#mature homemade pussy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

perkqularkreashions · 7 months

Text

UNCONDITIONAL | SANDOR X READER

Part 2: Take the Black

Sandor X Reader

Mature Content Warning

Requested: YES

Requested: OPEN

WARNINGS: Please check your triggers; SMUT!!! (Always use protection) Mentions of Miscarriages, Homemade Abortions, and Slight mentions of depression. Word Count: 7k plus Slight Proofread :(

You gasped, taking his head in your hands. Pushing him further into your pussy, your hips slowly grinding against his flattened tongue and the bridge of his nose, which flicked against your aching clit. You mouthed oh’ed as you felt the euphoria blissfully wash over you, your heads, grabbing at the grass, digging your nails into the dirt as you quickly closed your legs. Pushing him away from you, you pleaded with him to stop as you felt overstimulated from his still kissing and softly licking at your clit. You moaned out in desperation, “Theon, please stop.” with weakened strength, you pushed him off you, yanking your body closer to yourself, as you moved to your bottom. Your eyes washed over the glistening boy as a smirk played on his lips.

“I can’t help myself,” he moans lowly, moving on all fours before crawling closer to you, his eyes taking you in from the disheveled state of your hair as it was muddled with leaves, twigs, and bits of grass. From your redding face, your cheeks warm and full of color, your eyes wide and sporadic. Your mouth opened slightly, as you tried to suck in as much air as possible. His finger crawled on top of your hands, waiting to feel your warmth, and despite the crisp coldness of the air, you radiated furnacing warmth. Theon enjoyed these little moments with you, holding you in his arms, letting his hands run down your breast and throbbing pussy. Kissing you on your neck as you moaned out for him. He craved you, simply intoxicating. You spoke again, this time more certain of yourself, “Father will be looking for you soon; I know you have a ceremony to attend.”

Finally, you started to notice how close Theon was and how the condensation of your breath mingled with the stillness of the cold air. You closed your eyes, sucking in the harsh atmosphere, and you felt his lips peck on yours. Something that he didn’t do often, you quickly cuffed his face, preventing him from turning away from you. Icy fingers caressed his skin for a moment; you dropped your gaze, removing your hand from his face. “Go,” you spoke in the stillness of the air, moving to feet and gathering your gloves.

It didn’t take long to voyage back to the Winterfell, your eyes taking hold of Jon and Bran, his hair falling against his pale skin. Nervously, he petted at his pony, tugging on his lips as his eyes flickered to Jon, taking hold of every word that came tumbling out of his mouth, yet he still didn’t remember much of what was said. Jon's grey eyes finally captured hold of you as he waved you over, his smile rising on his lips. His dark hair, moving in the chilled wind, he was taller than he was before. Excitedly, you waved to him. He often enjoyed speaking with you; you were kinder than your twin brother, Robb, Theon, and Caitlyn, who put up with him out of respect for Ned. Robb barely talked to him. The conversation only culminated when needed; for Theon he wishes to avoid him at any cost. He thought everything was funny, and it always came off as insensitive and crude. The Stark girls offered him the kindness and a love he craved, but you were different. When thinking of family and thinking of love, he saw you.

Jon’s first core memory of you was when he was 11; you were skin and bones then. Your eyes were as dark as iron as you protectively stood before Jon. You bore no front teeth, yet your words were certain and robust. Caitlyn was scolding him for something trivial. She was harsh to Jon, her finger jamming into his shoulder before waving back in front of his face. It was the only time that you have seen Caitlyn interact with Jon when she was lashing out for punishments or projecting anger to Jon. You grabbed Jon’s hand, stomping past Caitlyn, offering him a toothless smile. “Don’t worry, Jon, I’ll always protect you!”

He drifted back to you, watching you make your way down to them. You smiled upon arrival, pressing your cheek against Bran; he cringed away, swatting at you with embarrassment and giggles. You returned to Jon, bringing him in for a tight hug, taking the smell of his natural aroma; he always smelled of pine and the outdoors. “Are you ready?” you asked in curiosity. You always wanted to go, but Ned forbade it, scolding you for wanting to partake in such boyish pastimes. His fingers danced to Sansa, explaining that you needed to mirror her likeness. Gentle and soft, like her mother. You glanced at Sansa with a faint smile, taking in her stern Tully features. The auburn color of her hair is lighter than our mother’s, paired with high-cheek bones and deep oceanic eyes. She was soft-smelling. You glanced back at your father, his hands cuffing your cheeks, mushing them together before chuckling. In sadness, he spoke, “You remind me so much of her.”

Your thoughts were interrupted by Theon; you hadn’t realized you drifted off. You straighten your posture as he moves behind you. You never realized how lean and tall he was.

“I best be going.” You finally uttered a soft farewell to Bran, taking hold of him once more before passing one to Jon. You could see Theon’s gaze on you; you passed a glance over your shoulder, seeing the dark expression on his face. Quickly, you turn around, returning to your attention ahead of you.

You hadn’t realized how much time had passed; you heard their voices first—muddled with each other, arguing over silly names. Bran's voice you heard first, dismissing the statements as he entered the kitchen. Sansa, Arya, and yourself had turned to meet them, eyes wide with wonder and exhilaration, watching Robb, Bran, Jon, and Theon bring pups into the kitchen. Your eyes snapped to the albino pup, nuzzled in Jon’s arms. With a smile, you gently ran your fingers through his ghostly white fur, his wet nose sniffing at your fingers as he yelped out a yawn.

“Where on earth did you find these Direwolfs? They do not travel this far up North,” You finally announced. Theon moved to you, a singular wolf in his arms, the color of a flaxen silver color, almost white blonde color. You gently ran your fingers through his dirty fur; you plunked out the crumbled soil, blood, and leaves. Slowly, your eyes moved to Theon, whose fingers had danced along yours, aiding you in removing the dirt and leaves. Jon hummed in dismay as Theon gawked over you, his teeth gritted in irritation. The color on your cheeks rose as you mumbled soft phrases to the pup in his arms. Unamused, he finally turned his full attention to the pair. He watched Theon brush his hand against yours, mumbling something that briefly caused you to look away. Jon’s eyes flickered to Robb, who seemed to have an unamused expression laced on his face. They knew Theon’s admiration for you has grown, significantly since you have grown into womanhood.

Intensely, he voiced, “You seem to have taken a liking to Direwolfs now, huh, Greyjoy.” Theon laughed loudly, and his chest shook as he threw his head back. His eyes fell on the bastard. Rolling his eyes, he watched him. Theon grew tired of Jon; he always felt that he wanted to fuck want belonged to him. You weren’t really blood anyway; what was stopping him from fucking you. He always finds his way into sacred moments, checking in on you before bed. You always calmed him, explaining that he was your brother, born from the same blood. Theon would scoff, shifting away from you in your bed. His back was facing you as he decided it was time to depart, leaving you alone.

Your eyes flickered between the two, along with everyone else. “Jon…” you hissed in frustration; his eyes glanced at you just briefly to catch the expression drawn on your face. Nothing else needed to be said; he could read everything about you; you were his best friend…his sister. The way your mouth twitched when you wanted him to shut up, your eyebrows would raise when you were confused or curious, and your eyes deadlocked on him when you grew angry with him. Jon mumbles an apology before turning his attention back to his albino pup. You couldn’t help but notice the similarities in your pups, their vermilion-brown eyes, and their fur color similarities. You huffed, taking hold of the trembling pup, the chilliness of his fur burning your skin as you cooed gently at the monster.

“Jon’s right; Theon seems quite interested in many new things lately,” Robb spoke out, eyes still trained on his wolf. Your cheeks burned as you continued to pike through the debris riddled through your pup’s coat.

***

In preparation for the King, your handmaidens tug at your hair. You grimaced, swatting them away, cursing them for their roughness and prudence. They were appointed by your mother, Caitlynn, whom you were not so fond of at the moment; in a slight urge of deviance, you snatched your head away from them. Your eyes burn into her, your lips tight as you hissed them out. Hesitant, the older crow had stepped in front, her eyes pale brown, her skin riddled with wrinkles and crevices. She opened her mouth and tried to find the right words to say, but much to her expectation, she did not. “Lady-”

“You are dismissed! Bring in the lanky girl; I love her hair! She has a head full of dark curls, maiden of Sansa; she’s gentle and easier to withstand on the eyes!” Your voice was strong, commanding the room just as your father’s. You stood tall, watching the woman cower in obedience, and with a nod, they rushed out. You wiggled out the attire, a dull and lifeless color your mother had decided was appropriate for the King. You knew she wasn’t too fond of him nor the Lannisters. Hundreds would soon gather in Winterfell and make it their home, muddling our paths and haven with their people. The door's opening captures your attention; the girl slowly walks in, her eyes filled with fear as she watches your nude form shyly.

She bows, longer than needed. “M’lady,” her drawl was different from the rest; she didn’t speak properly, nor did she try. She was burdened with discoloration and freckles, her arms extended and irregular at her side. Her teeth were askew and stained a yellowish color. Yet, there was something pure about her; she screamed, her body jolting to the door, as Luan slowly shifted to her, his nose hung low and his eyes stalking her. Your eyes shifted to the Direwolf, who lurked in the shadows. “Luan,” you hissed out. You turned my attention to her, slightly laughing as you waved my hand towards Luan.

“He’s harmless, tries to act Ghost, and slightly like Greywind.” You laughed, moving to the girl as you grabbed her hand; she stumbled behind you, and a soft smile played on her lips. You plopped down, hair flying about as you looked up at her. You began to speak, slow and calculated, “Please, may you do my hair. The wolf is no harm to you.” the maiden’s eyes widened at your request, her cheeks dusting slightly pink.

The maiden picked at her hair; insecurities flushed through her stomach as she tugged on the deep skin of her bottom lip. She was never complimented before by boys in her village and certainly not by the men or women in Winterfell. Her mother always complained of boyish looks, the irregularity of her nose and the harshness of her skin, the scabs, sunburn, and the bug bites that did not go away. Her hair was always hanging on her shoulders and in wild curls, which she tamed with a mixture her grandmother taught her. Her eyes returned to the Eldest Stark girl; she nodded excitedly.

A small, drawn on your face, “Then it is settled, you shall be my new lady in wait! I grow tired of the old hags my mother tries to force on me.” Your voice boomed as you stood up, your hands clasping her shoulders, tugging at her. Her cheeks burned as she watched the pup and the surroundings of her chambers, hands glued to her side as you were still nude. Time had slowly passed, her hand taking each strand and coating it with a strange concoction she brought into the room; it smelled sweet, and a soft aroma of honeydew filled the air. Staring at your reflection in the copper mirror, you finally felt beautiful; your hair framed the fullness of your face, contrasting against your grey eyes. You often were referred to as Jon’s twin despite being Robb’s; Caitlyn curses quietly to herself as she watches you and the bastard play. She would believe you were Jon's sibling if she hadn’t birthed and watched you milk her teat. Your grey eyes, which people often confuse with a dark obsidian, were that of Father’s and Jon’s. Your dark hairs framed your faces. Jon’s face was strong like Ned’s, while your look was subtle and kind. Yet, as she watched you two grow together, she saw no trace of Tully in you.

You arrived slightly late to the arrival of the King and Queen; you squeezed beside Robb and Sansa, out of breath and irritated from the festivities already. Robb stood tall next to Father and still mirrored Mother, his crystal blue eyes washing over the gathering visitors before landing on you; he was stocky. His hair was a soft auburn color, much like his mother’s. He smirked momentarily, his body leaning closer as he pushed his words against the winter’s air, “Mother is going to have your head.” Your eyes flickered to the visitors flooding through the gate’s castle, drawing us in their sparkling gold, illuminating silvers, and polished steel. Their banners and knight galloped on their steads, heads held high as they looked down on us.

Ser Jamie was the first to stand out, his blonde locks falling against his shoulder, bouncing occasionally. Father would often refer to it as “beaten gold.” Despite being on his stead, you could see that he towered over everyone, his cat-green eyes scanning through the ground, laying hold on Winterfell in disdain. Shifting through the knights, your eyes fell on a huskily built man, his nose long and hooked. His long, ravenous hair covered his scar that took hold of half of his face, his flesh black and pocketed with craters colored a deep red. You noticed that much of his face was gone; he had a stump for where his ear was meant to be and a protrusion of his jawbone. You saw the scars running down to his throat.

“Ah, Ned, seeing your frozen face again is great!” Robert proclaimed, his voice beating through the silence, echoing from the walls and settling in the nothingness. He grabbed him by the face, laughing intensely as he looked at Caitlyn, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Robert stopped when approaching you, his face sunken as he glanced at you; you examined him, taking in the redness of his face and nose and the darkness under his eyes. You recalled the tales your Father told you in your youth, the ones of a handsomely Robert Baratheon, “a handmaiden’s fantasy”; you would giggle feverishly at the thought. Now, beholding him, his thick black hair falling against his burly shoulders, you now see that it was all just a fantasy. If you were to ever ponder deeply on what a King would look like, Robert Baratheon fit the criteria.

Robert's heart burned in his chest, and his fingers danced with anxiety as he closed his hands. He reframed from reaching out to you, grasping your hair and chin, and wanting to kiss your lips gently– wanting you. He hadn’t seen you in ages, and you were but a child when he did. Lanky with a boyish smile much like Ned, and now you were wildly beautiful, much like Lyanna in her youth. The fullness of your lips, the cheekiness in your smile. He fondly grabbed your hand, nodding gently as he pressed a subtle kiss against the clothed glove. He spoke with a gentleness Ned hadn’t heard in years, “You remind me so much of her, Lyanna; you’re growing to be such a beautiful young lady.” Once completing his introduction to all the Stark children, Robert inquired about her grave sight, eyes flickering to Ned, wasting no more time on other formalities. His heart yearned for her touch and yearned for her kiss. He needed to see her, and Ned admired that of his old friend.

***

You found yourself isolated with Luan, and his head nuzzled against your leg, your eyes watching the river flow and the grass dance in the chilled wind that kissed over Winterfell. Night soon fell upon Winterfell, and your mother would soon search for you. To scold you for arriving late to the arrival of the King and Queen and for having my hair in such a wildling state. You wanted her to cool down as much as possible, praying to the old Gods and the new that she would only give you a chastising look. Without moving your head, your eyes cut to the left as you heard the soft rustle of the overgrowth and crunch of leaves. Luan’s ears perked, his eyes shifting about. You thought it’d be Theon, and he always finds you no matter where you hid. He stalked you, slowly walking behind you, towering over you. But the footsteps were heavier; the sound of steel filled your ears. Finally, you found your voice, lowly you said, “Whose there?”

His voice was firm as he spoke, “You should be out here alone, M’lady.” You didn’t turn to face him right away; your heart slammed against your chest as you tried to recognize the voice. You looked over your shoulder and saw the scarred soldier, his face tight with irritation as he moved through the brush. You offered a meek smile, taking his appearance in more. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he began to speak, “It’s not safe,” was all he managed to voice out.

You chuckled, returning your attention to the rushing water; the puddles formed as the fish rushed to the surface, causing ripples to spread until they touched land. You could feel him; his presence was looming and dark, and his eyes ran across your body, wondering how a petite girl could survive the harsh weather. Once again, you peeked at the unfamiliar knight, “Sit.” It sounded more like a question than a command. You waited for a moment, and he didn’t move from his spot. Sighing, you lay back against the icy grass, letting the sun slightly warm you. “My name is-”

“I know your name,” The knight roughly hisses; he watched you in curiosity, taking in the fullness of your lips, the way your hair fell wildly around the fur that covered your shoulders. Your laugh kisses the air; he never a simple sound could hold much beauty.

“Well, Ser, you have me at a disadvantage,” he watched how your mouth moved when you spoke; he watched you lick your lips, your tongue quickly out to coat your bottom lip. He suddenly felt nervous, an odd trait; his fingers tingled as he clenched them against his side. He was self-conscious, and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, you would surely be in disgust, like every woman does, like the whores do, just like everyone does.

“The Hound,” he finally pronounces; your eyes open slowly, body twisting to stand up, Luan following in her footsteps. You look at him with a softness he has yet to experience. Finally, a smile captures your lips, filling up your entire face.

“Sandor Clegane, my father has taught me some things.” He watched you, not understanding your disposition; he was a monster and has always been treated as such. Now, this girl is treating him as if they are equals. “Come, why don’t you walk me back to Winterfell? We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” You spoke through your boisterous laugh that shocked Sandor; it was solid and full of life. His mouth twitched into a smile as he followed behind you. You talk about simple things, nothing that holds any particular interest to Sandor. Still, he listens, soaking in your words, the way you speak so furiously when passionate about something, the pauses in your speech to ensure that he wasn’t growing tired of your rambles. Every time you looked back to catch his eyes, they were focused on you. All you did was smile in contentment, turning back to the path. Silence soon fell over you both; it was tense, yet it was calm; the only sound that could be heard was your footsteps crunching on the earth and the sound of his sword slightly clanging against his armor.

“Tell me about yourself,” Sandor pauses, halting in his footsteps, noticing you stopped before him. Your head is slightly positioned up to look up at him. You noticed that he was extremely tall, possibly taller than Ser Jamie but definitely taller than Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark.

His voice was harsh and raspy when he spoke, “Let’s get you back to Winterfell, Little Wolf.” You let out a laugh, pressing your hand against his armor to prevent him from moving forward. Sandor quickly grabbed your wrist; you winced at his aggressiveness, slightly tugging away from him. Sandor loosened his hold on you but still held your hand against his chest. He repeated his statement, his hand letting go of her wrist as you nodded slowly. You watched him before turning around and returning to your trek back to Winterfell.

You arrived a few moments later, thanking him for his company. You bid him farewell before parting to your chambers.

Caitlyn's voice oozed with frustration; she thudded through the halls, grabbing your upper arm. “Where were you? Are you okay?” her face churning into one of concern; you nodded gently, tugging your arm away from her. She swallowed thickly. You noticed her eyes were a deep red, her face drained of color. Something was wrong. You could see the anxiety moving through her, her hand's shakiness and her lips tremble. Luan whined at your side, brushing himself against your thigh. His whine increased as they churned into a soft growl.

“Mom?” you managed, “What happened?” She turned away from you, shutting her eyes as their tears flew down her collarbone. She choked back a sob.

“I told him to stop climbing, I told him-”

“Mom! Is it Bran? What the hell happened!” You screamed; you pushed passed her, rushing through the handmaidens, screaming out your brother’s name. You stumbled upon Jon and Robb; you frantically searched their eyes. You heard the howls of his unnamed pup, Luan, stir with anxiety as he began to howl. Jon stalked towards you. You shook your head, punching at his arms as they reached for you. “He’s dead? Is he dead!”

“No” was all Jon managed to let out, his eyes fluttering to Caitlyn as she watched him comfort you. She hated him. You hugged him, and you cried in his chest as your legs abruptly gave out. Robb rushed to your side, gently placing his hand on your back and whispering comforting words to you. “Let’s go see him,” your words were getting caught in your throat, burning as they tried rising to the surface. All you could do was nod at his command.

***

The crisp morning burned your lungs, and the unnamed Pup howled all night. You were irritated with him; you tried silencing him and even tried to pry him away from Bran, but he wouldn’t leave his side, rightfully so. Now, you walked through the Winterfell with Luan in search of quietness and stillness. You hissed in frustration as Luan rammed his head against your leg, his whines falling from him. He grew more irritable and anxious as the days passed. The constant whine of the unnamed pup sent him on edge. He sat, looking at you through his vermillion eyes. He huffed in disobedience before lying down in the middle of the street. “Luan,” you hissed, pushing at his body. He huffed once more, shutting his eyes and letting out soft yelps and whines. “Luan, get up!”

Outside, Tyrion stood, letting the cold morning air fill his lungs as he descended the library's stairs. Sandor Clegane’s voice, raspy in nature, kissed his ears –he spoke, “The boy is taking a long time to die. I wish he would be quicker about it.”

“At least he dies quietly,” the prince replied. “It’s the wolf that makes the noise. I could scarce sleep last night.”

“I could silence the creature if it pleased you,” he spoke; his eyes shifted to you, and he instantly regretted his words. He watched you move to your knees, hands tugging him to his feet as he fell limp against you. His squire placed a longsword in his hand, and he sliced through the morning air, testing the weight of it. He returned it to the boy, shaking his head gently. His eyes fell back to you, hearing you beg the pup to get up. “Luan, please stop acting like a brat!” Luan, that was his name, an odd name for a Pup. Luan bared his teeth at you, growling loudly as he captured everyone’s attention; it was a deep guttural sound. As he followed you, you rose to your feet in anger, his head tilted low. Yet, you stood firm, watching the pup testing his dominance against you.

“Luan!” you shouted. Sandor hated to admit the heaviness and authority in your voice sent chills down him, prickling at his skin; it was harsher than the frigid winds. Your voice reminded him of your father’s, stern and full of strength; it was so different from Sansa's and similar to Arya’s. Sandor watched you sigh, kneeling back down as you cuffed his cheeks. Joffrey flinched as his eyes turned to you; they all watched you in bewilderment.

“Winterfell is so infested with wolves, and the Starks would never miss one… maybe two.” Joffrey snorted as his gaze fell to his Imp Uncle, who was hopping off the last steps in the yard.

“The Starks can count past six. Unlike some princes I might name,” Joffrey scoffed as blush dusted across his cheeks, and he became irritated with the drabble of his Uncle. His eyes flickered to his dog, who seemed infatuated with the Stark girl. You watched the expression change in the dog’s face. He admitted that the Stark held more beauty than the younger one.

Joffrey let out a cackle, “Go speak to her!” his voice whined in a command; Sandor looked at him, face burning with frustration and embarrassment. “Go on, dog; maybe your presence might calm the mutt.” They watched as he approached you, nervously tapping his fingertips. You could feel his presence behind you, his long shadow casting over you and Luan. His presence was looming and heavy; you didn’t tear your graze away from Luan.

“Sandor, what a pleasure,” you finally spoke; you turned to look up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips as you moved to your feet. The rush of air sucked into his nose, and you smelt soft and warm. His head rolled toward Luan, his words failing him as he stood there aloof. “Everyone’s going through a rough time, even the Pups. Luan took it a bit harder. He enjoyed Bran's company. Probably more than Jon’s and Ghost.” You stop, looking away as the mention of his name sends a frenzy of emotions through you.

“Everything will be alright, Little Wolf,” he huffed as he felt you wrap your arms around him. His freezing armor pierced your skin to the touch, numbing you as you dug deeper into his rigidness. His hands gripped at your shoulders in shock, unable to do anything but hold them there. His eyes moved to her overgrown Pup; he stalked around them, his head brushing against the back of his leg affectionately. Pulling away, he noticed the red mark forming on her, her eyes swelling with emotions, and her lip trembled. His gloved finger brushed against her face in slight desperation and wonder; quickly, she grabbed his wrist, pulling it closer to her face, and soon his hand was cuffing her cold skin. She nuzzled into his touch as a dog would, tears soaking her skin and his glove.

Softly, you mumbled a thank you. Sandor was cold again, the air chilling around him as he watched you walk away with Luan. He forced the emotions down as he hissed to himself; he knew this was one of Joffrey’s games; a woman as delicate and beautiful as yourself would never want him. His teeth gritted as he turned back around, seeing that Joffrey held onto his cheeks and the tiny Lord scolded him. In a hurry, Joffrey rushed off, leaving Tyrion and himself for just a moment.

You headed to your chambers, allowing Luan to lay by Bran’s side with his unnamed Pup; you thought the gesture was sweet. Moving into your chambers, you began to undress, asking one of the maidens preparing your bed to get Lilly for you. They nodded, bowing before scurrying to fetch your Lady.

Confused, you slowly watched the tall figure move into your chambers. You began to recognize the presence of Sandor; he towered over every object that cluttered your chambers. You were expecting your handmaiden. Gasping, you pulled the robe tighter against your body as you watched him in surprise. “Sandor,” you breathlessly called out, “What are you doing in here?”

He shook his head, “You’re tricking me!” his voice bellowed; in a hurry, you rushed to him, shushing him gently. You noticed his attire was different, a dull red-colored tunic with a hound emblem stitched to his right breast. You could smell the stale wine; it radiated off him.

“I know not what you speak of; please keep your voice down. My mother and father would kill me if they saw a man in my chambers.” Your hand reached up their face, wanting to calm him. You gasped as you felt him yank at your arm. “Sandor, what is the matter?”

“Is this one of insipid Prince’s jokes? Or what, you mocking me girl?” his voice low as he brought his face closer to yours; you could feel the warmth of his skin, his breath flushed against his face. Hesitantly, you let your other hand move to his face; he flinched at your touch, never feeling a warmth like this. You parted lips softly, trying to find some words to say. Your thumb traced against his scarred face, feeling the grooves and imperfections. “Don’t,” his voice laced with desperation as he shut his eyes. Anger washed over him, as he continued to glare at you.

Your lips parted again, as you tried searching for the right words, but how could you even explain it? Explain your fast-growing feelings for him. “I–I” your voice shaking as Sandor brought his eyes to you. You gasped as you felt his lips clashing with yours, his hands wrapping around your lower back, tugging you closer to him and bringing you to the tips of your toes. You gasped as you felt, grabbing his hand, gripping your thighs, hoisting you up, letting your hands rest against your ass. You gasped, as he tugged at your bottom lip. You yelp as you feel yourself connect to the bed; he towers over you; lust fills his eyes as he tugs at your leg, pulling you closer to him. He climbs on top of you, his lips pressing against your neck and chest. You could see him fumbling with his trousers, as he pauses.

“Can I?” he mumbled, avoiding your gaze momentarily. In awe, you nodded, fumbling to remove your sleeping garment. Hastily, he grabs your breasts, allowing them to fill up in his hands before letting them go. You sucked in a deep breath as he flipped over, placing you on his stomach. His hand reaches your hips, forcing you to push your ass out, revealing your wet and dripping cunt. Rubbing his hand on his aching cock, he shoves it inside you without warning. Your hand clutches your blankets as you grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut as you adjust to his size. He wiggled you slightly, letting your wetting spread through his cock. His hand grips your thighs as he begins to grind deeper inside you slowly, your body twisting in pleasure. You stifle a moan as you slap your hand against your lips. You struggled to breathe as he pounded himself inside you, the aggressive slaps filling the silence of the air. His free hand snakes around your waist, yanking you closer with each thrust into your tight pussy. Sandor groans in bliss, as he feels you clenching around his cock, the feeling of your hand clawing at his hands for some sort of release.

Your whole body at his disposal, twitching from euphoria as he continued to pound his cock into your pussy. Your face contorts in pleasure, as his fingers move to your clit. You feel the heat building up to your face, gasping; you moan silently, stuffing your face in the pillows that decorated your bed. Pathetically, you moaned out his name, “Sandor,” a shudder traveled down his spine at the sound of his name being released from your lips. He finally opened his eyes, taking hold of the perfect ass bouncing against his cock and how you tried to contain yourself from being too loud. He never had a whore moan his name, nor did he like hearing it. But, it was something about the neediness in your voice, The way your hands tangled in his. He didn’t mind all too much; he didn’t mind your index finger and thumb tried wrapping itself around the palm of his hand. He didn’t mind the soft coos of his name falling from your lips.

All mine, He thought.

Sandor snapped back from his thoughts as he felt a burning sensation rise in the pit of his stomach, his cock twitching as he felt himself becoming sloppy and desperate to cum. His breaths are heavy and shaky. His body twitches as he spills his seed into you, spewing against his cock and your pussy. He pulls you up, your back pressed against his chest as he continues to fuck you, his grunts filling your ear, as his hand travels to your nipple. Sandor didn’t want the bliss to end; he didn’t want to be outside you—outside this room. You lay your arms on him, feeling the heat radiating from his dewy skin. Your breast bounced harshly, slapping against each other as he mercilessly fucks you. Your pussy clenched against him, your head falling into the crock of his neck, as you moaned out his name once more. Desperately, trying to find more words. Your head moved to his face, gently stroking his cheek in admiration and passion. He shrugs you off, moving his head back to avoid your touch.

He felt himself climaxing; he couldn’t contain his moans, as they fell through the room's silence. He filled you up, jutting as he thrusted weakly into you. You fell to the bed, your arms weak as you pushed yourself to watch Sandor. He was fixing himself, avoiding your gaze. In a daze, you called out his name. He continued to dress himself, his back facing you. Now confused, you moved off your bed, stumbling towards and touching his back. He left the room; the cold air breezed against your naked body as you stood in the middle of the floor. You open to mouth to call his name, but nothing comes of it.

“M’lady!” Your handmaiden spoke, slamming the door as she wrapped you in your robe. “Everything alright?”

Still in a daze, you nod. The emotions were building in your throat as you choked them down. “You reek of sex, M’Lady… let’s clean you up before people notice!” Lilly whispers, her hand gently pressing against your back as she tugs you further into your chambers.

It has been months since you last felt his touch; you knew he was avoiding you. His eyes never met yours when you were trapped in some isolated corner in Winterfell. His voice was harsh when he spoke to you, and his eyes were dull and emotionless. You tried grabbing his hand, but he pulled it away, huffing in annoyance before moving around you. You couldn’t breathe, your eyes swelling with tears as you sucked in a slow breath. Theon noticed the sudden change in your behavior, how you curled away from his touch and avoided his kiss and sexual advances.

You watched as Lilly packed your chest. “It’s gonna be lovely! You’ll certainly find a suitor in Kings Landing!”

“I’m not searching for any suitors.” You responded shortly; she nodded, understanding that she might have upset you. Shaking your head, you mumbled out an apology. “I instead want to stay here with Bran, not travel with my father and sisters to watch my sister marry that little boy,” Lilly laughs, rolling her eyes at your stubbornness. You two had become close, and she would often teach the ways of the “wild,” as she would like to put it simply. The burning of herbs masked the smell of sex and other odors—the concoctions she made when you felt ill. Lilly first noticed when you became increasingly irate at the same things, screaming and fussing at her as the months passed. She would hurry and remove the sheet, swapping them with that of her own. She then noticed that you weren’t bleeding, the sheets stained with a slight pinkish hue but nothing deep enough to be considered. She undressed you one night, letting the smoke engulf you as you lazily let her. Your mind was gone, and your happiness drained. She knew you weren’t the same after your night with Sandor…much less any of the following nights with Theon.

Lilly bathed you, your head against the tub as she watched you. She knew; she sensed it. She scrubbed your leg, sighing as she pleaded you wouldn’t think less of her. “I can help you, M’Lady, but you must trust me.” You nodded, closing your eyes and opening yourself to her. You hissed as you felt her insert something into you. It was hard, and you felt as you clenched and adjusted yourself. Lilly let you lay there, unmoving in the bath, as she gently combed your hair. The following days, you gruesomely bleed.

Lilly whispers a response as she is brought back to reality. “Mm, maybe it’ll do’ya some good to get away from ‘ere”

It did not; you traveled with your sisters and father back to Kings Landing, the carriage jolting at any little divet in the road. Ayra’s head rested on your lap as she tried to lull herself to sleep for the majority of the voyage, but she always failed in her efforts. “We need to stop!” You finally shouted, your voice carrying throughout, your eyes shut in irritation. “I need to breathe; I am suffocated!” Ned laughed, his head waving to the coachman, signaling us to stop. Arya rose gently, her dark grey eyes watching you intently; she was always suspicious after confiding in Jon that you would cut off your and join the black. Jon laughed, tossing his hand against your shoulder, saying that you were too beautiful ever to be considered a man.

You tugged on the inside of your cheek. “I need a moment’s peace.” Hurriedly you removed yourself from the carriage, sucking in the fresh air- you coughed slightly. It was nothing like the frigid crisp air in the North; it burned at your throat and nose, leaving you numb. You moved deeper into the surrounding forest, stumbling over stumps and shallow holes. You pressed your head against a tree, shutting your eyes tightly. No matter how far you ventured, you could still feel the carriage walls surrounding you, beating closer and closer. You licked your dry lips, gasping as you felt a hand wrap around your shoulders. With wide eyes, you were now facing Sandor.

“What?” You grumbled out, snatching your body away from him and finally getting a good look at him after weeks. You wanted to hold him… no, slice his throat open and beat him until he lay bloody on the ground. He used you.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone.” Rolling your eyes, you snatch your dress into your face, moving deeper into the forest, your exposed skin snatching on thorn-ridden branches. You could hear the branches cracking under his weight, and he called out your name low and needy. He hated seeing you upset, the way your round eyes scanned his face, searching for something. He was behind you in one stride, grabbing at your arm and tugging you against him. You kept your gaze ahead, watching the leaves swirl in the wind, the branches dancing briefly. It was eerily quiet, and you loved it. It was filled with silence and not with Sansa mentioning for the hundredth time her plans for the future, Arya not needlessly picking at your dress, and Father not snoring. It was peaceful. Sandor dipped his head down, taking in your scent, his lips nipped at your escaped next.

“Don’t,” you whispered, unmoving. You squeezed your thighs together, hoping to create some friction. Your breaths are uneven and heavy, your fingers twitching to hold his unto his. His other hand shifted slightly, fiddling with his armor. You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a deep breath before pulling away. “No, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to fuck me when you’re feeling needy” Your back still faces him.

Sandor never knew the right words, so he didn’t speak much. “Mm,” The silence of the forest grew; it engulfed you and burned your ears. You spun around.

“Leave me. Tell my father I will return soon.” Your voice barely above a whisper, Sandor reached out for you, his hand wrapping around your upper arm, snatching you closer to him. You felt his lips against yours, and he kissed you harshly. Lips molded against each other as your arms snaked around his neck, pushing yourself closer. He ran his fingers over your waist as gently as he tried to be, dancing back to your ass.

Your lips unexpectedly separated with a smack, “If I wanted to be in some cunt, I would get some.” You stood there, flustered and confused. The words did not yet make sense to you as he watched him through a daze. He pulled away slowly, letting your hands fall against his armored chest before smacking to your side.

Getting to Kings Landing took a few more weeks; you were not excited about it. You hated how the people dressed and looked at you, gawking at the Starks. On the other hand, Sansa was rather excited; with wide eyes, she took hold of Kingslanding and marveled at the tall structures and beautiful castles. Arya stuck by your side, her hand wrapped around yours as you both moved through hesitantly. Your eyes caught hold of Sandor’s; quickly, you looked away, following the progression into the Red Keep. You felt a hand gently touch your back; you flinched casting your gaze to your left as you saw an older woman gazing at you. “Why don’t I show you to your chambers, Lady Stark,” Your eyes flickered to your father, who gave a quick nod of approval. You tugged on your bottom lip, praying that he would take him with you to indulge in his political affairs. Ned could see that you were hesitant, and he pressed a sympathetic smile on his lips. His rough hands fell against your shoulder, bringing you closer. You smell him; you inhale powerfully, taking in the familiarity. He smelled of the walls of Winterfell, the crisp and coolness of the North’s air.

“Go, I will check on you soon,” He spoke lowly, his thumb quickly brushed against your cheek before shooing you with one of the handmaidens.

Just like that, he was gone, leaving you alone.

#imagines #sandor clegane #sandor clegane x reader #game of thrones x reader #sandor clegane imagines #theon greyjoy imagine #theon greyjoy x reader #smut #GOT smut #requested

165 notes · View notes