#sandor clegane x ps reader

[plus-size-reader]

Gentle

Sandor Clegane x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2737 words

Warnings: none

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was all set, just as you wanted it.

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

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

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

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

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

He was an interesting man, you’d decided.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not that you would have ever ventured to admit it.

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

None outside of you that was.

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

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

Surely he thought you were demented.

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

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

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

Naturally he was curious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t answer at first.

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

If only he knew.

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

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

…What it felt like.

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

He hoped you weren’t afraid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never once had you looked away from him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was it.

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

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

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

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

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

It made them look small.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had been right.

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

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

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

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

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

That was it.

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

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

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[royalydamned-archive]

5 reasons to stay alive - reason 4

(Sandor Clegane x reader)

Summary: Sandor had no family, Arya lost her parents. Along the way of hating each other, he gained someone to look after and she got a father figure she didn't know she needed. A girl like her needed someone to look after her, and who would he was gone?

|AN|: Look, I'm not a native English speaker, I don't know, nor care what the parts of a gun are. Google told me the part where bullets are is called a magazine and I'm gonna believe it.

Anyway, have this longer chapter, as a treat of it not being so reader/Sandor focused.

PS: I ghosted everyone I know for a whole day to finish this, so enjoy.

Warnings: discussion of death, adult language, OOC characters [but in like a sexy, story fitting way (it's not like they were very true to canon anyway)]

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Your rigntone snapped you out of your dreams, eyes flying open at the sudden loud sound in the quiet room. Squinting at the screen, you tried to make out the caller's number, the brightness hurting your eyes with its sharp light. You accepted the call blindly, answering in a hoarse voice, still not completely awake.

"Hello?" The person on the other line only spoke your name, making it sound like a question for identification. Without thinking, you nodded, tired gaze glued on your window and the darkness behind it, the moonlight cold as the chilled air that touched your skin. You wrapped yourself more tightly into the blankets, fighting the shivers.

"Sorry, yes that's me," you mumbled after they asked for you again, not being possibly able to see your non-verbal confirmation. You rubbed your eyes, trying to get the some of the sleep out of them and focus.

"This is officer Stark, you had been given as Sandor Clegane's emergency contact."

"Oh," you answered dumbly, brain still significantly slowed down. "Yeah, yes, is everything alright?" The bed creaked slightly when you carefully stood up, putting on a jacket to shield yourself from the cold of the night, uncomfortable silence from the girl on the other side of the line.

"No." Your heart dropped. "He's been shot on duty."

"Is he..." you trailed off, dreading the answer you were going to get, the pictures of black, tears and pain running through your mind as you saw yourself kneeling on the ground sobbing at the memory of the man you loved.

"He's alive for now. He was taken to surgery, they are trying to save him as we speak." No words came to you in the moment, the darkness of the room suddenly colder, empty. Everything seemed to freeze in place. "He's going to need some of his things, do you have access to his home?"

"Yes," you said quietly, nodding your head even though she couldn't possibly see you. "I'll be right there."

The line beeped, call ending and you weren't sure, who was the one to hang up. Everything in the world seemed to still, your body numb and mind blank -- it all seemed like a dream, the darkest reality imaginable too horrifying for you to admit it's actually happening.

You could lose him. He could just die any minute not knowing how much it would break you. He wouldn't see the ache in your heart, watching his casket be lowered into the ground, the tears on your face as you would clung onto Stranger, the only one Sandor would leave for you as a memory.

Your legs moved on their own, carrying you outside without a care for the cold that bothered you so much before, shock controlling you instead of your own head, too many dreadful thoughts swirling in your mind. The possibilities of death, of grief and loss.

When you came to his house, you could hear Stranger quietly howling. It was almost like he knew, like he sensed something was terribly wrong. There was. The two of them knew each other more than Sandor would admit. Stranger knew exactly when his master would come from work, walk him till sun set over the town and feed him once from his bowl, and second time from his own plate as he couldn't resist his dog's pleading eyes.

Finshing out the keys Sandor gave you, almost like he had expected something like this to happen, you opened the front door. Stranger springed to you, excited, expecting to see Sandor finally standing in the door way, his favorite toy already in his mouth. But it was just you, keys hanging loosely in you almost limp fingers, looking at the dog in pity.

"Hey buddy," you whispered, kneeling in front of him slowly, and he watched you curiously, the half deflated ball still safely in his jaw. "Are you hungry?"

The dog stepped closer, letting go of the ball, letting it drop on the floor with a soft 'thud' and you smiled sadly at him, reaching out to pet his head. He cuddled into your hand, letting you scratch him as you both tried to sooth the other with your presence.

"It's alright," you whispered, hot tears burning in your eyes. "It's going to be alright." Repeating the calming words, you didn't know who were they meant to reassure as sob escaped your lips, not being able to hold it back anymore.

Stanger whined like he was crying with you, sitting in front of you, letting you hug him tightly for support, almost as if he could hear your heart cracking, thereating to burst into pieces any second. Sandor wasn't gone, he was still alive, fighting, and there wasn't anything he did better than fight. And yet, you couldn't help your fear.

"He's going come back. He's going to come back. He's--He's gonna be okay." The words echoed in the silence, your hold on Stranger tightening.

Time passed. It seemed long, but it was only mere minutes, filled with your sobs muffled by Stranger's fur. You didn't know if you believed those words yourself, but they brought a small sense of security you desperately needed.

You let go of the dog, looking into his mournful gaze as he felt the grief with you, but tried his best to make you feel better, and wiped your tears into the sleeve of your jacket. There was no space for mourning yet, Sandor needed you now and you needed to be there for him, no matter the outcome.

Who else was there to remember him, if not you? Who else was there, keeping his memory if not you?

Standing up from the floor, you dusted off the dirt from your knees and calmed down your ragged breathing, quietly sniffling every now and then as you packed the most important of Sandor's things into one of his bags, heading into the hospital. Stranger was left alone once again, a feeling of guilt seizing you as you were leaving him behind, but there were other things on your mind.

You rushed to the reception, the bag bumping against your hip with every hurried step, the whole hospital strangely calm and still compared to the rush in your heart. Some where playing on their phones, others chatting in hushed voices, the receptionist even solving sudoku, with her glasses comically low, almost on the tip of her nose.

"Excuse me," you approached her, almost breathless even though you hadn't been running. She raised her gaze from the paper to meet yours, pushing the glassed up with her index finger to signal you to continue. "Sandor Clegane."

The woman understood, tapping to the keyboard a little too slow to your liking, and looked through something on her computer screen, before turning to you once again. "He was taken into surgery two hours ago."

"He's not out yet?"

She shook her head and returned to her newspaper, her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose once again.

"Hey, sorry." Your head spun around to the source of the voice, a short woman standing behind you. "I'm Arya, I called you."

"You're Arya Stark?" She nodded. "Sandor spoke a lot about you." You had no idea why exactly you needed to say it, and Arya seemed taken back by your statement, like she didn't expect him to like her at all, let alone mention her outside of work. Yet he talked about her all the time when you were together. Most of it was complaining, filled with cussing and annoyance as he described anything she had done, all she had said that made him lose his temper, and all of those times when he was angry the most was when she got herself in danger. Still, you knew how much he cared.

"I--" she lost her words, something unphantonable in her bright icy eyes. "We should sit down." You followed her suggestion, seating yourself opposite of her in a small waiting area, your fingers tightly clutching the hard material of Sandor's bag.

"What happened?" The words hung in the silence for a few seconds, and Arya averted her face in guilt

The sound of shooting rippled through the air and Sandor stepped in front on the young girl, shielding her as they slowly retreated to a safer spot.

"You had to be fuckin' brave again didn't you?" he snapped at her and pushed them both down to hide behind a car parked nearby.

"I almost had them! If you didn't come here and ruin it all, we wouldn't be here!" she yelled in a whisper, looking around frantically to spot any possible danger heading their way.

"Aye, because you'd be dead."

"You just don't want to admit I can actually do something, I'm not a fucking baby!" Sandor abruptly stood up, two shots echoing through the streets as he took down of his brother's men trying to get to them.

"Then why do I have to babysit you everywhere we go?" The two looked at each other with burning hatred, a vicious fight in their minds. He should have just let her do whatever she wanted as long as she obeyed the chief, but he couldn't. Not when she put herself everywhere she could get hurt, everywhere she could die. That girl had no sense of self preservation and Sandor was her superior. It was his duty to protect her.

That's all it was...

She had no witty reply or bitter remark to shoot back at him, instead, she let out a frustrated sound, widely gesturing her hands around. He still had the power to tell her what to do.

"Leave that attitude to when we're not bein' shot at."

"What are you doing?" Arya cried out when he grabbed her by the elbow, pulling her away as more men started to gather around them, heavy guns clicking in the distance as they were being reloaded, and Sandor pushed her behind him once again, her small form completely hidden behind his giant frame. "They don't know where we are, we can win and even take one as a witness!"

"Have you gone completely mad, girl?" He spat and turned around, his face threateningly close to hers. "This ain't a fuckin' movie. You don't play a hero, you listen to what I fuckin' tell you. You ain't the one getting shitted on by Lannister when you fuck something up."

"Shitted on? You're just scared!"

His face pulled into a scowl, almost murderous stare baring into her defiant face. "I just still have some sense left because I've seen my deal of shit."

"That's too many words for saying: 'I'm a coward'."

"And you're just a stupid lil' girl." Arya huffed out a sharp breath, clenching her fists tightly by her side and he knew, he saw the decision on her before she even did it. A feeling of regret flashed in him for a moment, not for his words, but for the consequences it was sure they would bring, because it was Arya Stark. She resented him, and she resented being criticized by him even more.

"Don't you fuckin' dare--" he barked at her firmly, already predicting her next move, but he was too slow as she was already on her feet, snatching the gun from his own hands. He tried to catch her, hold her back, but she was too swift, and before he knew, she was gone.

Sandor watched her with terror, how the bullets flew past her, how she jumped, taking cover behind the most unlikely objects. "She's gonna get herself killed," he muttered to himself, stupidly kneeling on the ground, just observing the scene.

He had to do something.

The bullets that missed her clanked against every surface around, some getting stuck in the walls, others loosely falling on the ground, while Arya was now hiding herself behind a corner of one of the apartment buildings, crouching low to be less noticeable. Others shot without a single care, metal flying everywhere, their weapons stronger, more capable than the simple pistol in her hands.

Sandor had to act quickly as he noticed her gun clicking, completely empty and useless, the spare magazine strapped to his belt. He sprinted from behind his hiding spot, jumping  to where Arya was pressed against a wall with her back, breathing fast and panicked, unmistakable fear in her eyes as she realized she had screwed up.

"Give that to me," he growled, forcefully taking the gun out of her grasp, reloading it with a agressive click to give them some chance of defence. "You'll be glad to keep both your life and your job at the end of this."

She wanted to protest, but she knew he was right. If there was any way of them getting out safe, it was going to be a problem Sandor wouldn't be willing to put the blame on himself this time like he did every other.

"Stay behind me and do what I say." Arya opened her mouth, but he pointed a finger at her with a stern look on his face and gritted through his teeth: "And don't say anythin'."

She stayed close behind him as he looked out from around the corner, aiming the gun in front of him, ready to react to any sign of danger.

From behind one of the parked cars, someone stood up, several bullets flying their way and Sandor pushed Arya down, pieces of chipped off wall falling into their hair as the corner got hit and shattered. The person stopped to load his gun, not managing to take cover again, getting hit into the shoulder by Sandor's shot, and falling onto the ground, moaning in pain.

"Come, quick," he urged, grabbing her by the elbow and lead her out of their hiding spot, through a maze of cars and tall buildings, arms stretched out before him, aiming in every direction.

"The others are not anywhere near, this was supposed to be a stake out, if you haven't called for back up, we're fucked," Arya said in a hushed tone, closely scanning everything around for the slightest hint of movement.

"We wouldn't need a back up if you didn't need to prove somethin' to yourself," he snapped back, a bit louder than her, his voice echoing for a few seconds in the empty street.

"I wasn't proving anything!" she protested, abruptly stopping.

Sandor turned around to face her, annoyance twisting his face into a scowl as he looked at the girl before him, such fire withing her, one he appreciated at first, but now was nothing but a liability. Her recklessness putting more than just their jobs at stake. "Weren't ya?" She gulped visibly, straightening up her posture to appear taller -- needlessly, facing someone like him. The Hound.

"No!"

"Than what the fuck was that?"

"I wanted to help! Like I'm your partner, not someone you are stuck with!" the girl blurred our, blinded with the frustration that had been slowly building up in her over the months they had been working together. The desperate need to prove herself to him, the one she dared say looked up to in a sense, stronger than reason.

Sandor stayed to stare at her, his arms limply falling to his side, gun hanging in his hands by two of his fingers. There wasn't supposed to be such a long break in their exchange. He was supposed to shoot back with a sarcastic remark or shut down the conversation comptletely, but she took him by surprise.

Over her head, he spotted someone rounding the corner, instantly noticing them and lifted the gun to aim at them.

It was all too fast. Sandor saw as Arya looked up at him in confusion, fists slowly uncurling at her sides, unaware of the inevitable. One of them was going to end up hurt.

"Move!" he almost roared and pushed her away with one of his hands, everything happening in what seemed like a single second. The shot sounded through the tense silence, she lost her balance, falling into safety of a small alley that connected onto the street right where they stood.

His gun fell out of his hand, a sudden strong cramp in his arm forcing him to drop it. It clanked against the ground, sliding next to Arya now sitting on the road. Her bright eyes wide as she looked at him in horror, bottom lip slightly quivering and for a second he just stared at her with his brows furrowed, confused by her reaction. No pain came, no force knocking him down, suspiciously little feeling in his body, and just for a bit he thought the shooter had missed, but after a moment, his legs gave up from under him, making him crash down with all force, triggering the pain that instantly spread through his whole body like shock.

Arya seemed to be in trance, yet still grabbed the gun from the ground, shooting at the attacker from behind the building, and hit him in his leg. The man screamed in pain, falling on the ground, yet ran away as fast as the wound let him, leaving the two policemen alone.

"Oh fuck," she whispered, the weapon falling from her hands, the reality of what had happened downing onto her. Sharply she spun around, falling to her knees next to Sandor, hands shaking and eyes glistening with tears. The panick rised in her chest, affecting her breathing, thinking, no useful idea coming to her at the stressful moment.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit," she kept repeating, watching the man in front of her breathe sharply through his nose, veins popping out on his neck and face as he struggled against the agonizing feeling the metal inside him brought. Arya placed her shaking hands against his wound, pressing cluelessly, trying to at least stop the bleeding, a sure sign of one's upcoming demise. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Her eyes widened as she looked at her bloodied hands, tears now slowly falling from her eyes, some on her cheeks, some on him as well. "This is not what I wanted, this is not--"

"Seven's sake, calm down," he growled through gritted teeth, sharply exhaling at the pain that every little thing brought him. Her panick, the concern, almost freaking him out.

"I'm going to get help," she swore, slowly scrambling up in her wobbly legs. "I'll fix this, I promise."

Arya sniffed, wiping her face into her sleeve, still not meeting your eyes. She wasn't crying anymore, the shock making her numb to most of it all, only the undying feeling of guilt keeping her aware of everything.

You smiled gently and placed your hand on her shoulder in reassurance. "The only one who carries blame in this is the one that was shooting."

"I didn't want this to happen," she admitted, her voice barely audible, and nervously played with her fingers.

"Sandor is the one who had a choice." He chose to protect her, and he would over, and over, and over again without a fail. Protecting those he cared about, without a thought of himself. "He will be alright, I know it, becuase there's no man more headstrong than him." The girl smiled sadly, nodding her head, acknowledging your words and tried to persuade herself they were true. "He wouldn't leave you here alone, not when he can't protect you."

Inside, you hoped he wouldn't abandon you too. That he was fighting for his life, beating death as easily as he did every man alive. Just for Arya. Or just for you.

Unbeknowst to you, in the operating room, the line on the monitor went flat as the patient's heart gave up its already long lost fight, and Sandor Clegane slipped into the abyss of death.  

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[plus-size-reader]

Saving Grace

Sandor Clegane x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1416 words

Warnings: language probably and Abuse by Joffrey to the reader

Summary: Joffrey likes beating up on the reader, but the Hound always has her back 

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As far as anyone else was concerned Sandor Clegane was nothing more than the King's dog but in your eyes, he was your saving grace . 

You were the handmaiden to the boy king, who had taken it upon himself to use you as more of a punching bag then anything else.

It wasn't really you that he had a problem with, it was just people in general, you just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. "You dumb cunt, I ordered you to fetch my wine hours ago" he barked, standing from his throne to back hand you heartily across the face, your cheek burning at the violent contact.

Tears pricked in your eyes but you quickly wiped them away, the last thing in the world you wanted to do was show the king how much his abuse pained you. 

You were too busy dealing with his tantrum to notice but across the great hall, stood the Hound-his eyes forced closed as the sound of Joffrey's hand making contact with your flesh. 

He couldn't bear to deal with the constant pain you were in at the hand of the boy, he wished he could make it go away but he wasn't inclined to make that happen.

What he did do however, was come and find you each time you were forced to your knees by the child. 

The Hound did his best to calm you and patch up any cuts dealt out to you, and while it was true he wasn't the most gentle man to have ever lived, he tried his best. 

You rushed from the room and closed the door behind you, keeping it closed as you scrubbed at the red skin of your cheek, you didn't want anyone to see that hadn't already.

"Don't!" the words rang out like a bell in your ears, instantly forcing you to stop your movements, you didn't have to look to know who it was, Sandor was the only one who came to your aid at times like this. 

"It doesn't matter, he hardly touched me this time" you lied, keeping your broad back to him, you couldn't nearly stomach the thought of him seeing you this way, though he had many times before. 

"Piss off with all that and come here" he orders, his voice gruff but almost teasing as he tried his hardest to lighten the mood.

You frowned but took his words regardless, turning toward him with not so much as a blink. You were frightened of what he would think or what he would do, but it didn't truly matter, you were only a maiden to the crown in the first place. 

The Hound was filled with anger instantly at the sight that befell him, the entire right side of your face was swollen and pink. 

Your face was round by nature but not like this, he had no doubt that if he were to touch the hot skin, it would force you away from him with a wince.

"That bastard boy-he should die for this" he growled, gingerly running the back of his hand over your left cheek. He wanted to remind you that his intentions were pure toward you without risking the idea of harming your now tender flesh.

"Don't talk that way, you mustn't let them hear you" you shushed, taking hold of his leather collar as if trying to reign him in. 

You had to have been the only person alive who could get actual cooperation from the Hound, though it was obvious he was unhappy about it.

He scoffed at you words, mustn't let them hear him? please, as if Sandor Clegane was afraid of the boy king. 

Deep down, he wondered what it would be like if you two didn't live these lives, If he whisked you away and took you someplace safe, someplace where you could never be harmed, someplace where you could finally be his bride. 

While he had been lost in thought, you had moved over to the mirror, studying your reflection in the small, dirty surface. 

You were focusing on the spotty, red flesh which was pricking with blood in a few spots-clearly imprinted from the king's ring.

"Come now, let me" he commands, closing the space between you with a few heavy steps, his chest flesh against your back. 

You sucked in a nervous breath at his close proximity but there wasn't any room for self-consciousness, Sandor had a task in mind that he was much too focused on to think about anything else. 

His touch was so gentle on your shoulders that you wondered if you even felt it in the first place, it was strange to see such a large, intimidating man taking his sweet time in babying you.

He turned you around slowly, his hand bracing your lower back as he did so, careful not to move you around too quickly.

"Why are you so kind to me?" you wondered, instantly regretting your words, why would you have asked such a thing of the Hound, that couldn't have been the best idea. Instead of answering you, Sandor instead heaved you into his arms and didn't set you down until you were laid down across the cot. 

He grabbed his cloth and went to gently patting your swollen cheek with the soft fabric "I am kind to you because you are kind to me" he replies, it was simple and deep in his throat but still sent a chill down your spine.

"Kind to you? When have I been kind to you?" you wondered, you had never been cruel to the Hound by any means but you couldn't think of anything you had ever done to deserve this level of kindness. 

"You look at me without that look of fear I know so well" he shrugged, it was so matter of fact that you nearly got lost in his words. 

"When I look at you, I see nothing wrong with you-You're a kind man though you may not believe it" you grinned, reaching your hand up ever so slightly to touch his cheek, just in time for him to wince away from you-therefore making his touch on your cheek tighten just a bit, increasing the wince you gave in return.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-" you started, though he shushed you with a light tut of his tongue. 

You were careful enough to know you shouldn't have touched him in such a way. In all the time you had known the Hound, you had never seen anyone touch him in that way, you didn't know why in the world you had thought to have done it.

 "Never apologize, that's why you're such an easy target for that cunt" he scowls, tossing his rag down to the floor but not removing his hand from your hip, where it had fallen when you tensed away from him.

His hand felt as if it belonged there on the swell of your hip, and while it wasn't as proper as you would have hoped, you weren't bothered. His flesh was warm against yours, even considering the layers of cloth between you both.

"I want to touch you" you whispered, you didn't mean for him to hear you though he had obviously. "No you don't" he assured, dropping his hands from your body completely as if a way to sway you though you didn't care for him.

"I do, and I shall if you promise to let me keep my hand" you teased, only half kidding as you brazenly reached out to barely let your fingers graze the raise flesh of his scar. 

It looked much worse than it felt and you wondered now why anyone thought of it as ghastly as they did. 

There was something almost beautiful about the scar, it was a symbol of his survival and if he couldn't be proud of that, then no one should be. Sandor sucked in a nervous breath as your cold flesh met his own, with his eyes still locked on your own. 

"I suppose I can keep this then?" you comment, waving your hand around lightly earning a throaty chuckle from him. "Ay, only if you keep it here" he allows, taking it in his own and pressing it over his heart, kept only apart by the metal of his armor.

The Hound may have been nothing more than the King's dog but after all, he was your saving grace.

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

[plus-size-reader]

Stuck

Sandor Clegane x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1353 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: Being in love with Sandor but betrothed to the king and the two of you are heart broken because you cannot be together. All he can do is stand by while you marry another man. 

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You had always cared greatly for the King’s hound, but that mattered not when your father forged the deal that would bond you to the boy king forever. 

It was true that you were a few years older than Joffrey, and you had no real business being married to a brute like the Hound but you didn’t care. 

Sandor had saved your life years ago, and you had never forgotten the kindness that he showed you. The others described him as some kind of horrible monster but he was nothing of the sort. 

In fact, you believed that the younger Clegane had more humanity in his little finger than most of the terribly cruel men in all of King's landing. He had simply never been allowed to show that part of himself.

Though, that didn’t change the fact that you’d seen it. 

You had seen that kindness in him when he rescued you, and you had no doubt that he would have to do it again if you really did have to marry that terrible little beast who called himself king. 

He was cruel. 

He had never been anything more than cruel but there was nothing you could do or say to convince anyone of that.

In fact, you almost wondered if your hatred of the Baratheon only sparked the union forward that much more. 

No one ever asked you what you wanted, but even if they did, they would never accept the truth. They would never accept the fact that a princess like you, sensible and kind, could ever have any semblance of feelings for a man like the hound. 

...Like Sandor. 

It just didn’t happen and you would never be allowed to be together, no matter how desperate you were. 

Tonight, for example, was your engagement party and you couldn’t have been more willing to skip it. You had no desire to be paraded around like a piece of meat while Joffrey spent all evening talking about himself. 

You would have rather done anything else, but you couldn’t exactly not be there. 

Perhaps the best thing about Joffrey’s ego though, was how simple he made it to slip away in the midst of his talking. All you had to do was excuse yourself and no one even moved to stop you. 

In truth, you were nothing more than a name for them and they didn’t care where you ran off to.Not to say that no one was paying attention. 

As you rushed off out of the throne room, there was one person on your heels. One person who actually cared about you, but you didn’t want to see him. You didn’t want to see anyone right now. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Sandor called, that usual gruffness in his tone. He would have tried to soften it if he was really thinking about it, but right now, there was no real point. 

You were both stuck and no amount of conversation would change that. 

“Away from there” you managed, tugging aggressively at the fabric of your dress that was threaded so tight that you could hardly breathe. The seamstress had been trying to hide the parts of you that the court deemed undesirable but right now, you couldn't have cared less. 

You had no interest in being desirable to that boy king anyway. 

“What are you doing? You’ll tear it” he tutted, swatting away your hand from the fabric, not that either of you really cared for the garment anyhow. If anything, Sandor was just trying to save you from the berating you’d receive if you looked imperfect upon returning. 

They were already cruel to you for your body, and he didn’t need them having any more to shame you for. 

However, you didn’t care about that right now. All you cared about was getting out of this stupid dress, and for that matter, getting out of this kingdom. 

You didn’t want to be here anymore. 

You didn’t want to marry him, and you didn’t want to be queen.

“I need to leave. I can’t be here one more second” You huffed, finally giving up with a heavy sigh. You couldn’t even believe that you’d managed to get yourself stuck in this position. 

How could you be so foolish? 

“You can’t leave, you know that” 

It was just a casual observation of the situation you found yourself in but that didn’t matter. At the very mention of it, you burst into hot tears of anger, knowing that everything was wrong. 

This whole thing was wrong. 

You should have been happy on the eve of your wedding. You should have been celebrating, drinking too much ale and eating your weight in breads and cheeses but you could hardly even think straight. 

...You should have been marrying the man you loved. 

“I hate them all! I won’t stay here” you yelled, only stopping when the much larger man cupped his hand over your lips. You both knew what would happen if anyone heard you going on like that.

Having to watch you marry another man was bad enough, Sandor wasn’t about to have you executed in the public square. 

“Hold your tongue. Don’t you know what they’ll do to you if they hear you talking like that?” he whispered, keeping his voice down, close to your ear as he held you. 

Neither of you was thrilled about this arrangement, but he wasn’t going to lose you over it. 

“You can do this, I know that you can” he hummed, his breath fanning the side of your face as he held you tight, and you weren’t sure, in that moment, if he was trying to convince you or himself. 

He didn’t seem all that sure. 

Not that you could blame him. 

In fact, you weren’t even sure if you understood the whole thing yourself. You weren’t sure if you could do it, or if it mattered at all. Whether you could or not, you didn’t have much of a choice. 

All you could do was sigh, allowing the much larger man to wrap you up in his arms for a few moments. 

If you had it your way, you would stay there forever, in the safety of his grasp. However, the outside world had other plans, plans that neither of you could stop. 

The world would keep spinning, whether or not you married the man you cared about. 

In fact, it seemed like the only two people who cared about who you loved were you and Sandor. No one else seemed to pay any mind to the very simple fact that you were in love. 

...it was inconsequential 

The fact that you cared so much for the King’s hound didn’t matter to anyone, and you were to be married whether or not you cared about him. 

No one seemed to mind that you would never have any sort of feeling toward him more than disgust and loathing. 

All that mattered to them was what they could gain from the union politically. 

“What if I didn’t do it? What would happen?” you whispered, your voice muffled in the armor Sandor was wearing, not that you really cared. 

There were a million different things on your mind, but more than anything, you couldn’t stop thinking about running away from here and never coming back.

It would never work, you knew that, but that didn’t make the idea of it any less alluring. 

“You know what would happen” the words were no less than a hum from the large man’s throat, but they vibrated through his chest all the same. 

...He had a point. 

If you tried to run away from this, you would certainly be killed. As best either of you knew, your head would probably be mounted on one of those spikes outside. 

As much as it killed Sandor to be without you, and to have to see you marry another man, seeing you there would be a fate worse than death. 

At least this way, he could make sure that you were protected...even if it had to be from a distance. 

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