May 22
"Just don't light the fireplace…"
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"Just don't light the fireplace…"
My Hound
Sandor Clegane/The Hound x f!reader
hey freaks so this has been tumbling around in my mind for a minute now and I finally finished it !! I havent watched the entirety of GOT so probs a bit ooc but idc its porn so like whatever. also want to give a huge thanks to my wonderful moot @punk-in-docs !!! (hope u dont mind the tag 🫶) this is not beta-read but she was a massive inspiration for this piece so thank you sm and pls go read her stuff !!! if you like sandor, her works will actually take your breath away
wc: 2.3k
tags: smuttt, porn with like no plot, size difference, breeding kink, he's protective (literally his job lmao), a little fluffy if u squint ?, joffery mention yuck
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You're not sure exactly when it happened, but sometime between the planning and eventual wedding, Joffery's Hound seemed to get on his last nerve. Though it seemed every nerve was his last. One evening, in a huff, he exclaimed that his hound was to shadow his wife, not him, and that if she were to complain of him, his time serving the Baratheons would be over with. He wished not to lose his livelihood, and it would be a nice repreive to be free of that whiny spoiled boy. The only thing he feared in his new position was boredom. Joffery was a brat, but at least he ordered him to unsheath his sword now and then. To the best of his memory, handmaidens don't fight, and now he practically was one. Nevertheless, he knew the job he'd been given was an easy one, and if the worst part was boredom, he could cope.
Arya and The Hound art
I’m in love with your sandor x reader fics, TYSM for sharing them with us!! 💕
I was daydreaming about sandor stealing the maid reader from her duties for some Bow Chicka Wow Wow every chance he gets, BUT he’s always angry with her for making him ”weak” (I love an emotionally constipated grump of a man) saying that he should just stay away from her and that she has cursed him >:(
Then the maid gets fed up with him, begins to torment him by riling him up but making sure they’re getting interrupted every time aaand finally this blue ball -fest ends with them kissing and making up 😮💨😘
CALL OF DESIRE
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Pairing: Sandor x fem!maid!reader
Tags: SMUT, maybe OOC Sandor, OOC everyone, unprotected sex ofc, up against a wall, yum, kind of rough, teasing, blue balling him, almost getting caught, semi public sex, kissing, sort of sweet actually, Sandor is problematic, no use of y/n , unnamed reader, NOT BETA READ, PiV sex
Plot: sneaking out for fun with the new servant girl has become part of sandor’s routine, being an ass to people around him has always been part of his routine for long. Sometimes you do not realize you had things until they disappear from your grasp. Sandor doesn’t quite like being forced into realizations.
Warnings: you guys I am reading all of the great stuff you submitted, and I am very slowly working through them when I can between studying and procrastinating on studying lol!!! I made this maybe more explicit than requested, sorry I’m so gross 😔 do you guys love me anyways?
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“Careful!” She whines, but then again, she always was a whiny wench. Annoying, grating and fun to scare off. Sandor liked that, and maybe something went wrong because that turned into liking her.
She is no woman for him. That is for sure. Hells he should probably get his grubby hands off of her, but Sandor stopped being a good and just man long ago, even before war, even before he killed his first man. Yes, he doesn’t care if he is lapping at a fruit too sweet. Life is hard, and mean, and ladies that are this sweet, and soft, and pretty always get the short end of the stick, always end up with some greasy, lustful, ugly animal. either by marriage or by sheer bad luck.
So he keeps her to himself, and gods be damned, and the court be damned.
His cloak hides her pretty well, the way he grabs on it to hold it up to the wall of the narrow hallway. Not that anyone can see them, no one passes by here, just because it is his preferred route, when he is drunk specifically. and wine makes him mean.
He feels mean now, with his neck straining to look down at his prey.
“You want me to be careful? Do you know who you are talking to, Lady?” He scoffs.
“I am not a lady,” she says, meek like a kitten. Stupid, stupid girl. Some lowly maid that was shipped in with the daughter of some lord. Both of them wholly unprepared for court, her lady even cried when she first saw him, young as she is, and deluded, like all noble women are raised to be. Easy sacrifice for the Queen.
“Yeah, I can tell” He scoffs, then dips his face down again to sniff at her collar bones. It doesn’t last long, never does. Not with noise coming from every corner of the Keep, and his head shots up again, so that his leg can press up between hers.
She stands on her tiptoes, hesitant before she lowers enough so that her cunt can rest on his knee. Her face pinches, goes red as those berry tarts they serve to the king after dinner. Sadnor is not allowed sweets, since he is a dog, but he guesses this is sweet enough to last him a good while.
She is sweet. Sweet, sweet and sugary, dipped in honey, glazed, soft like marzipan, peach skin draped over plump, dripping insides.
Isn’t that a thought? His sweet peach, and he wants to bite. Because he is disgusting and has no respect for beauty. The Bloody Hound.
“Your lady will wake up soon?” He asks, lifting his heel just so that his knee hits her cunt again. She squirms.
“Not in a while– Sandor” How nice, she is the only person in this whole godforsaken city that calls him that. Sandor. Sandor. Sandor. Sweet, sweet, sweet peach.
He looks down at her and she looks up, she is not touching him, he doesn’t allow that often, because he does need to get back to work immediately after fooling around and he doesn’t need his cock pressing to his codpiece while he babysits the Lannisters. Yet…
Her eyes are big, her face flushed, her mouth opens and closes softly until she turns bashful, hiding her expression towards her skirts. She has lost the veil handmaidens are required to wear over their head, because he likes to look at her hair. Something bad twists inside of him.
Bad dog, spoiling the innocent. He paws at the veil and settles it roughly back in her head. It almost slips off but she tightens it.
“Daft wench” he bites out, even if it is not truly what he wishes to say. His knee drops making her slouch over the wall again. Her eyes go big, until they hold the shine of all stars in them.
“Did I do something wrong?” She asks. He wishes she would curse at him, the fool, apologizing to the King’s Dog is a way to get you killed. Being nice and sweet is a death sentence, and if he had the strength to, he would ruin her for good to teach her a lesson.
Yet he is weak, somehow. It must be her fault, mostly his, but hers as well. For being so stupid and so set on her ways, and so kind as to see a lover in the face of a monster.
He groans, because his cock is singing in his breeches now.
“You have to get back” He tells her, intending it to be meaner. She nods, looking a bit ashamed all of a sudden. They have done this often but he doesn’t often cut it off so rudely.
“Git!” He hisses when she doesn’t move. Her neck straightens, she looks like a hare spotting and hunting dog, and soon she is out of his sight.
It leaves his cock pulsating in his breeches and his hands sweaty under his gauntlets.
Women…
———
The banquet is splendid. She sits with her lady and the other women of the court. Well not quiet with her lady, but in sight of her lady, in case she needs anything. A maid is not to sit with noble women and spoil their appetite.
She is relegated to a servant’s table in the corner, stools line only one side of it so her vision may not be impaired by other patrons when she is eventually called over by her masters.
She pokes at the food.
It should be a jolly occasion, even servants are allowed to take part in the sweet food, the red berry jam and the soft mutton, the parsley salad and the sweet cheese crumbled atop it. The honey drizzled in the peach pies and the wine, less fancy kind, a sour and way less flavorful red is reserved for servitude, bit better than the scraps they are usually left with from the kitchens.
Yet she cannot enjoy her food. Not when Sandor’s recent unpredictable mood swings have kept her awake and made her quiver and sob in embarrassment in her cot after her service hours.
He has always been uncouth, straight up mean, ripping into her with mean words, and harsh touches. The first time she spoke to him alone he cornered her just to threaten her, saying he would eat her. He was drunk then, his clothing smelled ripe as if he dipped them in white wine before talking to her. His face was the scariest of it all, peering down at him like the dark side of the moon, full of deep craters and catching the light in such frightening ways.
He truly was always terrible.
But then she had fallen into his bed at some point, shy and stupid and with no adequate words to explain to him why she wanted him in the first place.
She never was an easy girl! Everyone knew, she was pious and she was good, she din’t fall in the beds of strange men and allowed them to do whatever they so liked with her. She kept herself pure for so many atrocious years only to fall in the maws of the King’s dog.
Sometimes she truly is stupid, and maybe he is not wrong telling her she is a little fool.
But she is not crazy, she knows that there is a tenderness there, sometimes when they are wrapped together, that he never truly pushes and never truly hurts, and he lets her take what he can give, and doesn’t wish any harm on her. He barely even marks skin, saying it is too dangerous around here.
Perhaps that is the danger of laying with The Hound, to be found out more so than allowing the fangs so close to her neck.
“What is troubling you?” Asks Nerissa at her side, her face pinched in displeasure.
“Is it about that secret lover of yours?” She asks, one eyebrow raising in a handsome arch.
She blushes furiously, shaking her head at Nerissa’s accusation.
“No” She weeps, but she is not fooling the other maid. Of course she isn’t. She never was a good liar, and she can barely hold down water, whatever secret spills out of her at some point, and she ended up revealing to her she had taken a pretty regular lover a few moons back. Nerissa had laughed at first, thinking it a joke.
How she would laugh if she knew who it was.
But she cannot help but find the Hound devilishly handsome. It is her private secret, after all she needs no other woman to agree to know it is true. Something about his frame, the great expanse of him, the dark hair, the look of dangerous sorrow deep in his eyes, when he looks down at her when he has her on his cock. He is beautiful, maybe not in any way that the poets could put into words.
But beautiful, he is.
“I can see through your bullshite” says the woman with a feline grin.
“Ach! Alright, yes… it is about him. But please don’t tell.” She concedes, red in the face and focusing on the food so that it stops looking like anything she recognizes.
“Who would I tell? Him? I scarcely know what he looks like. Did he say something nasty?”
“I think he doesn’t want to see me anymore… I must have made him mad last time” She murmurs, fighting against the choking weight of embarrassment. She was never good at keeping things to herself, and maybe that made Sandor mad, he sniffed out her weakness of character.
Surely a man such as him cannot long be entertained by a girl such as her. Maybe he has gotten bored, or mayhaps it was all some jest at her expense.
“You look as if you bit on a lemon” Mutters Nerissa, almost shocked. “What has gotten into you?” she adds, soft and tender, one of her hands rubs on her arm to soothe her friend.
“I apologize, it must be the wine” she says to excuse her strangely dour mood.
“I think you should take revenge” Says Nerissa, her eyes suddenly dangerously glad. “Make him want you, dangle it in front of him and then snatch it away. Men hate it, they don’t know how to wait for anything– impatient animals” Says Nerissa with a smile.
She blushes.
“I wouldn’t know how to do that…”
“What?” Nerissa drinks some of the cheap wine, her mouth painted red with it, she looks great, much more seductive and much more brilliant than her poor friend can hope to be.
“You have that… Naive look about you, I think you would be a natural. Besides, it is not fair he makes you suffer and you do not make him suffer.”
I am not like that, she wants to replicate, but her mind suddenly buzzes, maybe because of the wine or because of the low lights. Perhaps she can do it after all… maybe she can give in to sweet revenge.
Her cheeks flush at the idea, the wicked plan making her core quiver.
She has been stupid before, she may as well continue to be a little longer.
—-------------------
The basket of fruits is nice and heavy on her hips, she walks quickly down the corridors, the thin sole of her leather sandals taking her deeper down the twists and turns of the Keep’s floors.
This is a stupid idea.
She spots Sandor leaning against his post near the king’s chambers, stiff as a board, his teeth grinding under the scruff of his beard. His eyes are set, heavy brow shedding a shadow over his eyes, his nerves pull like a rhythmic thump, observing and resting at carefully timed intervals.
She passes by, giving him hardly a look, the basket rests steady in the dip where her hips meet her thigh. She says nothing, not even when she hears him turn his head to her. She knows what his eyes must look like now. They flash through her brain and almost make her dip from the stupid plan she concocted. Gods above, she thinks to herself.
His body shifts in her direction, a door closing at her back, trapping her between the corridor’s doors.
She lets go of the basket enough so that it tips and the fruit rolls to the floor, sweet peaches, pomegranates, grapefruits as big as his fists.
She turns to review the scattered fruits, one round lemon rolls to his boots, it hits the dirty point of the ruined leather and rolls back a few inches.
She couches down, making sure the collar of her dress slips down enough to let him see the skin beneath. Her eyelashes flutter, keeping her attention on the fruits. She stands once she has gathered enough of the fallen fruits, Sandor doesn’t step in to help.
When she looks at him to bow and leave his eyes are full of that hunger, one easily confused for bloodlust or the urge to fight. His mouth one severe line, the crest of a terrible wave.
“Excuse me, ser” she says and turns around to get away. He doesn’t move from his post, ever the good dog. But his breeches tighten.
Once she has disappeared behind the nearest wall he lets a long and angry breath escape him, he sounds like a bull, full of hot air, hotter thoughts.
How could a man his size, of his prowess, of his reputation get so wound up over the tiniest peek of bare skin. A pair of tits! He has seen many, on cadavers first, on women later. When serving the king there is no shortage of naked writhing bodies to be seen and discovered. When you are a soldier there is no way to avoid prostitutes looming at corners and attempting to talk you into slipping his fingers in your coin purses and making charitable donations.
So why are anger and lust battling, fighting like rams under the pumping of his blood, digging claws in his loins and biting at his stones.
He hopes it will not become a habit.
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Sandor has not touched the maid properly in a week.
Before this they wouldn’t go two days without her seeking him out at least for a night together. Now she is acting all precious. She has no time to spare on the King’s hound. Most that he could do was grab a handful of her tit three days ago before she slapped his hand away and chided him saying she was still at work.
As if it ever mattered.
Every time she pulls him aside from the bustling of the castle she makes sure they have so little together most of the time he barely manages to get himself hard before someone comes too close. Or no one comes, but she complains about it being too risky and leaves him, very much on purpose.
Sandor is not a dog that takes kindly to tutting. He is no pretty lapdog for ladies with no taste for the grotesque. He does not eat out of palms and hop on his hind legs to entertain the court.
“You want to tell me what got you acting like this, huh?” He breathes near her ear.
He has enough self control to stand above her, looming like a terrible shadow atop the parting of her hair. They are hiding in a corridor north of the Hand’s tower. It smells damp and unpleasant, but he cares not for it, nor does the pretty maid, so used to dumping out her lady’s piss.
They are apt to dirty work, the two of them.
Yet, she was not corrupted by it as he has been. She was never asked to carve into a man, cut down innocent maidens for stealing bread from the king’s platter. But it seems she is capable of some cruelty, dangling herself in front of the jowls of a dog.
“I thought it was you who didn’t want to see me.”
He almost growls. Women and their nonsense, keeping scores of every last breath he takes.
“You should know better than to expect courtesy out of anyone here girl.” He answers, her mouth pulls into half a pout, her eyes escape him. He grabs her wrist and pulls her close enough that her cheek kisses the metal of his armor.
“Well… it’s different with you”
“It is worse with me. You’d better learn that”
“Are you embarrassed of me?” She asks then. It takes force for him not to shove her out the corridor and bark at her to go back to work. He doesn’t want to do that, in truth, not now that he has got her in his arms. Her skin is so soft under his palms, he has tucked his gloves away in his belt to touch her and now he can feel the texture under his fingertips.
Sandor shakes his head.
“You are soft in the head” he states. She squirms, red in the face.
“You were so rude to me” she complains and Sandor rolls his eyes. He pulls her in closer, his mouth close to her face. Her eyes shimmer, catching the reflection of his armor and the torches lining the hall.
“I’d say I am nicer to you than I ought a be, woman, nicer than I am to anyone in here”
She looks away, not even allowing him a glance at her face. She feels foolish all of a sudden, of course she failed to keep in mind he is no easy character and she shouldn't give him a wide berth, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be a bit cruel herself.
her eyebrows lower in irritation.
“You should try harder” She says. He blinks down at her, bares his teeth.
“You give me orders now, little maid” He scoffs, straightening back in disbelief, his chest widens, to the size of a stallion’s.
“Well!” is all she can get out, not out of fear but frustration.
“Let’s fuck” He says and she shoves his face away, ignoring hsi snarling.
“How difficult you are woman, if I had known I never would have touched that cunt” He barks, she only frowns harder.
“Sure! Sure you wouldn’t have” She mocks. He wraps an arm around her waist then and holds her tight to his chest, he leans over her until she is small under his size.
“Don’t get smart” He says, but there is no mistaking the hardness pushing against her arse. She rolls her eyes. He does to.
What a pair they make.
She is tempted to ask for an apology, but it would be hard to get it, just like making a bull mewl like a kitten. She leans back into his bulk. He grins, so pleased with himself it is almost uncharacteristic of him.
“Let me now, no more of this stupid fucking fussing” He says, his leg draws up between her knees balancing her there. He smells potently of steel.
“Irk your skirts” He says, patting at her hip. She cannot find it in her to refuse him, it has been long, and she had her fun and made a fool out of herself as much as she did make a fool of him. She never thought it would be nowhere near nice to be chased buy such a fearsome giant. But here she is…
The leg underneath her presses up to her cunt, and she has to tug harshly to get the dress out from underneath her butt. She folds it over the small of her back.
Sandor pulls his breeches low enough and pulls her close so his groin is at level with hers. This is always a strangely fragile instant, as if Sandor is always debating if he should impose his ugliness on her, as if the wrong noise may make him retreat. Maybe it is not right for him to enjoy the spoils of love. Some may say it is blasphemous, some septons may preach against it. Saying ugliness needs to be tucked away somewhere where no one can reach it.
It would be wise not to feed a furnace that produces only ill smelling fumes. Yet, yet…
She opens up nicely when he slides in, and braces herself on his arms as he moves behind her. He is not nice, it is rushed, and was he anyone else it would have seemed desperate. The corridor stinks below their feet, and the hot pants shared between them make it stifling.
Sandor’s neck lines with sweat, his legs are powerful as wheels pushing his hips forwards in rapid snaps. She sings underneath him, until he shoves two fingers between her lips to silence her. The dress keeps slipping down to cover her arse and he keeps pushing it back up, only to feel the skin and not much to see it. His swordbelt leaves red indents on the plush curve of her arse.
“Much better, much better” He says, voice bordering on mocking. She moans around his fingers, spit dribbling down the digits to pool in his palm.
He plants his palms on her hips forcing her to brace against the wall instead of being supported up by him. He continues moving, the thrusts become sloppy, bouncing her over him just for the sake of hearing her breathing cut.
Is it so strange that he had gone soft over this? Mayhaps not.
Her feet tippy toe on the ground of the corridor, making her leather sandals squeak with the way she forces her feet down to stay upright, his hips are too high for her groin. He seems not to care.
Above her his teeth clench, a breath escapes from behind them, harsh and mean. Then he comes, pulling away for a second and aiming to the floor right between her feet.
She squirms, the fingers leaving her mouth to wipe on his breeches.
If this is what she gets she ought to tease him more often. She doesn’t voice that thought.
“You have to go back” He says, as usual. She nods, placing shaky fingers on his gorget to pull him down for a sweeter kiss. He breathes into her nose but she ignores it, closing her eyes and feeling the press of lips for a moment.
His lips detach for a second only to dip back down in another kiss, it is too soft of a thing to be Sandor’s. But it is him, unmistakable in his strength, in the heft of his steps, and the weight of his heart, pumping steadily like a satisfied bear under his ribs. His hands smooth her hair back when she adjusts her skirts.
“I’ll see you soon?” She asks then, words like pillows, satin sheets, velvet collars.
“Aye” He says, pats her arse and pushes her back out the corridor. He stare at her behind as she scutters away from him, something akin to fondness grows in his chest. He decides not to sulk this once, it seems it does him no good to ignore her or push her away. He can learn from his mistakes.
A dog can learn a few tricks.
i have nothing appropriate to say the hound | game of thrones (2011-2019)
Sandor Clegane by Ivan Klimenko
Hello Nova! I'd love to read an explicit, romance + smut + drama, Sandor x reader where the reader is Jon's twin sister, and it's a forced/arranged marriage trope.
I think the plot where it's as a punishment by Joffrey, but that's kinda cliché, so how about:
Reader had been married before to some Northerner lord, but he died or had it annulled, and while discussing Sansa and Joffrey's marriage with Cat, Cersei comes up with the idea to marry her off to the Hound, so she could "breed" the next gen of the kingsguard, promising if she had girls they'd have a place in court or be married to worthy suitors.
Cat obviously wants her away, and Robert or Cat can convince Ned it's a good idea since nobody else wants to marry reader.
Idk if it's too crazy, but I can't wait to read it. I am obsessed with your writing. Keep up the good work! ♡
A Dog's Honor
Requests are closed
- Summary: You never belonged anywhere. Not in the North, not with your family. But you might belong with him.
- Pairing: snow!reader/Sandor Clegane
- Rating: Explicit 18+
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @idenyimimdenial
- A/N: This ones is fresh from the oven. I hope I've managed to write everything you had in mind. ☺️
Lady Clegane ⚔️