Sandor Clegane

The front door creaked open, heavy boots thudding against the floor as Sandor Clegane stepped inside, rolling his shoulders with a low grunt. The day had been long—too damn long. The quiet hum of the television was the first thing he noticed, followed by the faint scent of whatever snacks you had scattered across the coffee table.

Stranger’s massive frame was sprawled across the couch beside you, his heavy head resting squarely in your lap as you absently toyed with his ears, twisting loose ribbons around them in some ridiculous attempt at decoration. The mastiff, completely unbothered, let out a low huff, his deep chest rising and falling with slow breaths as you shared snacks, casually slipping bites to him between scenes of the movie.

Sandor stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the sight like it was the most natural thing in the world. He took in the lazy comfort of it all—you tangled up with the beast, Stranger adorned with haphazard bows, his massive paws twitching as he stretched slightly.

A deep, rumbling chuckle escaped him before he could stop it.

“Poor bastard,” Sandor muttered, shaking his head as he finally shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto the nearest chair. “Reduced to a bloody ornament for your entertainment.”

Stranger barely flicked an ear at Sandor’s voice, making no attempt to move or acknowledge him beyond a slow, bored blink in his direction.

Sandor sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, rubbing the back of his neck before stepping forward, watching you with something between amusement and mild resignation. “You’re ruining the poor beast’s dignity,” he added, his voice gruff yet tinged with quiet fondness. “Not that he seems to give a shit.”

He eyed the spread of snacks, noting the careful separation of human food from Stranger’s share, something that didn’t go unnoticed. The corner of Sandor’s mouth twitched as he reached over, swiping a handful for himself before finally easing down beside you, his solid frame sinking into the cushions with a deep sigh.

His rough hand found its way to your thigh, squeezing briefly—a silent greeting, a quiet acknowledgment of home. He let his head fall back against the couch, exhaling slowly, before tilting his gaze toward you and the dog once more.

"You’re both a pair of lazy shits," he muttered, but the warmth in his voice betrayed the words entirely.

Stranger shifted, adjusting himself further into your lap, unconcerned. Sandor only huffed again, shaking his head before returning his attention to the screen.