance at you from the corner of his scarred eye. “What d’you want, girl?”
You stopped a respectful distance away, close enough to speak low, far enough that he couldn’t reach you without moving.
“Did I do something to upset you yesterday?” Your voice was more serious and steady, he noticed your fingers twisted together in front of you. “I don’t remember much, and you have been avoiding me...” You swallowed. “If I did, if I said anything cruel, or… improper. I’m sorry.”
He barked a short, ugly laugh that made Stranger’s ears flick back. “Improper.” he repeated, tasting the word like it was sour. “That’s what you’re worried about? Being improper to me?” It was funny to think that a woman like you would be interested in not offending a dog like him.
Your brows drew together. “I don’t want you thinking I…”
“Thinking what?” He turned fully now, facing you, the comb still gripped tight in one fist. But you didn’t dare to answer, maybe because of the tone of his voice or because you didn’t know how to put it in words.
“You shouldn't be here...go back.” He ordered, turning to his horse again, ending the conversation before you could utter another word.
But you didn’t leave and he cursed the gods for how stupid and stubborn you were. He was so angry, not to you but to himself, to that dark impulse that started growing inside him. After all there was just you and him, all alone, it would be so easy to…
“Stop.” His voice was colder this time, like he was trying to warn you, and he noticed the way your body trembled slightly. “I don’t need your apologies. I need you gone.”
He watched you take another step. “Why?” Your voice was quieter than before, but not weak, it sounded like you were challenging him. “Why do you want me gone so badly.”
He laughed, more snarl than sound. “You fucking know why, last night you were drunk, saying all that stupid bullshit about dreams…and I’m not a fucking saint.” He stopped himself, jaw locked so tight his teeth ached.
You didn’t flinch, he noticed in your eyes that you remembered something suddenly, and still you didn’t step back. Instead you closed the last of the distance until his chest was nearly touching yours. He could smell you now, and he could feel the heath of your skin beneath silk. It made his stomach twist.
“Finish…” you said softly. “What else did I said?”
He was towering over you now, you had to crane your neck to meet his gaze. The dying light caught the worst of his scars, turning the burned half of his face into something monstrous under the stable lanterns. But he couldn’t care anymore.
“You insolent brat.”He answered and your eyes locked on his. You didn’t seem to be scared but quite the opposite.
A long silence stretched between you both, loaded with that heavy strange feeling that something bad was about happen.
And eventually it did. You pressed your lips against his without hesitation, standing on your tip toes and clinging to the neck of his shirt, a strange feeling of surprise grew inside his stomach.
For one frozen heartbeat Sandor simply stood there, every muscle locked, the comb still clenched in his fist like a weapon he no longer remembered how to use. Your mouth moved against his, hesitant but determined, lips parting just enough to let him feel the wet heat of your breath. Your small hands fisted tighter into the front of his tunic, knuckles brushing the scarred skin at the base of his throat.
He should shove you away. He should snarl something cruel, turn his back, walk out and never look at you again but instead his free hand shot up and seized the back of your neck, thick fingers tangling in the loose braid, holding you exactly where you were. A low, broken sound tore out of his chest, half growl, half groan and he crushed his mouth down on yours with all the violence that would scared a soft woman.
There was nothing gentle in the way Sandor Clegane kissed. He didn’t know how, he just took and devoured. His scarred lips slanted hard over yours, forcing them wider while his tongue pushed inside to claim the sweet heat beyond.
You tasted like every forbidden thing he’d ever wanted and that would never be allowed to a man like him, his cock twitch painfully against the laces of his breeches.
You whimpered into his mouth, the sound vibrating straight down to his groin, and he felt your body arch instinctively toward him, soft breasts pressing against the hard wall of his chest. The comb finally clattered forgotten to the straw. “Fuck.” he rasped against your lips when he finally dragged in a breath. His voice was deeper than you ever heard. “You stupid girl…”
But you only rose higher on your toes, one hand sliding up to cup the burned side of his face, and kissed him again, slower this time, as if you could gentle the monster with nothing but the press of your mouth. Your thumb brushed the rough skin with such tenderness it made his stomach clench in something dangerously close to pain.
Sandor snarled and spun you both, slamming your back against the closest wooden wall. Stranger snorted and shifted startled by the cracking noise of the wood. The impact jarred a soft gasp from your throat, but you didn’t pull away. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails biting through the wool of his tunic, and the little sting only made the blood roar louder in his ears.
He dropped his head, mouth dragging hot and open along your jaw, down the slender column of your throat. He bit, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to mark, right where your pulse hammered. You moaned, hips jerking forward, and he felt the dangerous urge to slip his hands down your dress.
“Sandor.” His name again, breathless and wrecked. It sounded obscene coming from your pretty mouth.
“Fuck…” he growled again, his hands were already moving, rough and impatient, yanking the fabric of your gown up to your hips. “Tell me…” He said in an out of breath tone. “Tell me stop right now.”
Something inside him snapped. And he practically lifted you off the ground with both hands on your hips, your skirt rolled up around your waist, exposing your legs to the afternoon air, trapping you between his body and the wall behind you.
His fingers found the slit in your smallclothes and pushed inside without warning, two thick digits sliding through slick, swollen folds. You were soaked, hot and slippery and clenching around him like you’d been aching for this for a long time. A filthy curse left his lips as he curled his fingers, stroking deep, thumb finding the tight little pearl at the top and rubbing firm, relentless circles that slowly drive you mad.
Your head fell back against the wood with a thud, a broken moan spilling from you. He watched your face the entire time, drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every parted gasp, every time your hips rolled greedily onto his hand. “Look at you,” he muttered, voice dark and full of desire. “Dripping for me. Fuckin’ shameful.”
He added a third finger, stretching you and preparing you for something much bigger. His other hand worked at the laces of his breeches, freeing his cock with a hiss of relief. It sprang heavy against his belly, thick and veined, the head already glistening. He gave himself one rough stroke, spreading the wetness, eyes never leaving your face.
“Legs around me,” he ordered, voice hoarse but you still obeyed instantly, ankles locking at the small of his back. He notched the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, sliding it through your slick, teasing you both until you were trembling.
Then he pushed in, slow at first, letting your tight heat swallow inch after inch, groaning deep in his chest at the impossible velvet grip of you. You were small, so fucking small compared to him, and the stretch made you gasp and dig your nails into his shoulders. He paused halfway, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. “I’ll stop if you ask me to.”He rasped, the words gentle even in that heated moment.
He knew you deserved all the tenderness and pleasure a woman could receive. He was afraid of hurting you, he could do it so easily, and he knew it. But despite all the time he had spent longing to feel what he now was feeling, right there you were his priority once again.
You shook your head, eyes wet, and rolled your hips, taking him deeper. “More.”
Sandor cursed viciously and snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. The sound you made, half sob, half moan, would live in his head until the day he died.
He fucked you like a man who’d been starving for years. Each thrust slammed you back against the stable wall, the wet slap of skin on skin loud in the quiet night, mixed with the harsh rasp of his breathing and your broken little cries. And neither of you cared if there was someone near to hear or see something.
“Look at me,” he growled when your eyes started to flutter shut. He had fantasized so many times about that moment when his hands roamed your body and became familiar with your figure, which he had admired from afar, and your gaze, intoxicated with pleasure, rested on his. Now, that same image, which a few days ago seemed to him like nothing more than a wet dream, was now coming true before his eyes.
Your gaze locked on his, and it nearly undid him. He felt your body tightening, thighs trembling around his waist, and he reached between you to rub your clit with the rough pad of his thumb, relentless. “Come on, girl,” he snarled against your ear, teeth grazing the lobe. “Come on my cock.”
He was filling you up so completely that you couldn't even utter any other word than his name between moans.
You shattered with a sharp cry, back arching, cunt pulsing and milking him in tight, rhythmic waves. Sandor fucked you through it, hips stuttering, until the pressure at the base of his spine became unbearable. With a guttural roar he buried himself as deep as he could go and came hard, spilling hot and thick inside you, hips jerking with every pulse until he was empty and shaking.
For a long moment the only sounds were harsh breathing and the shift of horses.
Sandor stayed buried inside you, forehead pressed to the wood beside your head, arms trembling with the effort of holding both your weights. Your fingers stroked gently through his hair, down the scarred side of his face again, and he let you, too wrecked to pull away just yet.
He should be ashamed and scared of what this would cost you both, but instead all he felt was the terrifying certainty that he would burn the entire fucking realm to the ground before he let anyone take you away from him now.
“You’re mine.” he whispered roughly against your damp temple, voice barely audible. Those words that he had always been forbidden to say, now flowed freely from his lips.
He didn’t pull out yet. He wasn’t ready to let the world back in. Not when you were still warm and soft and wrapped around him like that.
In the end, you had always belonged with him.
annaxmalina
snowghoul
kianamaiart
turnnoffyourmind
discoholicmusic
dededos
areudirty
origamiaround
