Next A Bite Button PLEASE

HI I LOVE THE WAY YOU WRITE SANDOR there's not enough Hound love you are doing the seven's work

👉👈 can i humbly request something about Sandor thinking "fuck it" to protection and coming to the idea of pumping reader full of his pups? maybe with a little big cock/tight fit mention sprinkled in? obsessed w his size difference and his commanding presence and how he just takes what he wants i love u im kissing u on the lips xx

THANK YOU 🫂 and i agree !! i think i read every sandor fic on here in one sitting so i just HAD to rectify that at ONCE !! wait did they even have protection in those days? did they like put a sock on it or smth (smooch ilyt)

table of contents; tight fit, big dick, clit stim, size kink, breeding kink (but you’re both as bad as each other)

he’s never loved you as much as he does in this instance.

your hair splayed out over the pillow, your eyes lidded and desirous, lips parted into a pretty little o-shape. you’re a sight for sore eyes, spread beautifully beneath him as you prepare to take him so well.

“it’s been a little while,” he says, softer than his usual tone. he’s been away for some time, accompanying the king’s entourage north. you stayed home with your children. “might hurt a bit, love.”

“oh please, i’ve popped out three cleganes,” you assure him, hands stroking up and down the large expanse of his back. “one after the other, might i add. you planted some beastly babes in me, you know. i think i can manage this one. . .” you reach between your bodies to grip him gently in your palm, squeezing him at the base.

he closes his eyes, hips rutting against you. “woman,” when he opens them again you’re gazing up at him in that same way that dements him with ardor every fucking time. “if you keep that up, i might put another one in there.”

“won’t hear me complaining.” you whisper, lifting your head to close the gap between your faces. your lips scarcely coast over his, then you latch onto his bottom one, sucking it into your mouth before releasing it with a crude pop.

a noise that can only resemble that of a growl crawls from his throat and he bucks into you, the engorged head of his cock splitting you open for him. you both shudder, your back arching until your breasts press against the solid barrels of his chest.

“fuckin hells, woman,” he hisses, tensing above you. “wouldn’t think any babes of mine had come from this cunt.”

you feel so full already, it feels like he impaled you with all of him. “gods— sandor, please. . .”

“hold on— fuck.” he adjusts himself, cockhead throbbing within the puckered rim of your entrance. he peers down to where you’re connected, your pussy stretched like a wailing mouth to accommodate his bulbous tip.

your heels push impatiently against his lower back and he grunts, relying on every ounce of what little self-control he has to not pound you bloody. with a callused thumb, he manipulates your little cluster of nerves with circular motions and sharp flicks. you flutter around him and he feels your walls ease slightly, allowing him to sink a little deeper.

you mewl like a bitch in heat, hands roaming any part of him that you can reach. “i’ve missed you. . .”

“aye? which bit?” he quips, nipping at your neck as he submerges himself by the inch.

your loins burn as they spread for his intrusion, the sting of it increasing as he begins to bottom-out. “all of you.” you manage, slurred and wavering. he hums and lifts a hand to your moaning mouth. “spit for me, love.”

you do, the act of it a little filthy but not at all below you. he fists what remains unenveloped by you, twisting his wrist to coat himself. then with a thick finger he probes at your opening and you gasp, finally able to swallow the rest of him. when he bumps that gummy spot, familiar to both of you, the ache subsides and you melt together.

“fuck, you’re so tight.” he winces, as if pained by the way you cling to him.

“we’re not helped by your size.” you mumble clumsily, as if drunk.

“gonna take us a lot of fucking to fix it.” he tells you, commencing a slow pace. retracting only slightly, leaving most of his length within you, then gradually plunging back in.

you throw your arms around his neck, legs locked around his hips. “oh no. . .”

he smirks at your sarcasm. “might have to get you pregnant.”

you start to roll your hips in time with his, matching his gentle rhythm. “mhm, might be unavoidable.”

“gonna put a litter in here.” he massages your tummy where his cockhead bulges beneath the skin just below your belly button. “fill you with more of my pups. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

you tug him down by his hair. “i’d want nothing more.” and lick your way into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue from when he’d devoured you some hours ago. with a particularly tender thrust, he drives himself against your cervix just right, drawing a delicate yelp from your mouth and straight into his.

"you should be at the club" I should be working on my fanfic

tripped and fell, accidentally opened photoshop on the way down and somehow this came out...for no reason...

For Boop-Badges Collectors

Rough estimate: It's possible to reach 1000 boops in less than 2 hours (took me 1:30h), if you got some people to spam it to.

If you are a blog where people can spam boop's to, reblog this.

hi! I'm new to this blog as an anon but I lolololoLOVE your writing, like I've started watching game of thrones and the moment sandor was introduced I knew I needed to find fics for this broken man and I needed to fuck him HARD ❗️ I'm so happy bcus u write him so well and so vulgar, bcus nobody else counts in how he considers the women in his life and how he swears like a sailor and his stupid accent like ugh — but you're so good at portraying him. I think I swallowed all of ur fics in one sitting bcus why the hell not

can I maybe possibly request a blurb where sandor fucks you in a headlock? or maybe, where he takes you outdoors against a tree trunk?

thank you :-)

this ask made my day!! i do often rewatch my fav episodes that have him in them to refresh my memory on his demeanour (any excuse to watch him honestly) so i’m glad you think my portrayal is accurate 🫂

table of contents; you’re a baratheon/lannister, outdoor fucking, in public, age gap, brat-taming (kinda), degradation, he takes you roughly from behind what more could we want.

headlock ver

the forest is a peaceful place. your escape from reality. well, royalty. you often come here to let off steam and reconnect with nature — usually after an argument with your petulant twin brother or difficult mother who always takes his side.

it’s quiet here, except for the occasional caw of a crow or rustling of leaves. oh, and the delirious moans that surge from your mouth with each of his animalistic thrusts.

“those pretty little noises are nicer than those fucking songs, princess.” he punctuates the opinion with several harsh ruts against your backside, his heavy sack slapping against your slick with his vigour.

the force propels you forward and you almost smack your head off the trunk he’s got you braced against. your nails scrape at the bark, the rotting wood crumbling as you claw at it. “gods,” you whine, knees quaking. “don’t— mmf! don’t stop. . .”

he chuckles behind you, hooded eyes glued to your arse and the red handprints that stamp it. “won’t fuckin run again, will you?”

you let your forehead thud against the tree as you hug yourself to it, unable to hold your weight up on two feet. “n— ngh. . . no!”

but if this is the consequence for running, you just might.

he lifts you by the hips and you squeal when the ground disappears out from under you, hands grappling with the trunk for balance. “my back was turned for five fucking seconds,” he spits, large hand reaching around to support your middle. “didn’t know where the fuck you’d gone,” he continues, slamming into your behind at a relentless pace.

you mewl, tears brimming in your eyes as something inside of you starts to coil and tighten.

“had me chasing after you like the dog i am.” he doesn’t falter, pistoning his cock into your depths until there’s no portion of his length that isn’t pocketed within your soaking warmth. “that’s all i am to you, isn’t it, princess? your dog.”

you can’t form words, they’re beyond you. all you can do is whimper and gasp for breath as he jackhammers against your cervix, bruised and burning.

“you wanted this, didn’t you? that why you ran?” his rhythm starts to stutter as he teeters on release, but his ferocity doesn’t relent. “wanted me to fuck you bloody?”

you can’t say you’ve never pondered it, you think, since you can’t fathom speech; the pleasure has you by the throat.

“only had to ask, princess.”

Ughhhh your Hound is always so delicious, makes me want to rewatch GoT just for him. Anyway...would you ever consider writing some fluffy domestic stuff with him spending time with his woman and their kids? 🥺🙏🏻 Pretty please with sprinkles on top? 🩷

you should definitely rewatch it! i actually have a oneshot for husband!sandor with his children in my drafts, but i thought this up on the spot specially for you, dear anon 🌷

table of contents; just fluff and strong language :)

the sweet smell of lamb over goose fat-fried potatoes sings to him as he approaches the front door to your house, joints groaning amongst the clinking of his armour. beyond the small square window to your kitchen he can hear the giggling of his children, and that firm little voice of yours telling them not to run when the stove is lit.

“what have i told you about running near hot pots?!” you scold.

“sorry, mama!” his two oldest respond.

the door groans like a maester on its hinges and he ducks his head to fit through the frame. “i hope you gremlins haven’t been too much trouble for mummy.” he says, unbuckling his sword and placing it out of a child’s reach.

your shoulders relax and you smile. “you’re home, finally.”

he chuckles and cranes your head back by the neck to kiss you. “something smells nice.” then he lets out a winded grunt when two tiny humans crash into his legs.

your daughter makes grabby hands and your husband rolls his eyes in jest, then bends down to pick her up. your son still clings to his leg as sandor walks to the table, still able to do so as if the boy weighs nothing.

“i made this for you!” your daughter chirps, pulling something from her pocket. she’s proud as she presents it to him and you watch on fondly from the stove.

sandor gasps and plucks it from her chubby little fingers. “for me?” he turns it in his hand, studying it. it’s a stick, with four smaller twigs tied to it and a piece of yellow string stuck to the top with mud. “it’s. . . what the fu—” he stops himself, just as you arch a brow. “—what on earth is it?”

“a princess!” she tells him, fidgeting excitedly in his arms. “someday, i’m going to be a princess, you’ll see!”

“fucking hope not!” your son chimes. sandor’s hair and eyes aren’t all he’s inherited.

for a moment your husband seems proud, until he catches a glimpse of your unimpressed expression. so he reaches down and smacks the boy lightly upside the head. “boy, watch your mouth. . . around your mother.”

you place your hands on your hips. “sandor.”

“what?” he smirks. “i fucking hope she doesn’t become a princess too.”

you sigh and turn back to your cooking, shaking your head as your children giggle.

“and i did this!” your son runs past you toward the stairs, his footsteps frantic as he hurries to his room. the ceiling creaks as he does, then you hear a loud thud followed by a groan. you look up at the spot where he fell and it’s quiet for a second, then you hear him get back up and sprint for the stairs.

“that is why i tell you not to run.” you chastise, eyeing him as he jogs back into the kitchen.

“what is it?” sandor squints at the piece of paper his son handed him.

“it’s us!” your son climbs onto his father lap, pointing at his painting. “that’s me, that’s « daughter’s name », that’s mummy, and that’s you!”

“why am i so bloody round?” sandor asks, glaring at the artwork. you chuckle to yourself as you plate up the food.

“because you are.” your son tells him, pointedly poking the man’s stomach through his chainmail.

“little shit.” you hear your husband mumble. “where’d you get this paint, anyway?”

“what paint?” you frown, turning to peer at the paper. “i thought you used all of your paint.”

your son falls silent, fiddling with his hands.

“he stole some from the stall in flea bottom!” your daughter dimes him out and he gasps, hitting her on the arm. “liar!”

“flea bottom? what in seven hells were you doing down there?!” you snap, leaning against the table to glare at him. “and don’t you hit your sister!”

“without expecting her to hit you back.” sandor adds, and motions for your daughter to hit him. she does, harder than he did her.

“sandor.” you hiss.

“did you get caught?” he asks your son, ignoring you.

your son pouts as he rubs where your daughter smacked him. “no, father.”

“good lad.”

“sandor!”

cat dad könig inspo video <3

the loyal as a dog trope but the person they’re loyal to never wanted a dog

‘i gave you everything’ ‘no one asked you to’

they liked you better when you weren’t their’s to have. they don’t like the person you are around them.

they are back