Summary: You've always been a little soft. Almost too sweet for a place as dirty as Kings Landing. Turns out your softness has rubbed off on the great and fearsome Hound of House Clegane. (wc. 2.7k)
Warnings: Possibly OOC Sandor (he's soooo soft for reader it isn't funny). Reader is fem-body coded, she/her pronouns, called 'woman'/'lady'.
Listening to: 'Mary On A Cross' by Ghost - "And the truth of the matter is I never let you go, let you go... Your beauty never ever scared me, Mary on a, Mary on a cross."
Love Confessions || Masterlist || AO3 link
You knew how foolish it was to dream. Living in Kings Landing could strip even the sweetest of birdsongs away, you knew that all too well.
But you were a fool.
Though your days of work were hard, and nights of rest too short, you still dreamt that somehow, some way, something wonderful could happen to you. You still saw the darkest, the worst things the world had to offer, but you hoped that it wasn’t all that bad.
Days like this, they weren’t so bad, so long as you got home before the men took their drink away from the tables. For now though, with the daylight still new, banners flapping in the warm breeze, fresh wine flowing, and the chatter before the events began, life was good.
You remember the first tournament you went to, in the first months after your arrival. It could be called being naive or foolish or self-centered, but you tricked yourself into thinking you’d be asked for a favour. You never had been asked before, but you reasoned that a bigger tournament meant more knights and lords, which meant you might finally be asked.
However it meant more ladies too, much more highborn ladies. Baratheon’s, Tarley’s, Frey’s, Lannister’s, Hightower’s, and many more. You blended into the crowd and weren’t even looked at twice. You went to your room that night and cried into your pillow until your tears ran dry. Same at the tournament after that too. And the one after.
Curse your soft foolish dreamer heart.
You were prepared for it now, with all the tournament’s the king likes to put on you had plenty of time to learn to deal with it. Still, an ember of hope lingered.
Sandor Clegane had never met anyone as annoying, as gullible, irritating, soft, doe-eyed, or heart-achingly sweet as you. It drove him mad. You drove him mad. You thought of him as a friend, weaseled your way into his semi-good-graces and left lavender and rosemary in your wake.
Worst of all - how much he liked it.
He was big and scary. Scarred, ugly, people saw him coming and went the other way. He was The Hound, the Lannister’s dog, the cruel Prince Joffrey’s shadow. No one liked him, no one wanted to be his friend. But you always greeted him with a smile.
Which is how you became the only person Sandor had a genuine soft spot for. Which he was now hating. He thought perhaps he loathed you just as much as he yearned for you.
Right now he was fixing up his gauntlets with a clenched jaw. Stuck in disbelief that he was coerced into parading around today of all days. You didn’t know he was going to be joining in the tournament and competing, but it was still your fault.
Barely a few days ago you’d mentioned how you’d never been able to give a favour to a competing ser or lord. The tug in his chest at the way your voice sounded - a resigned disappointment in one of the most lighthearted tones he’d heard in his whole life - told him immediately that he was going to be competing at this tournament just for that sole purpose.
Besides, it turned out that getting time away from the cruel boy-prince's side was easy when the temptation of blood being split was on the table.
And so he, the idiot, was going to go out and prance around like a court fool for the entertainment of all the lords and ladies of Kings Landing - all just to make you happy.
Sandor turned out of the tent and cursed your soft foolish dreamer heart, and he cursed how much he liked it.
You never got to sit close to the king and queen, even though you were one of the ladies who kept Queen Cersei company most days, you were still too lowborn for such a thing as the best seats. You got to stand, instead, closer to the far end, near the back, if not at the back like you were today.
That aside, usually you could see Sandor from your seat nonetheless.
It was easy to seek him out in a crowd, he stood a head above most men, and even easier as of late, since he was more often looking at you already than not. But today he was missing from your sight.
You were halfway to bringing your almost empty cup to your lips when you felt a sharp tug at the back of your dress. The look on your face could've killed as you turned to the culprit, but it softened when you saw who it was.
It was him.
He looked a little bit different though. Odd almost, compared to how he usually presented himself. The thing that stood out the most to you was how his armour looked more polished, his cape traded in for a clean yellow one, and he had that dog-fashioned helmet tucked under one arm.
“Sandor, what are you doing with your helm?” you asked.
He shifted back slightly now he had your attention, and for a moment he looked something akin to fed up. Based on his personality, you knew you probably weren’t his favourite person, but you figured being kind never hurt anyone.
Not much anyway.
“I’m competing,” he said simply. Little did he know, that explained nothing to you.
“What?” you said, stepping closer to him so you both moved away from the prying ears of the crowd. They weren’t paying much attention to you anyway, since a horn blew announcing the first jousters. “You’ve always said you’d never be caught dead in a tournament."
He sighed.
“Are you feeling okay?” you asked, laying a hand on his lower arm, “You aren’t in trouble are you? Oh no, this is some bet, right? How much coin will you get?”
He sighed again, this time gently prying your hand off his armour, and your questions slowed to a halt.
“No, woman. None of that nonsense. Just give me your favour and get it over and done with.” he said.
“My - my favour?” you gawked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, you were complaining about it a few days ago.” he said, “Just give me your pretty little token so I can win and give it back.”
“You’d win? With my favour?” you asked, head tilting.
“Yes.”
“You hate tournaments.”
“Yes.” He repeated, then after a few beats of silence, “What’s your point?”
“Why?”
“‘Why?’ I don’t need to tell you why. Besides, all the other prissy ladies wouldn’t want to waste their favour on me, and you want to give your favour to someone. So shut up and give it to me.”
You watched him as he spoke, waiting for some sort of catch. An admittance or hint of any kind that this was a cruel joke. None came, instead there was nothing in his eyes but honest truth, and something else you couldn’t place.
“And you’ll give it back when you win?” you asked softly.
“Aye.” he replied. You smiled up at him with a small hum.
You pulled the handkerchief from up your sleeve, and folded it neatly into a smaller square before placing it in his hand. You saw how his fingers curled around the silk before looking up, just to find his face inches away from yours.
“See, that wasn’t so hard now was it?” he said, wine-tainted breath fanning over your nose and cheeks. You shook your head, unable to resist the giddy smile that broke across your lips. “I’ll see you when I win.”
He turned to walk away, tucking the handkerchief into the front of his gorget, but you grabbed onto his arm again. Yanking at the ribbon in your hair, it fell free and you efficiently tied the - ironically - yellow ribbon around his gauntleted wrist. When you caught his eye after stepping back to admire your work, he raised a brow at you.
“So all those other 'prissy ladies' know someone spent their favour on the man who won the tournament today.”
Sandor could smell you.
More accurately, the handkerchief you gave him. The lavender and rosemary cut through the smell of steel and horse and dirt, reminding him though his sneer of the reason he was doing this stupid thing at all.
Though if he was being honest, the look on your face when you realised he was serious about taking your favour was plenty of a reward already.
Stranger was restless under him, a warhorse unused to being in the lists and among the crowds. The big black beast couldn’t stand still, was acting how Sandor felt. And he was starting to feel like he wanted to run his sword clean through the poor bastard at the other end of the field.
He didn’t want to shock your little beating heart to a stop with the cruelty he usually wielded. The bloodlust could wait for another day. You required something more gentle.
You deserved it, he thought as the grip on his lance tightened. You deserved it and more.
The sun just started to sink behind the treeline to mark the start of sunset, and the day had ended as it always did on a tournament day; in victory. No one’s cheers were louder than yours.
Sandor had won.
You’d thought it would be so as soon as you started thinking about who would come out on top. With the few who could best him unavailable or unwilling to compete, you doubted you were the only one to think he’d win.
You weren’t any less excited when he finished his final pass having laid his opponent flat on their back.
And, even better, you managed to push to the front row despite the crowds. How? You had no idea. Everyone was so excited to see the Lannister Dog you called your friend face each opponent successfully.
You cupped your hands around your mouth, cheering loudly over the roar of the crowd as Sandor turned his horse on the spot. Even under his helm you could feel his grey eyes fall on you.
He came closer, you barely noticed as he scooped up the wreath of white roses into his palm. The circlette looking more like a bracelet than a headdress in his hand. Only when he stopped his horse in front of you did you realise what was happening.
That little display of flowers was meant to crown the tournament’s queen of love and beauty, and honor given to the victor to give out to the lady of his choosing. A lady who was his wife, his lover, someone who he wanted something more from.
Sandor was giving it to you.
Your head tilted up to catch his eyes as he looked down at you. Stranger shifted under him, liking even less how close they were to the crowds. Then the wreath was gently laid on your head. A featherlight touch brushed along your hair for a threadbare moment before he pulled away.
The Hound couldn’t be seen as tender, even if everything about what just happened told you that was exactly what he wanted to be.
But everyone, and you mean everyone, was watching. Today, the day Sandor Clegane took out the title of tournament champion, and the day he crowned a low-born lady-in-waiting as the queen of love and beauty, would be a day people would write pages about.
Later, with the people having followed the King to the feast that marked the end of the day, you snuck away. You had to find Sandor, and much like earlier he was not among the crowds.
You went to his tent, and found him there instead.
“Is there enough wine in here for two?” You asked, peering through the entrance to find him back in his old armour.
“No,” he started, “You were too slow.” He turned to you as you stepped in.
If he didn’t want you around he wouldn’t have said you were slow. It would’ve sounded harsh, if you knew him less, but you knew him more. If he didn’t want company he wouldn’t have talked so much, you knew he knew that’s how it worked between you. Despite his comment, he made no protest when you leant over and snuck a sip from the goblet on the small table nearby.
When you turned back to him, intent on starting a conversation about how well he did that day, he was already standing barely a foot away, and with what looked like a scrap of cream fabric thrust into your nose.
“Here,” he said, waving the handkerchief at you. You just shook your head, reaching out your hands to curl his fingers back around it with an almost shy smile.
“If you meant it when you gave me this crown, then you can keep it. A token for a token.”
He looked down at you, eyes flicking to the favour before back at you again. He huffed, much like a tired dog, and started stuffing the fabric under his breastplate.
“I want you to know you’d better be the only person who knows I’ll be carrying around a handkerchief." he grumbled when he finished.
“I sure hope so.” you said, stifling a laugh. “If anyone else knows you that well I might kill them myself.”
“Yeah,” he scoffed a laugh. “I’d like to see that.” For a moment everything went quiet. Neither of you spoke. There was a loud laugh from a group passing outside and your gaze fell to your feet.
“So did you mean it?” you asked quietly.
“Mean what?”
“Do you want to court me?” You said. You looked back up at him through your lashes. He was already looking down at you, with something soft and almost loving in his eyes. That realisation, that you’d drawn a look of love from Sandor Clegane, made your heartbeat flutter like a bird in a cage.
His hand raised to your face, a finger trailed gently across your jaw to your chin. It took everything in your soft foolish dreamer heart not to melt on the spot then and there. No one would ever believe you if you told them how nice Sandor was to you, not in the past and certainly not now.
Oh, but you were so close to swooning right into his arms. He’d hate that.
“Yes. I think you’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted to.” he replied, taking your chin in his hand. “If I didn’t I would’ve made my horse stomp the stupid thing into the mud.”
“So romantic.” you said. The way his eyes focused on your lips didn’t go past you unnoticed. Ah, you thought, so he probably was feeling as soft and gooey as you.
“You got your silly favour, I won, and you got your pretty crown. I’ve been romantic enough for one day.”
“I know, and I’m so ever grateful for it that I could kiss you.” You replied.
“I like the sound of that.” he said, grinning almost from ear to ear as he lent down and kissed you.
His hand was tight on your chin, calloses caught on the skin, and his lips were rough but by the seven - you could tell he’d been waiting for this as long as you had. His tongue flicked out to yours, tasting of spiced apple wine. Your hands slid easily around his neck as he crouched to wrap an arm around your waist.
It felt like he was everywhere, and yet suddenly he didn’t feel close enough at all.
Very briefly your mind fluttered to the thought that this wasn’t proper - if you were caught like this with anyone it would spell nothing else but trouble. He wouldn’t care, you could hear him say ‘fuck them’ even though his tongue was shoved halfway down your throat.
You did care a little more than him though.
Reluctantly you pulled away, easing his chasing lips with a few shorter softer kisses. You could feel his hand clench into the back of your dress, it felt so big resting there.
You could get used to this.
“Tease,” he grumbled, grey eyes honed in on yours.
“I don’t think you mind though.” you replied. He stood up, but kept you close with that arm around you. All you got in reply was a grunt of affirmation. “You’ve gone all soft on me, haven’t you, Clegane?”
“For you. Don’t tell anyone.” he said, almost looking like he was going to lean down and kiss you again. You just smiled.
Summary: A Mouse and a Hound, sounds like the start of a bad joke. It only gets worse when one's been scarred by ice, the other by fire. Who would've guessed they'd help each other face their fears before one chooses to face death. (word count; 8.7K <)
Warnings: Canon-typical themes. Probaby a 'too soft'/ooc Sandor. Injuries + blood + scars. Character death. Fighting. Swearing. Sandor and Reader match each other's jealous freak. Sexual themes (Smut is implied but not shown + they talk about fucking a lot.). Borderline eloping. Pregnancy + food cravings (chicken). Reader is fem bodied + she/her pronouns + called woman/daughter/wife/mother + smaller than Sandor + nicknamed Mouse.
Listening to: 'I Bet on Losing Dogs' by Mitski - "I bet on losing dogs. I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place by the ring... I'll be there on their side, I'm losing by their side."
AO3 Link || Masterlist || Ko-Fi
Ice. It can be as thick as stone or thin like parchment paper. It can form as frost, snow, sleet and hail. Most often it covers lakes, rivers and the ocean in the cold weather of winter. Ice is water in its frozen, solid form. And right now you were standing on a giant lake covered in ice.
In the beginning it was so thick, covered in snow so well, that none of you even realised what it was you ran onto. With the weight of the wights swarming at your heels, though, it began to creak and groan.
The noise of the crack below your feet echoed in your mind. Nothing else mattered as you skid to a stop on shaky legs. Your eyes fixed on the slippery ice below, peripherals caught your group continuing to run away - to safety, thank the gods - and wights behind you fell into the water below, but strangely all you could see was your sister.
Her face floated beneath the ice, frozen in time in a place she wasn’t supposed to be, face dead from a time long ago. The wrights disappeared, the new shouts of your friends faded. You couldn’t look away. You’d spent so long trying not to remember what happened all those years ago, running from it, yet here you were.
No longer were you a woman grown battle-hard, but a girl who was foolish enough to ignore your parents warning to not play on the frozen lake. You’d brought your younger sister with you, so young and trusting, of course she’d believe her big sister wouldn’t lead her toward pain. You were supposed to protect her, love her, care for her. You’d see other children sliding around on the ice, so when your chores were done and the lake was void of others, you took your sister’s hand and told her you’d be able to play anything you both wanted without worrying about being knocked over by an older child.
Having the lake to yourselves was supposed to be fun.
It was the worst mistake you’d ever made in your whole life.
Winter was leaving. Although you were in the North, the ice was still thinning. No one else was there because they knew better. You didn’t know better. It took you both two laps before the ice cracked. One step was all it took to no longer support your weight. Your world was plunged into ice cold darkness. The freezing water hit your lungs, causing you to gasp on reflex. Your lungs filled with water, your eyes stung from the cold. You kicked and grasped for the surface, and reached it just before it was too late. Clawing at the ice, you pulled yourself to the thicker ice, coughing and shivering, thanking the Old Gods that you hadn’t drowned.
Then you noticed your sister was gone.
You sister whose hand you were holding. Who you dragged down with you after the ice cracked from your weight. Your weight, not hers. You couldn’t see her. She was so young. She couldn’t swim. It was all your fault.
You screamed her name. Screamed for help. Tears ran hot down your face. By the time help came the sun was fading, your throat was raw and your hands were sore, frozen and bloodied from pounding on the ice. You were shivering so hard your teeth felt like they’d crack. The people around you called your name. You couldn’t look away from the water.
They called your name again, and her face was all you could see below your feet.
Again, and she floated away. Down so deep no one could find her, not even when summer came again.
Again. Your name. Louder. Rougher. More desperate. You looked up from the ice. There was your group. Your friends. And Sandor Clegane. There was so much distance between you and yet you could see fear in his eyes like it was written on paper in your own hands.
Turning behind, you saw wights. Most had stopped still, but the ones closest to you were reaching toward you. Swiping and grasping at the air between you. They were so close. But so was the crack in the ice. It was the only thing dividing you from them - the only thing stopping them from coming closer, and the only thing stopping you from running to your friends. To Sandor.
Sandor had been your companion for so long, and now he wouldn't stop yelling at you to run. You’d run on ice before, it ended with your sister dead. He knew that. He was the only one who did - not Jon, not Tormund, no one else in the whole world had bared their fears to you like Sandor, so you hadn’t bared yours to them. Sandor knew why you couldn’t move, for you it was like the fire that rendered him useless, and yet.
“Come on you bitch, move!” he yelled.
Somehow his words hit you like a tonne of bricks. Your breathing picked up. You stopped listening to the ice. All you could hear was your heartbeat. All you could see was Sandor.
Your foot shifted, the ice groaned under your weight, it cracked behind you as you moved, but you ran. You weren’t even looking when you started running, keeping your eyes closed was the only way you could move at all. If Sandor’s face was the last thing you saw, so be it. You were sure that was going to be true.
Yet as your legs started the burn from how hard you ran, arms encased you. Frosted fur was under your fingertips, and your feet left the ground as your speed made you swing in the hold of whoever caught you. Your eyes opened and you sobbed. You did it. The ice didn’t crack. You made it to Sandor and you were safe. For now anyway, but that was all that mattered.
“You can slaughter wights, but ice is what gets you shaken up.” Sandor said as a cold calloused fingertip traced your jaw with a featherlight touch. “What a woman.”
“Don’t tease me.” you said between the chattering of your teeth. Funny, the cold hadn’t hit you until now.
“I ain’t teasing,” Sandor let you go slowly, as if pulling away would make you fall apart like broken glass. It mightn’t be a far truth with how much you were shaking. His voice was the softest you’d ever heard it. “I just didn’t believe you when you said you were afraid. While you may be quiet as a Mouse you’ve never been afraid like one, but the look on your face made me think you were gonna die.”
“Would you pick water over wine?” you said, “Of course I was scared. Felt like I was going to shit out my own heart.”
“Ah, now I see why the Hound likes you.” Tormund said, nodding with his arms crossed. “You sound just like him. Like a bitch. I like that.”
“Fuck off.” Both you and Sandor spoke at the same time. The contrast between how he growled and you shuddered was comical, but the fact you both said it at the same time made the others laugh despite your dire circumstances. Tormund could only look at you as if to say ‘told you so’.
You looked up at Sandor, he was already looking down at you. With the energy you had left, you could only resign to letting it be. They could say all they wanted about your fondness for him, and his for you. At the end of the day you could deny it all you wanted but it wouldn't make it less true. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling your shaking body to him as your group moved to the centre of the island you'd found yourselves on.
Now all you had left to do was hope the Dragon Queen Daenerys knew to come to your aid - because with the wights surrounding you, there was no way you were getting out of there on your own. Maybe it would've been better to have fallen into the lake.
There was a time when you were never so scared of ice - a feeling lost long ago to the passage of time. There was also a time when you didn’t know Sandor from a stranger on the street. You might never have met him at all if not for being in the right place at the right time.
You supposed the Starks were the cause of a lot of things in your lives.
You happened to be in Winterfell all those years ago when King Robert Baratheon visited Ned Stark. You were a messenger - one of the best - travelling all across the North had been your job over the few years prior. Ned insisted you stayed for the King’s feast before you left again, reasoning that your hard work needed to be rewarded now and then - beyond silver stags you were paid in.
So you joined the Starks to greet the King’s entourage, and that was where you saw Sandor Clegane for the first time. His eyes were hard and disinterested from under the dog helm he wore, and he was so large and imposing - but he was so quiet. The only words you ever heard him speak were when you’d come up behind him to offer to take the reins on his horse. He hadn’t heard you coming, and almost knocked you on your feet when you tapped his shoulder armour.
“Fucking mouse.” he’d said.
You however didn’t speak to him during that night at Winterfell, or at all during the days that followed, but you watched him. Saw him push away a mug of ale for a jug of wine. Watched as he ate, and watched as he walked away with Prince Joffrey. Really, it had taken a couple years to speak to him after you first met him.
Years after Robert Baratheon died, and Ned Stark was executed - you met him again. He was travelling with Arya near the kingsroad.
You’d spent the last few years working for Robb, King in the North. His father and mother had always trusted you to ferry messages and items all across the North, so he did too. You served faithfully until you took a message to the Bolton’s at the Dreadfort. Thereafter Ramsay Snow had taken you as a plaything, which had left you naked and alone in the woods one night with your back and shoulders torn to bloodied ribbons. A couple of farmers from the nearby Hornwood had found you, nursed you back to health - and with news that Robb was still at The Twins, you started travelling there as soon as your healing wounds allowed it.
News reached you of a justifiably dubbed Red Wedding, and the massacre that happened to the Stark army at The Twins. You knew you couldn’t go there anymore. It wasn’t safe there for you, and it wasn’t safe to go back North on your own either, not with the Bolton’s spiders crawling everywhere. So you went south. Aimlessly you followed the Kingsroad, and who else did you meet but a missing Stark daughter.
Arya had recognised you immediately. Your heart sang at the way her face lit up, and at seeing she was alive. She’d been lost after her father died, laying your eyes on her yourself was such a relief. Especially after hearing what the Frey’s did to Robb and Catelyn.
It took Sandor a moment longer. A few moments, actually. He’d dismounted his horse and watched you embrace Arya before giving a name to your face.
“Mouse,” he said. His face was hard to read, but you could see something in his eyes had changed since you last saw him shadowing Joffrey.
“Hound,” you replied. Apparently he didn’t like that. Sandor sneered down at you when he spoke again.
“Bitch.”
“Hey!” Arya said, turning from where she once held onto you. “She’s done nothing worth insults. Don’t call her that.”
“I can call her what I like - I’d bet money I don’t even have that she’s going to stop me from handing you in and getting my ransom.” Arya stepped forward as if to start arguing with the man before you set a hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry Arya,” you said, “he can spew insults all he likes. I can see the stick that's shoved up his arse, must be uncomfortable. He has my sympathies to do as he pleases with his words.” Your comment both made Arya burst into giggles and Sandor turn away to mumble to himself. You mounted your horse, and as Arya climbed on after you.
“I’ll let you ride with her only if you follow me like there’s a leash on your horse, understand?” Sandor asked, turning his horse to stand right in front of yours. His eyes were just as hard as they were all those years ago at Winterfell, but they were no longer disinterested. Instead he looked at you in a way that made you feel like he was going to eat you alive. “Unless I have to leash you like a bitch?”
“My back is aching from when a Bolton bastard set his dogs on me, I don’t have the strength to match your insults right now, Ser.” You said. Arya was quiet behind you, the only reaction she had to your words was loosening her grip on your waist.
“I’m not a knight.” Was the only thing Sandor said before urging his horse to walk.
He only ever called you Mouse after that.
Fire. From a forest burning to a candle flame, it can be the difference between death or life. It can heat your home or leave the air smelling thick of smoke and ash. It can help wounds heal or can be the cause of them. Fire is as dangerous as heat can get. And right now there was an entire moat-worth of fire surrounding Winterfell.
You knew that the attack of the Night King was going to be bad - you’d seen the wights firsthand, fought them already, and you’d seen a White Walker take down a whole dragon. The worst part, by far, was having to wait and not being able to see nothing of what was coming, nothing except the ice cold winds of an early winter. The dragonfire helped as the battle started - but it also didn’t. You wanted to see, but as soon as you did you wished you hadn’t.
The sight flashed in your mind like a flickering flame. Coming and going. Waves and hordes of wights as far as the eye could see.
Daenerys’ army and the other soldiers had retreated back into Winterfell’s walls. You stood beside Arya watching the wights get burnt by the flames. They already smelt like death - rot and dirt and cold flesh - now their bodies were thawing and burning, and the smell of charred skin and muscle was being carried high by the smoke. You’d never smelt flesh burn before. You wondered if this was the smell that haunted Sandor.
You turned to look down at the returned soldiers lined up in formation in the courtyard below, searching for Sandor’s face among the dozens of men. When you couldn’t find him you turned back around. What if he hadn’t made it back inside the gate?
The thought that crossed your mind then was so strange. You wished you were facing a thousand frozen lakes. If you were, Sandor would be right by your side the whole time. He had no fear of ice, not like you did. The fire before you had scared him away from your side, if he was still around at all - but you’d much rather fear eaten him alive than death. The realisation shook you. Even now the strongest, most fearless man you ever knew was gone. Because he was scared.
You had a second realisation then. That one made you step away from the wall you perched by with dread - not because the wight’s had figured out how to cross the flames, but because Sandor was probably all alone.
“Where are you going?” Arya asked, watching as you slowly started to move.
“I need to be down there,” you said, your hand grazed her shoulder as you walked past, “I’ll see you in the morning.” you promised. Turning on your heel, you rushed down the stairs, almost slipping on the last one, to reach the soldiers below and begin pushing through them to find Sandor’s face among them.
“Ready yourselves, they’re going to breach the wall!” Someone shouted behind you, but you were too focused on hunting down your Hound. Really, you almost went right past him. He was hiding in a doorway, and if you hadn’t locked eyes you would’ve lost him.
“What are you doing?” you asked, rushing forward. “We need you to help us fight Sandor.” you said. You pushed yourself up, trying to level your face with his own. His head shook, clearly disagreeing.
“It’s fucking useless. Death’s at our door, it’s all around us we can’t fight that.” He wasn’t looking at you. His eyes reflected the orange glow of fire. He wasn’t listening to you, he was listening to the fire. “There’s no point.”
“And death was below my feet yet you made me run from it - and I did run from it, for you!” You said, an emotion reaching your voice that you hadn’t let show yet. “Fuck everyone else, I need you Sandor. I need you to fight. I can’t do it without you.”
Sandor looked at you then. His dark eyes no longer held an orange glow, instead they flickered across your face, distracted. You read him, saw his brow furrow and lips part open - he was going to argue. But you weren’t going to have that. You swung an arm over his shoulders and pulled him down to crash his lips to yours. It was a hard kiss, one that lasted too long to be considered safe in your circumstances, but it was distracting. Grounding. You needed to bring Sandor out of his own mind, and a kiss was a nicer way to do it than a slap to the face.
“If you don’t live to see the end of this night I’m going to find that red witch to bring you back to life so I can kill you myself.” You said with a gasp, pulling away with a hand on your sword. He seemed dazed, yet you could tell he was indeed more focused. “I need you to stay alive,” you added as you backed away to join the fight, “when this is all over I want you to fuck me.”
You were bloodied and covered in dirt, somehow limping, your head hurt like seven hells and you couldn’t stop smelling smoke, but you were alive. Somehow you were alive. The thought made you want to cry.
Not knowing if the same could be said about Sandor did make you cry. Tears blurred your vision as you searched. Every body laid dead wasn’t him, but neither was anyone left standing. It felt like your heart was breaking.
You stumbled through each hallway and room until you reached the doors to the main hall. Who knew what was waiting for you beyond the doors. You refused to dwell on it, instead shouldering the heavy oak open. Your knees almost gave way when you saw Sandor standing beside Melisandre. You surged forward, very nearly jumping into his arms. One wrapped around your waist while the other cradled your head close to his own. If you weren’t so busy being relieved you might’ve teased him about going soft.
But really you didn’t care about that right now at all.
You pulled away, letting him hold your weight completely as you took his face in yours hands.
“You’re alive.” you breathed, smiling in disbelief.
“A mouse told me you needed me to stay alive.” Sandor said, lips quirked up in a rare smile, “Couldn’t let down my woman.”
You’d counted the losses, burned your dead, and now were celebrating those who’d stayed alive. The feast, in all honesty, was magnificently loud. You were sure the only reason you’d lasted this long was because the shock of being alive hadn’t worn off yet.
Tormund had ushered you over to his table of Wildlings, and you'd already decided that you were going to steal their jug of wine when you went back to Sandor. The Wildling leader had his arm slung over your shoulder, swaying on his feet as he told some story about his life beyond the Wall. You were sure his story was as gripping as it was daring, but you really weren’t paying him mind at all. Your eyes weren’t leaving Sandor, and his weren’t leaving you.
He was looking at you like someone crossed a horny dog with a jealous badger, the jealous part flaring whenever Tormand leaned closer to talk right in your ear. He was drunk, and you’d learnt he was quite harmless - Sandor however probably didn’t know that. For everyone’s sake you probably should find your way out from under Tormund’s arm. After all he had the other occupied with another woman, and his drink, both of which would see his night ended happily.
You’d barely looked away from Sandor to grab the wine jug, turning to make up some excuse to pry Tormund’s arm off you when the man interrupted your unspoken words.
“Look,” Tormund leant down once again, whispering loudly in your ear as if attempting to be subtle, “A dead woman!” He pointed behind you, and you turned to see that indeed there was a woman. One who had sat herself down in the seat next to Sandor. Your seat.
“Excuse me,” you said, pulling away with the jug heavy in one hand, slipping an unused dinner knife in your other.
“Watch this lads, you’ll wish she was your wife after this.” You heard Tormund announce to his table as you stalked away. The poor lady had no idea you were coming.
You stood behind them, quickly your hand passed between them both as you reached forward. The tip of your stolen knife narrowly missed where the woman’s hand rested on the table. She jumped in her seat, hand flinching away into her lap, and looked up at you with wide eyes.
“Seeing as you need your tongue to suck a cock, and you probably want to keep yours, I suggest you fuck off and try and weasel your way into someone else’s man’s trousers.” You pulled the knife away from where it jammed into the wood, and she scurried away. In the background you heard a group of men erupt in laughter as you pushed the wine before Sandor, taking up the seat by his side.
“I was handling that.” Sandor said, watching as you settled into a place by his side which was much closer than anyone else would be allowed.
“The fuck you were.” you replied, reaching for his empty cup and filling it. He moved his arm from where you’d squished it between your sides, instead now letting his hand rest on your waist.
“I was.” he disagreed.
“Do you want to get in my pussy tonight or do you want to keep arguing?” You swivelled in your seat to face him, tilting your head. You could tell he was about ready to give up, a smile playing on his lips.
“Both sound like a good time to me.” he said, pulling you a little closer as he spoke, but he relented. Who would’ve ever guessed that you’d be the one to get the great fearsome Hound to heel so nicely.
You could see Sansa slowly walking over, her eyes were on Sandor. She must’ve felt you looking at her because then she looked at you. The softness of her face made you smile, and as much as you’d loved to stay and spend time with her, you could tell there were things that needed to be said between her and Sandor.
Moving to stand, Sandor’s hand tightened its hold on you. Before you left you lent down to capture him in a kiss. Short and sweet, and tasting like wine, a hint of what was to come later.
“You know where my room is.” you said, having distracted him enough to now start to move away.
“I’d knock down every door if I didn’t.” He squeezed your hip one last time before letting you slip away.
Having been a friend of the Starks for so long, and having done so much for them had granted you your own room. No communal servant’s barracks for you. Your room though was still small, but it was yours. There was a lit hearth, a washbasin, and a good bed - they’d even given you a large rug to cover the parts of the floor that were left without furniture.
You stood staring at the bed. It was plenty big enough when there was just you, Sandor though was a much larger person. Where it might fit two of you, It might just be comfortable for one of him. You smiled though, since it meant you’d just have to stay close to him if he did stay the whole night with you.
You really hoped he would stay. Really you’d want him to stay with you forever, but that decision wasn’t yours to make. You could only wish he felt the same.
A knock on your door had your heart skipping a beat. You barely had to open it before Sandor came in and shut it behind him. You took a step back as he stepped in. His only move then was to take your cheek in the palm of his hand.
“You promised. Gonna live up to that?” he asked. You stepped forward, placing your hand over his while your other looped under his belt to pull him closer.
“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” you said, “and my mind’s never been changed. I want as much of you as you can give me.” Sandor looked down at you with a smile.
Before you could blink, he reached down and his arm wrapped around the back of your thighs. Your hands grasped his shoulders as he lifted you into the air, and his face was level with your chest. Your stomach was pressed to his chest, and by the gods the way he made you feel so small was almost inhuman. Though, the way it excited you was borderline heavenly.
“Careful what you wish for.”
Indeed you were right, the bed was just too small for the both of you to spread out comfortably.
You couldn’t really say you wanted to do that though. His skin was so warm, heartbeat so strong under our palm, and despite how sticky you both were with sweat, being so close to him felt so nice. It was like finally soaking into a hot bath - the relief and pleasure of it even now it was all over - it was like you needed him.
Floating in and out of sleep and awake while being wrapped in him under the furs of your bed was indeed what heaven must feel like.
Although it had you thinking in among your dazed and hazy pockets of sleep. How strange it was that Sandor seemed to feel the same way. He hadn’t let you so much as move to be by his side, let alone let you go.
He’d never been quite like this before - tolerated it from you, sure, but never recoperated to such an extent. It made you feel like something was wrong.
Your head raised from where it was tucked just below his burn scar, and you felt his arms shift to keep you close as you pulled back just enough to see his face clearly through the last light of the candles burning.
“Something is wrong.” you said. Sandor’s chest rose and fell beneath you in a sigh. So there was something he wasn’t telling you. His lips stayed sealed shut though, and you weren’t going to have that. “Sandor, tell me.” you whispered.
“I can’t stay,” he replied.
The way he spoke had genuine concern rising inside you, you’d never heard him talk like that before in your whole life - maybe he never even had until now. It wasn’t that you were worried about him leaving you, although the thought had you feeling so sad you could be angry, but instead you were filled with an awful amount of dread. It was like he was telling you he wasn’t coming back. Like he was dying.
“I want to but, fuck, I can’t. There’s something I have to do and no one else can do it for me.” That made you think back to all the times he confided in you about revenge. It hit you like a wall of stone - that he was leaving you to go kill his brother. Somehow he must’ve felt it land in your heart. A calloused hand ran up your back, lightly tracing your scars up to your shoulders, pushed you back down so your head rested next to his, body pressed flush to his own.
You felt like the only thing you could do was hold onto him tighter, sliding your hands in under his back and pressing yourself so close that your ribs might just open up and keep him there with you instead. But they weren’t, so instead you just let your tears fall.
“But you’ll die.” you whispered, lips tickled by the hair of his beard since you now refused to let him go.
“I know.” he said, and with the gentleness of a much smaller and kinder man, he turned his head and kissed the tears away from your cheeks. “Don’t cry. I’m not worth your tears.”
“No Sandor, you’re worth so much more than that. I’d give my life for yours. I can’t believe you can’t see it for yourself.” Your hands curled, fingernails digging into his skin. Sandor didn’t flinch, perhaps he saw the pain as a just punishment for cracking your heart in two, so you relented, instead pressing your nose into his neck. “I don’t know if I can live without you now.”
For what felt like a long time, he didn’t say a word. He let you cry some more, and didn’t once try to stop you, just held you as close and hard as you held him. Over his breathing, you heard the coals in the fire crackle one last time and fall into the soft ashes.
Your tears had stopped, and breathing turned shallow, when he spoke again.
“When I close my eyes for the last time I want to see your face,” he said. Under your chest, his heartbeat quickened. “The face of my wife.”
A moment passed.
“Are you asking me to marry you?” It took him longer to answer you, you thought perhaps you didn’t say it outloud.
“Does it sound like I am?”
You sat up, palms on his chest as he looked up at you with his hands gripping your hips and waist.
“Sort of? But right after you told me you’re going to fuck off and kill your cunt brother? Your timing is a bit shitty.” you asked. His hand squeezed your hip and his eyes fixed straight up onto the ceiling.
“It’s selfish, to marry you just to make you a widow, I know that but I think you know I’m not someone who thinks much of others.” You leant back over him then. Forearms framing his head as you brought your face over his.
“You do, you think of others often. I know your heart’s bigger than you realise - that’s why I’ll marry you.” The way his face changed when he heard your soft words from one of self-loathing to one full of love - all directed at you - made you wish you hadn’t spent so much time not sharing a bed. “We can do it tonight. We can wake the septa, no one else has to be there.”
“No, no Faith fuckers.” he responded gruffly before pausing, “Unless you want that?” He backtracked so fast it almost made you laugh. You shook your head though. You were from the North, if you believed in gods at all, the Seven weren’t yours.
“I’d rather go before the Old Gods -”
“- then we’ll do that.” Sandor cut you off. He sat up then, with you still placed nicely in his lap. The furs on your bed almost slid away, but he held them up to your shoulders so the cold night air didn’t reach you. “If we do it, we’ll fucking do it properly.”
You knew how foreign to proprietary Sandor was, it almost wasn’t even a word in his vocabulary. You’d thought about marrying him in the past, what that kind of life would be like. You’d imagined just running off someplace no one knew your names and saying you were husband and wife. Never once did an actual wedding cross your mind, yet here Sandor was offering it to you on a hastily prepared silver platter.
It made your heart ache in such a bittersweet way. Why did you both have to wait until it was almost too late?
There were very few people who you could think of to wake for a last minute wedding in the middle of the hour of the wolf. Night was at its darkest, people would be in the dead of sleep. Or that’s what you thought when you and Sandor carefully chose who you wanted most to be there.
Arya was the first person both you and Sandor could think of. She either wasn’t sleeping at all or was having a hard time doing so, because when you knocked on her door she was as awake as you were. The way her face lit up reminded you of when you first saw her after hearing about her brother and mother’s death.
She’d immediately thought of Sansa, as if you hadn’t already. You said Sandor was doing the same as you were with the elder Stark sister, so instead she offered to get Jon herself. As Warden of the North, and head of Winterfell, by right he was the only person who could properly officiate a marriage before the Old Gods. You barely gave her permission to go fetch him before she was off down the hallway to get him all on her own.
There was only one person left for you to get then.
By the time you’d reached the Godwood, there were a surprising amount of torches lined up and around the weirwood heart tree. It had seemed that while a lot of people in Winterfell had gone to bed, word had spread to those who had continued to stay up to celebrate or couldn’t sleep. Sandor and you only invited four people, yet there were at least a dozen torches, maybe more.
Arya and Sansa stood lining the short pathway you were to walk to reach Sandor near the base of the tree. On the other side you saw the faces of Brienne and Gendry. Among the more distant crowd there were people from across Winterfell, and the glint of a gold hand could be seen from the torchlight. Even Daenerys with her white hair had quietly joined with a content look on her face, and a torch in her hand just like everyone else.
You almost couldn’t believe that all those people were awake, yet thought this was worth leaving their beds for. But then you supposed rounding out a victory celebration with a wedding was a hell of a way to do it. Or for some an excuse to prolong their drinking and eating just that bit longer. Whatever the reason, you didn’t really care.
All you cared about was the man waiting for you below the white barked tree, and how badly you wished that this was under different circumstances - that he wasn’t doing it just because he was leaving you to die tomorrow.
"Who comes before the Old Gods on this night?" Said Jon. You had no family, at least none who could come to Winterfell so quickly. Jon was already occupied, so there was only one other person you could think of to drag out of bed to represent you at your wedding. And he was someone who’d probably never been to a Northern wedding once in his whole life.
In fact he was someone who thought you and Sandor were already married.
"A daughter of the North comes here.” Tormund said, he paused for a moment, swaying on his feet as he tried to remember the words Jon hastily tried to get him to memorise. “A woman, grown,” He finally started, “She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods to be wed. Who comes to claim her?" Sandor stepped forward, hands clasped together in front of his belt. He was refusing to look at anyone else but you.
“Sandor of House Clegane. Who gives her?"
"Tormund.” Tormund said, you could see from the way Jon’s eyebrows raised that he was expected to say more. “Giantsbane. Of the True North.” He added. Jon sighed as Arya snickered from where she stood to your right.
"Will you take this man?" Jon asked you. You looked up at Sandor, smiling as an overwhelming urge to cry rose inside you. You willed it down, wanting to keep on a facade that tonight was happy, and not the sweetest goodbye in the whole world.
"I take this man." you said.
You hadn’t seen Sandor in months. You couldn’t lie, you didn’t expect him to come back, both of you knew that a fight against Gregor Clegane was always one that ended in death.
News travelled fast about the destruction of Kings Landing. You hadn’t heard from him since then, there was really no other conclusion to come to except that he’d been part of the massacure. You desperately hoped that Gregor died too, that at least if you did lose Sandor it wasn’t in vain.
Despite that, you couldn’t bring yourself to accept it. So you ran. Weeks ago, you’d arrived at the Wall to meet with Tormund. Almost all the places that you called home were haunted by Sandor - you couldn’t stand to be there anymore. You couldn’t stand to be in the North, so you decided to go beyond. Somewhere where no one would know your name or his.
A land of ice and snow was better than having to stay where everything reminded you of him. If you stayed, you would’ve flung yourself off the tallest tower you could find - and that, you knew now, would’ve been counterintuitive to preserving what Sandor had left behind.
Most of those in Castle Black gave you a wide berth. You didn’t blame them, you weren’t really making yourself friendly. But one awkward conversation about what happened had Tormund acting almost like a guard dog. ‘Nothing could take down your man’ Tormund had said - you would’ve bet money that there were tears in your eyes when you replied ‘You’ve never met his brother’. It was good, having Tormund watching your back like that, since no one ever asked you what happened, but it was bad because no one ever asked you anything anymore.
Most of your days were spent on top of the Wall, waiting until the day you could leave with the Wildlings when they left to return to their home. Not many joined you up there. Tormund came at least once a day, ‘to make sure you haven’t fallen off’ - usually around dinnertime. Any other time meant something happened which he deemed worth your attention.
“A raven came.” Tormund said one day, “It’s from Winterfell.” You could see the crumpled paper in his hand over the fur of your cloak. You turned back to the ledge.
“I don’t want to read it.” Your arms crossed under your cloak, resting over your stomach.
“You should.” He said and stepped forward with his hand outstretched. You turned on your heel, almost coming nose to nose with the Wildling leader.
“Go. Away.” you hissed, bearing your teeth at him in a way akin to a cornered dog. He stared at you down his nose, watching as your eyes flickered over his face, and then as you turned away again.
Apparently though he wasn’t done.
“Jon’s coming.” He started again. You almost rolled your eyes - the man couldn’t leave anything alone. You just hoped this wasn’t the raven that brought the message of Sandor’s death. “Since you’re going to be a bitch about it, you can find out the rest when he arrives.”
In a way you supposed that was good news. At the very least laying eyes on Jon would be a familiar comfort. Having him tell you to your face that your husband died could be considered a mercy.
After having spent time at this exact castle a few years ago after the first time you thought Sandor died, it was almost unfit for Jon to not be here. He helped you a lot the first time, maybe he could do it again. Although this time you weren’t sticking around, and this time you had a little more than just yourself to take care of.
Behind you, Tormund sounded like he was beginning to leave when he stopped again.
“And you should come down. Food’s almost ready, you need to eat.” he said.
“I’m not hungry.” you called over your shoulder.
“I’m not telling you to eat for your own sake,” he replied. You looked back at him, and he raised his eyebrows in expectation.
Tormund, somehow, knew about your condition before you realised yourself. You hadn’t had your blood in months, longer than the last time you saw Sandor, and in the beginning you didn’t think much of it. Sometimes you missed it completely, especially considering everything you’d been through. You reasoned the grief alone would be enough. Tormund thought differently.
When you asked him how he knew - which he brought up while supervising you eating on one of the first night’s you arrived at Castle Black - he gestured to your chest, talking about how they looked different, like those of a woman who's going to have a babe.
He was lucky he moved so fast, otherwise the knife you threw at him would’ve ended in his shoulder and not the wall.
Regardless, it made you think. All evidence pointed to it being a possibility, and as the days turned to weeks with no blood, your unwell feeling seemed less like mourning and more like sickness. Now, apparently, your unborn child had become your weakest point. Tormund could use it to make you do just about anything he wanted - which mostly was making you eat and sleep closer to a normal person than you would’ve liked.
So you sighed with one more longing glance beyond the Wall.
“Fine,” you said, “let’s go eat.”
Not two weeks later, and you were atop the Wall again. That day was particularly cold, even the little fire you stood next to wasn’t helping keep you warm. Your teeth chattered, and you cursed the wind, but you didn’t go back down to the castle.
The sun was barely seen in the sky through the clouds, but you could tell it was only midday when you heard the telltale noises of footsteps trekking in your direction. They didn’t sound like Tormund’s, so you didn’t hold back your bite when called out to them.
“Come another step closer and I’ll shove one of these burning logs right up your arse.” you said, refusing to turn around, shoving your hands under your arms to help stop the cold reaching your fingers. “Tormund can go fuck his horse. I’m not falling for it again, if Jon’s here he can come see me himself.”
“That’s a ‘fuck you’ of a welcome if I’ve ever heard one.” That voice. You knew it. Your head whipped around so fast you could have broken your own neck. “I don’t know what else I expected though.” You were dreaming, surely. There was no way Sandor was standing before you.
“I’ve gone mad.” you whispered, unblinking in case closing your eyes for a moment would make him disappear. “You died.”
“I didn’t.” He slowly stepped forward, snow crunching under his feet, and he came to a stop just before the step up to the ledge you stood on. Your face was almost level with his now. Gods, his face was more worn than you remembered, but he sure looked real. “My wife needs me to be alive. So I lived.”
Your hand reached out to his face, tracing the lines of his scar and the edge of his beard. His hand reached out to grab your wrist, head turning so he could kiss your palm. His eyes closed for a moment as your skin touched his, and when his eyes opened again it was like a shot went through your heart. He really was here.
“You really are alive.” you breathed. He smiled, oh how you missed the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled at you. The sight brought a smile to your own face, something you hadn’t done since you last saw him.
“If I’m not, this is the best death a man could ask for.” he said, and his hand snaked under your cloak and found its place right on your hip - where it belonged. You other hand moved to the other side of his face, cradling it in your hold so you could take in every line, scar, and hair.
“No, Sandor Clegane,” you said, near close to tears in relief to have him back, “you’re as alive now as the day I first met you.” With a gentleness like the kind he showed on your last night together, he leant forward and kissed you. He was so warm, you’d missed it so much more having thought you’d never get a chance to feel it again. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and you almost drowned in the moment of finally holding him again.
You barely moved away when the kiss broke, too caught up in having him back to want to pull away completely. It was a shiver that brought you back to earth, one that came from you, and one that had Sandor frowning.
“You shouldn’t be out in the cold.” he said, tucking you in under his arm and pulling you away from the ledge and back toward the elevator, “You hate the cold. Makes me wonder why you were going to go out there in the first place.”
“It’s about the only place this side of the Narrow Sea that I thought wouldn’t remind me so much of you that I’d be sick.” The hand that rested on your shoulder squeezed knowingly. Your own hand reached out from under your cloak and took hold of his fingers. You doubted you wouldn’t be able to physically let go of him for a while.
“Guess that’s not a problem anymore.”
“Fuck no,” you scoffed, turning to him as he pushed open the elevator door for you, “I’m dragging you to Dorne after this so I can thaw out.”
“You don’t like the heat either.” His fingers stayed grasped on yours as he guided you through the door first. Somehow his large hand hadn’t been bitten by the cold yet, and his palm felt so warm against your frozen fingertips. His warmth made you smile, it was more proof that he was really standing before you.
“I don’t care,” you said, smiling up at him, “I won’t care as long as I’m with you.”
“Chicken?” Sandor asked. “You don’t like chicken.”
You looked across at him from where you sat in Castle Black’s dining hall. You were currently sucking a chicken bone clean of its cooked flesh, and you shrugged at his almost confused way of frowning at you. In the past it might have been true - you preferred more iron-rich meats, which often left the chicken all for Sandor - but not anymore. You’d even stolen some off his plate.
“I do now.” you said, licking at your fingers. “Your child has been having a powerful influence over me already. Unfortunately it’s one of the few things I can stomach right now.”
“Child?”
“You didn’t notice?” You sat back, pushing your cloak aside purposefully to reveal your stomach, showing it off a little - as if there was even anything to show yet. “I think I’ve even started getting bigger.”
“Big?” Sandor scoffed, sitting back in his seat but still eyeing you wearily, ”You’re pulling my dick if you think I’d notice. Everyone’s small to me, no matter how ‘big’ they think they are.”
“You’re so mean to me. The mother of your child -”
“For fucks sake.” he mumbled. His eyes rolled, and a hand came up to run over his face when you started talking again.
“- You ought to be nice to me, I’ve been mourning you a long time, and looking after your child all on my lonesome.”
“Excuse me. Liar!” Tormund stood abruptly behind you, causing you to jolt in your seat as his own scraped against the stone floor. “I’ve been keeping you fed! The Hound will have no choice but to like me for keeping his woman healthy for his return.” He spoke proudly, coming to your side and resting a hand on the table near your plate.
“Fuck off.” Both you and Sandor said. You weren’t happy about him coming near your food, and Sandor was just unhappy with Tormund around.
The contrast between how you growled it out and how his voice was more of a mumble made Tormund bark out a laugh. The switch in personalities was comical, even you could see it. It reminded you of a similar time, one where the stakes were more deadly than just losing food, but felt no less homely because you had Sandor by your side then just as you do now.
The look Tormund sent your way was knowing, almost loving in a way that was as inconspicuous as your hulking personality of a husband allowed. Nevertheless his hands raised in surrender, and he stepped away as he sent a wink toward Sandor.
With the Wildling gone, you turned back to Sandor. He was already looking at you. If anyone didn’t know him like you did they might’ve thought he was so deep in thought that he was looking right through you - but you knew better. He was looking right into you instead. Deep into your soul that he might as well have laid you bare and be picking you apart.
“You’re having a child?” he finally asked. So that’s what he was trying to figure out.
“I’m having your child.” You bowed your head, keeping eye contact, pointing to him with a bare bone as you switched to another as you spoke. He leaned forward, tilting his own head ever so slightly.
“You sure it’s mine?”
“Are you fucking serious?” Now was your turn to scoff, food forgotten, and you leant forward so your heads were even closer. So close you could almost whisper and still be heard. “The only person I’ve been with in the last five years is you.”
Sandor smiled then. An almost-full, genuine-looking smile. His next words were softly spoken, almost proud.
“So you’re gonna be a mother,” he said. It made you want to lean even closer and kiss him senseless.
“And you’re gonna be a father.” you replied. He reverted back to that deep stare, an almost dopey, soft look in his eyes now. It took a few quiet breaths before he talked again.
“We’re gonna be a family.”
“We already are.” Sandor had a small gentle smile, one you realised was reserved only for you. It made you all soft and gooey inside. You couldn’t help it, he was asking for it. You had to kiss him now.
summary: around the campfire, the men start teasing sandor about his size, and as the crude jokes fly, you can't help but sneak a glance at him. when you catch the outline of him beneath his clothes, your heart races, and you can't look away. sandor notices, and the tension between you two is almost too much to handle. you're left wondering what will happen when the camp settles down for the night.
warnings: nsfw, sexual tension, sexual attraction , reader's smutty thoughts, alcohol, objectification, p in v sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, swearing , public sex kind of.
word count: 3.2k
the campfire crackled and spit, casting flickering shadows over the circle of men gathered around it. the air was thick with the smell of sweat and woodsmoke, the chatter growing louder as the ale flowed. you sat just outside the circle, not part of their bawdy camaraderie, but close enough to catch every word, and gods, how you wished you weren’t.
“clegane,” one of the younger men drawled, a drunken smirk plastered across his face. “bet you’re hiding something fierce under all that armor, eh?”
the others laughed, quick and eager to latch onto the joke. sandor, seated across the fire, didn’t so much as glance up.
“reckon it drags behind him in the snow,” another chimed in, slapping his knee.
more laughter, rough and raucous. your stomach twisted as you pulled your cloak tighter around you, hoping to disappear into the night.
sandor’s lip twisted into a mocking half-smile, his gaze sharp as it swept over the group. “keep talking about my cock,” he growled, the words a low, gravelly threat, “and I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever get to look at.”
that earned a chorus of hoots and hollers, none of them taking the threat seriously.
“you hear that?” the first one cackled, slapping his thigh. “big man’s got a temper to match!” he leaned forward, squinting at you. “what d’you think, girl? you’re always hovering around him, eh? got an eye for—”
you choked on your sip of water, quickly lowering the cup and staring at the ground as your cheeks burned hotter than the fire.
the thud of steel slicing into wood made you flinch. when you dared to look up, sandor’s knife was embedded in the log beside the man’s head, the blade gleaming menacingly in the firelight. the man froze mid-laugh, his face blanching as though all the blood had drained from it.
the men fell silent for half a beat before breaking into another round of laughter, though it was more nervous this time, the kind of laughter that comes when you’re not sure if someone’s joking.
“aye, no need for that,” the first one said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “just a bit of fun, clegane.”
sandor leaned back against the log, his long legs stretched out and his lips curling into something close to a smirk. He didn’t say another word, just shook his head as if they weren’t worth the effort.
you tried to focus on the cup in your hands, but the conversation around the camp was impossible to ignore.
the men roared, and you dared a glance toward sandor. he was still as a stone, sitting against a log, legs stretched out in front of him. His bowl of stew rested in one hand, the other dangling lazily by his side.
but it wasn’t just his size that drew your eye. It was the way he carried himself, like he was more than aware of the effect he had on everyone around him.
the long lines of his legs, the thick muscles visible even under layers of leather and wool. your gaze drifted lower before you could stop yourself, there, was the unmistakable outline of him, large and thick, pressing against the fabric of his trousers. your heart pounded in your ears as you realized just how much of a hold he had over you.
you tried to tear your eyes away, but the way he filled out his clothes, the way he made you feel. you wanted to touch him, to feel that strength, feel the weight of him, his size, pressing down on you. the image of him, thick and demanding, burned into your mind, refusing to leave.
when you glanced up, you found sandor watching you. his eyes were steady, sharp, like he knew exactly what had been going through your mind. there was no judgment in his gaze, only that intense, unblinking stare, like he was daring you to admit it. To admit just how much you wanted him, how much you needed him.
slowly, almost lazily, he tilted his head.
“enjoying the view?” his voice was a low rasp, just loud enough for you to hear over the chatter of the men.
your heart raced, and you looked down, fumbling with the crust of bread in your hands like it held the answers to your embarrassment.
he huffed a quiet laugh, deep and rough. “thought so.”
the sound of his laughter, knowing, made your pulse jump. you risked a glance up, only to find he was still watching you, his lips curling into something between amusement and triumph.
you tried to gather yourself, but your body felt light, almost dizzy from the weight of the moment. but then, as the world around you came back into focus, you realized you weren’t the only one who had noticed.
the men around the fire had been watching too. they’d seen, heard everything. you could feel their eyes flicking between you and sandor, their glances filled with anticipation, like they were waiting for something to happen.
one of them, who’d been watching intently, couldn’t help but chuckle. “well, looks like you’ve caught the big man’s attention, girl.”
you could feel every set of eyes on you now, watching, waiting for something, anything to happen. and you knew that whatever had just passed between you and sandor wasn’t going to be forgotten.
-
some time passed, and you were finally alone. you had been chosen to set up the camp, and for once, you weren't mad about it. the embarrassment still lingered, heavy on your body, but with this task, there was no one around to remind you of it.
the dirty thoughts still lingered in your mind, persistent and unsettling. it was the way he looked at you, like it didn’t bother him at all. there was something strange between the two of you, an unspoken connection that you couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried.
lost in the depths of your thoughts, the sudden crunch of boots on the ground behind you pulled you from your trance. you didn’t dare glance over your shoulder, but the shadow cast by the moonlight told you everything you needed to know. his presence loomed large, unmistakable. it was sandor.
he stood there for a moment. then, in his usual gruff manner, he spoke. “you’re alone out here.” his voice was steady, not a question, but a statement. the air between you felt thick, but his presence, though imposing, didn't seem to demand anything more.
you glanced at him, trying to hide the slight amusement creeping onto your face. his expression was unreadable, his eyes dark as always. he was standing too close, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence, but still, he didn’t move, didn’t push.
“well?” he asked after a long pause, his voice rough, yet tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “you gonna stand there all night? ain't you got a camp to set up?” his voice reeked of alcohol.
you blinked, suddenly realizing you were still rooted to the spot, caught in the strange tension he’d created. his tone had been flat, but there was something in the way he looked at you, like he was waiting for you to say something.
“right,” you muttered, shaking your head as if to clear it. you turned away from him, reaching for the bedrolls and stakes you had set aside, trying to ignore the way your heartbeat had quickened. “I’ll get to it.”
you could feel his presence still lingering behind you as you bent down to fasten the stakes into the ground, the weight of his stare making the silence awkward and thick. every movement felt too deliberate, like he was watching your every action, even though he hadn’t said a word since his last remark.
suddenly, you felt a hand press against your lower back. startled, you flinched and glanced up at him. without warning, he yanked you to your feet by your pants, pulling you tightly against his chest, your back to him. "don't make me do all the work" he murmured low, his voice thick with intent. you held your breath, feeling the undeniable pressure of his body against yours. his hips subtly thrust forward, the hardness of his bulge pressing into your lower back.
your pulse quickened, a mixture of nerves and something else you couldn’t quite place. you shifted uncomfortably, trying to create some distance between you, but his grip was firm. "sandor," you whispered, unsure of what you wanted him to do. "this isn't right."
without answering, he lowered his mouth to your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear. the warmth of his breath sent a shiver through you, and before you could react, his hand moved down your body. with a sudden, forceful motion, his fingers grasped the fabric of your shirt, pulling it taut before ripping it open. the sound of fabric tearing filled the air, and your breath caught in your throat.
you gasp, instinctively crossing your arms to shield your chest, but he seizes your wrists and firmly pulls them behind your back. sandor smirks, his voice low and rough as he says, “hiding won’t save you now.”
he pulls you back into him, your ass pressing against his bulge. sandor chuckled, a sound that reverberated through you. "is that what you want?" he growled low, his voice thick with desire. you could feel the tension in his body, the way he stiffened behind you as you pushed back into him. his groan followed, deep and unmistakable, as his hips involuntarily thrust forward.
"keep pushing, and you're only going to make it worse," he whispered against your ear, his voice a mix of amusement and promise.
but you couldn’t stop. you pressed back into him again, your body moving against his in a way that left no room for hesitation. his breathing hitched, and before you could react, sandor spun you around with brutal force. you fell to the ground, the air knocked from your lungs, and you gasped in surprise.
you now sat on the floor, hands pushing up your body to regain some balance. your breath was shallow, heart racing, and as you looked up, you saw sandor towering over you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.
he took his time, slowly unbuckling his belt as his gaze never left you. you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and fear, the way his eyes held you in place, his every movement calculated.
he noticed the excitement in your eyes, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. a low chuckle escaped him, the sound rich with amusement. "you’re eager," he murmured, his gaze darkening as he took in your reaction.
you were frozen, not knowing what to say, your words lost in the heaviness of the moment. all you could do was sit there, heart pounding, waiting for him to move, unsure of what would come next.
without warning, he unzipped his pants and slowly takes out his cock. you stared in disbelief, you couldn't help but notice how much larger he was than you'd expected. his gaze remained locked on yours, and with a slow, almost indifferent smirk, he muttered, 'didn't think you'd be this quiet. thought you’d have more to say.'"
his words stung, challenging you, and without thinking, you pushed yourself to your feet. you met his eyes, you didn’t know if you were trying to prove something to him or to yourself, but you took a step closer, your breath steadying as you faced him head-on.
you stared at him, the silence heavy between you. neither of you needed to speak to know what you both wanted, but the words failed to form. uncertainty gripped you, but something inside urged you to move, to take the first step. without thinking further, you leaned in and kissed him.
your lips met his, the kiss harsh and impatient, filled with undeniable desire and lust. you felt his tongue push past your lips, exploring your mouth, his hand tightened his grip on your thigh, finger digging into your skin. "answer me", he said, his voice low, "you think you can take all of me, huh?" his other hand quickly yanked your pants down to your knees, the urgency in his movements making your pulse quicken.
you looked up at sandor, meeting his intense gaze, your voice barely above a whisper. "do your worst." the words were edged with hesitation, but there was something else there too, a quiet challenge. he smirked, clearly appreciating the boldness beneath your uncertainty, before he spun you around and shoved you face-first into the tree.
his grip on your wrists was rough, pulling them behind your back and holding them there with unrelenting force. his breath was hot against the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. as reality set in, so did a rush of nervousness, your breath quickened, your heartbeat pounding in your chest.
he chuckled, feeling the tension in your body. "you're not getting cold feet now are ya?" his voice gravelly, "it's too late to back out now."
you feel the cold breeze on your legs and chest, and you try to arch your back slightly, as if to invite him in. you feel his hard presence against you, waiting impatiently.
when all of a sudden you felt sandor's thick fingers attach themselves to your pussy. his other hand stil holding on tight to your wrists. "let me see" he mutters, his fingers brushing against your folds, stroking up and down.
you desperately tried to clamp your legs shut, the humiliation heavy in your chest, too much to bear. but his hand, strong as usual, forced them apart. the weight of it settled heavy on you, the sense of being exposed, vulnerable, naked in a way you never thought you'd be, especially with sandor, your usual companion in the mud and blood of battle, seeing you like this.
sandor, clearly tired of you already, grabbed you by the neck with a cold, firm hand, his grip locking you in place. you were shoved hard against the tree, your body pinned to the bark. there was no hesitation in him now, he didn’t want to wait any longer.
"quit fightin’," he growled. "you’ll give in, like it or not."
you were so overwhelmed by his actions that your mind went blank, unable to focus or think clearly. he noticed, of course he did. "please, sandor," you murmured, desperately trying to create some friction by swaying your hips, but he held you down firmly, laughing at your attempt.
sandor is so smug about it too, groaning just quietly enough while his hands grab your ass, pulling you further apart so he can finally enter you. "been waiting for this," he murmured, his voice low and filled with satisfaction.
you turn your head towards him, glancing over your shoulder just to see how big he looked as he loomed over you, pulling you closer while gripping the base of his cock as he slips his tip into you. the sharp, overwhelming pain makes your body ache. you cried out in desperation, you close your eyes and try to relax every muscle in your body as he slowly fills you up, little by little.
sandor furrowed his brows as he holds still for just a moment, his rough hands were all over you. "fucking hell, don’t tell me you’re a virgin" he growls through his teeth.
"not that,” you finally managed to whisper, releasing the breath you were holding. “i just- it’s been a while.”
"you're so fucking tight". he grunted, finally feeling your cunt stop clenching, he immediately pulled back and thrust into you forcefully, causing you to cry out, your arm instinctively reaching back to hold his hips back from the overwhelming sensation. he ignores your protests and starts thrusting into you quickly, your body responding to his every move. you whimper with each thrust, moving in rhythm with him, your hand still holding his hip in protest as he drives into you relentlessly.
he grabs the arm that's gripping his hip and pushes it behind your back, gaining a better angle as he thrusts into you. "c'mere," he growled, his grip tightening on your arm. "let me feel you, all of you".
the eye contact, his words, it’s almost enough to make you tap out. sandor’s eyes never leave yours as he pushes into you roughly.
as the rustling of footsteps grows closer, you freeze, heart racing. sandor's grip tightens on you, his eyes scanning the surrounding woods. the sound of your men moving through the trees grows louder, and you can feel the tension in the air.
"stay quiet," sandor murmurs, his voice low and commanding, as he pulls you closer, putting his hand over your mouth. almost covering your whole face with just one hand. neither of you can be fucked to care, the pleasure building low in your stomach as he keeps on pounding into you.
the men approach, oblivious to your presence, and you hold your breath, hoping they don't notice anything out of the ordinary.
you can hear their voices now, but they pass by without a second glance, the danger passing as quickly as it arrived. sandor lets out a low grunt, picking up his speed, fueled by frustration. his hands find your hair, pulling it harshly, causing you to yelp.
you choked on your moans, your aching pussy taking him whole, sandor leans in close as he pushes you back and forth on his cock. loving how you whine everytime he slides inside of your pussy.
he can't hold back anymore, his control snaps, and all that’s left is brute force and raw lust. he grips your hips tightly, his hands holding your ass as you let him take control. his touch grows bolder, sliding up your sides, skimming your stomach, and grazing your chest until they rest just above your throat. he pulls your towards him, looking for you eyes.
you look at him and find him staring at you, his lips parted, his eyes moving from your face to your ass, watching as he splits you open, again and again.
"oh gods" he mumbles under his breath, still staring at where you bodies keep on meeting together with his brute force. his breath quickens, short, guttural growls of pleasure escaping his mouth, you nod, sandor immediately knowing what you mean, his fingers dig into your hips even harder, his breathing becoming faster and more labored, as he picks up the pace. the sound of slapping flesh becoming even louder in the forest.
before you know it, you're cunt is filled up with his seed, you cum and his name keeps on falling of your lips. "that's it girl." he thrusts his seed deeper. it's quick, the way he eases himself out of you, how you feel it flowing down your inner thighs.
you try to stand secure on your wobbly legs and it was you who finally said something. "y- yeah, you've made your point."
sandor just watches you with a grin on his face, cocky bastard.
You know what they say:
"Keep your friends close, but also your enemies even closer."
Silco x fem!Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)
Warnings: sensitive topics, explicit sexual content, graphic violence, unhealthy relationships, power dynamics, love and hate dynamics, dom/sub, specific tags in each chapter, Multi POV (Silco include)
Status: On going
Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.
I do not authorize translations or reposts on other platforms.
AO3
Fic playlist: Click here
Silco was at its limit.
The last few days had been a whirlwind, made worse by Jinx's eccentricities, which Sevika couldn't control. He was exhausted, his nerves on edge, so, as if it were the most obvious solution, one of his subordinates suggested that he relax… in a brothel.
The idea was so offensive that Silco almost killed him right there. But in the end, there he was and unfortunately or fortunately you are the lucky one who will serve him.
Little did they know how such a decision would completely change the course of their live, going far beyond sexual provocations and petty dramas.
When the past and present collide, there is no stopping the impending chaos.
Your non-traditional prostitute and crime lord fanfic
You know what they say:
"Keep your friends close, but also your enemies even closer."
Silco x fem!Reader
Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)
Warnings: sensitive topics, explicit sexual content, graphic violence, unhealthy relationships, power dynamics, love and hate dynamics, dom/sub, specific tags in each chapter, Multi POV (Silco include)
Status: On going
Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.
I do not authorize translations or reposts on other platforms.
AO3
Fic playlist: Click here
Silco was at its limit.
The last few days had been a whirlwind, made worse by Jinx's eccentricities, which Sevika couldn't control. He was exhausted, his nerves on edge, so, as if it were the most obvious solution, one of his subordinates suggested that he relax… in a brothel.
The idea was so offensive that Silco almost killed him right there. But in the end, there he was and unfortunately or fortunately you are the lucky one who will serve him.
Little did they know how such a decision would completely change the course of their live, going far beyond sexual provocations and petty dramas.
When the past and present collide, there is no stopping the impending chaos.
Your non-traditional prostitute and crime lord fanfic
by ughthisisntright
In this University AU, it's the Spring semester of your senior year. You just needed something light and easy so you could coast by for the last few months of school... and it turned out to be a real treat. Your psychology professor is the very definition of sex on legs - Silco. There's no denying the chemistry between the two of you, but you must be careful - your university has a very strict rule about professors and students not entering into personal relationships. The two of you must navigate the rest of the school year with caution... but the heat never dies down.
Words: 3157, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: F/M
Characters: Silco (Arcane: League of Legends), You, Reader
Relationships: Silco (Arcane: League of Legends)/Reader, Silco (Arcane: League of Legends)/You, Silco (Arcane: League of Legends)/Original Female Character(s), Silco (Arcane: League of Legends) & Reader, Silco (Arcane: League of Legends) & You, Silco (Arcane: League of Legends) & Original Female Character(s)
read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ugUNFVz
4 times you sit on silco’s lap & the 1 time he pulled you onto his lap
Warnings. Sexual positions. No specific reader gender/genitalia. Impregnation kink (sorry yall its bad again). Not toxic girl dad!Silco. Pet name
1
You and Silco danced around the empty bar, twirling and singing and chasing and slipping out of each other’s fingers. For the past hour the pair of you had been letting the loud music from the jukebox reverberate through your bones as you moved fluidly around the room.
Silco’s silky black hair was pulled back into a tiny bun at the back of his head. Sweat beaded at his hairline. The little droplets grew fat and ran down his cheek bones and disappeared down the sharp edge of his jaw as he chased your laughing body.
“Crazy,” he mused to himself as the song ended and you finally let him twirl you in by the hand. Silco dipped you, watching your smile widen. He held you there as you examined him through your striking eyelashes. He leaned down slowly, sensually and let his eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips. You were caught in his trap, lips parted as your eyes locked on his lips.
Further, slower, he leaned down until you could feel his gasps of air on your lips. He parted his lips and tilted his head closing the gap between you-
Silco stood up and twirled you again. The sexy smirk on his lips made you forgive him just a little for being the incredible tease he is. “Bastard,” you cursed him with a wicked smile.
“A thirsty bastard,” he corrected smartly. Taking you by the hand, Silco led you to the bar and gestured dramatically to an empty bar stool.
He poured your favorite and slid it to you before making his own drink. Silco rounded the corner and brought the stool next to you closer to yours. He had just put his glass bck on the counter before you slid into to lap, facing him.
“Sly thing,” Silco chided, hands settling on your ass.
“You love it,” you replied. You pulled the hair tie out of Silco’s hair and watched it settle around his features perfectly. “Pretty boy.”
Silco practically purred at your words. He brought a hand up to cup your cheek and placed the other at the back of your neck. “I do love it- love you.”
“I love you too,” Silco repeated, sealing his words with a kiss.
2
“Don’t look at me like that,” Silco muttered, voice raspy with- was it. . . lust? “You know I can’t work with you watching me like that.”
You tilted your head. “Like what?”
“Don’t be coy.”
Silco didn’t look up as you rose from your spot from the couch. You heard his breathing turn shakier as you approached. Chuckling, you pulled the back of his chair until you could grasp Silco by the collar.
He spluttered- an endearingly pathetic noise you’d like to earn from him again- as you tore him from the endless plans, letters, and work sitting on his desk as he prepared for the future of Zaun. Silco didn’t actuallytry to stop you, though, despite his unintelligible grumbling.
You pushed him onto the newly acquired couch. His back hit the cushions and his raven-black hair spread around his head like a halo. Smiled as you committed the imagine of him so off-guard to memory. “You’ve been working so diligently,” you purr, raising on knee to rest between Silco’s hip and the sofa back. “And so hard. . .” You placed your other knee on the sofa and so lightly started grinding on Silco’s boner. “I think you deserve a break.”
Silco was the one watching you through his lashes now. “Is that right?” His heaving chest showed his anticipation despite his usual calm voice.
“Oh yeah,” you reply with a dangerous smile.
3
It was a late night- the crowd at the bar had been rowdy and took a while to herd all the drunkards out, leaving you an exasperated mess. Not to mention the fact that you were dealing with an astounding amount of Enforcers after Jinx had gone and stolen a couple expensive looking watches and necklaces for some reason unknown to you. All in all, you were beat.
After tossing a wad of cash to the other bartender, you bid him goodnight and headed up the stairs.
“I was wondering when you’d be up to see me,” Silco greeted you from his desk. “Come here, my dear.”
He watches your movements with those sharp eyes of his. You perched yourself on the edge of his desk and let Silco rest his head against your chest. You ran your nails through his hair the way you knew he liked. “We should go get ready for bed,” you murmured, feeling his arms wrap lightly around your waist.
Silco heaved a sigh. “I have work to do.”
It was your turn to sigh as you pushed off the desk. Silco looked up, brow arching, at you. His confusion waned as you straddled him, wrapping your arms around his neck. You felt the man under you shudder as he exhaled, stress slowly easing out of his body as you pressed soft kisses to the oh so fragile skin behind his ear. “You can do your work tomorrow after you get some sleep.”
Clearly your tender embrace had weakened Silco’s resolve because all he did in response to your statment was pull you impossibly closer to him. “I suppose you’re right,” Silco finally muttered into your shoulder.
4
Jinx and Silco were currently in disagreement over who would do Jinx’s hair, when they would be doing it, and the hairstyle Jinx wanted. For an eight year old, the little blue haired girl knew what she wanted. And it was that Sevika stayed as far as humanly possible away from the eight year old.
So that was why Silco had convinced you to go to barber near Benzo’s old shop. Something about ‘not being anle to contain such rage and emotion in such tiny body’ alone.
Truth be told, you weren’t well educated in children handling. Working with Silco and the traitor for most of your life gave you practically no time to interact with people under sixteen. Jinx had taken a liking to you- probably because you were one of the people she saw the most because of your relationship to her adoptive father. (On the certificate, you were also listed as a guardian.) So being able to style the girl’s hair as she liked would be a good skill to add to your already wide-ranging knowledge.
The two of you paid as much attention to the barber as possible. Jinx had selected a simple three strand braid that you got the hang of off the bat. Silco? Not so much, but the effort was there!
When you paid and left, Jinx was so happy with her hair and so convincing that she was given permission to play with the barber’s twin son and daughter. Silco had pressed a handful of coin into Jinx’s hand and told her to be home in two hours.
“You’re going soft,” you mused, jutting your hip into Silco as the two of you left. “It’s endearing.”
Silco recoiled. “I am not. Inconceivable.”
When you scoffed, Silco turned to you with his eyes narrowed. “Something to say, trouble?”
“Nah,” you drawled. “It’s… It’s nice to see this side of you again.”
Your lover wrapped an arm around your waist and led the two of you back home. “I haven’t felt more content in a long time,” he finally admits. Emotion made his voice gravely.
“Yeah.” You continued to walk, falling into silence.
“I like watching you with her.”
Silco’s glinting eyes are already locked on your gaze when you look up. “Yeah?” You ask, suggesting smile beginning to pull up at the corner of your lips.
“Yeah. It makes me wish I could. . . fuck one into you,” he mutters.
Your eyebrows are higher than your hairline when he speaks. “Sil, you- you know I can’t-“
The dark lust in Silco’s eyes lighten. “That doesn’t mean I can’t fuck you like you could carry my children,” he tells you, an edge of an emotion you can’t quite put a finger on.
Silco pushes open the door to The Last Drop and flicks on one of the light switches. He turns to see you sitting on the table of a booth, watching him with an expression so vacant Silco wonders if this conversation is what finally sends you running. “Talk to me.”
Continuing to say nothing, you pat the table next to you. Silco pulls himself up beside you and examines your face carefully. He is apprehensive as you slide into his lap wordlessly and wrap your legs around his waist. You trace the calloused pad of your thumb from the very bottom of Silco’s scar surrounding his eyes. It’s when you near the tip-top of the marred flesh does Silco grasp your wrist.
“Speak to me, my dear,” Silco repeats. “What are you thinking? What do you want me to do?”
Silco lets your wrist go without much resistance. You tangle your fingers through his short hair. “I want,” you begin slowly, hearing his breathing cease entirely. “You to fuck me like you could knock me up.”
It takes Silco several seconds to compute your statement before leaning in to fucking devour your lips.
5
The bar was booming tonight.
Round after round, table after table, drink after drink. In informal terms: you were fucking slammed and the crowd wasn’t thinning out.
It’d been this busy for at least the past three hours and the pain in your feet and legs had been so God awful that you couldn’t wven feel them anymore. And the poor bartenders could barely open their mouths without someone spitting out orders or tossing coins or just pestering them.
You sighed. Nights like these made you really question your love of the damn building.
An hour later, you could see a glimpse of the light at the end of the tunnel. With an end to the night in your near future, you found yourself walking a little faster: a little more eager to get the people more drunk and gone.
It was another whole hour before you were almost finished with the cleaning. All you had left to do was wipe down the counter and tables, put the chairs up on the table, and mop.
Silco finally slunk down the stairs to see you and the last, most desperate bartender mopping up. He slid into a booth and rested his head on his palm as he watched you.
When the two of you were officially done cleaning, Silco fished out a bag of coins from one of his pockets. “Here, kid,” he said before tossing the pouch at the awed bartender.
“I- Thank you sir,” the girl said gratefully, eyes flickering between you and Silco. You smiled at her tiredly.
“Good night, Mimi,” you told her.
Silco watched Mimi smile brightly at you- the significantly kinder of the couple- and nod excitedly. “Good night, y/n! Thank you again sir, and good night!”
You came to a stop in front of Silco and tugged your apron off. “How are you?”
Silco heaved a sigh. He reached out to you and turned you away from him. Then Silco pulled you down onto his lap. He comically scooched back until his back was against the wall and his and your legs tangled on the rest of the booth. “Better.”
As Silco wrapped his hands around your waist, you felt your back decompress as you leaned against the love of your life. Your eyes fluttered shut, heavy with sleep. “I love sitting on your lap,” you confess.
Silco hums, amused.
“Best seat in the whole damn house,” you say, yawning.
Before Silco realizes it, you’re asleep. He doesn’t want to get up because theres a chance you’ll wake up, but Silco also wants to get his love to bed.
He just rests his head on your shoulder and lets himself have this moment.
Synopsis: You and a certain hand from your father's ranch get cozy under the hood of her Toyota.
Content Warning! Implied age gap, but reader is an adult. Suggestive tension but nothing that crazy. Country Sevika makes me feel insane, I love her so much.
Word Count: 1.8k
It’s knowin’ that your door is always open…
And your path is clear to walk…
A pleasant afternoon spent in town had quickly turned into you and Sevika ducking from a storm that came out of nowhere and crashed down heavy on the roof of her beat up Toyota.
Neither one of you noticed you neglected to pick up the hydraulic fluid you’d been tasked with getting.
After making it back to the ranch, the two of you had decided to wait out the rain until it settled. Sevika’s truck was just enough of a piece of shit to run the risk of getting caught in the mud if she tried running the steep hill that made up your driveway. And she refused to let you try and make it on foot.
You’d always take an excuse to hang around the rugged ranch hand just a little longer. Not that you’d ever tell her so.
Not like she’d ever call you out on it despite knowing anyway.
Even when the rain had slowed down and neither one of you made any move to leave the comfortable atmosphere you’d formed against the worn leather bench.
Sevika was reclined on the driver’s side, the rim of her hat tipped low on her head. Just enough to cover her eyes but still having room to take a long drag of the cigarette she was holding in her prosthetic hand. The window was down just enough to let the smoke outside without letting in much of the rain.
“What song is this?” You asked, leaning forward to fiddle with the volume knobs on her radio. “Some old shit from the 90s again?”
You could hear her snort under her breath, smoke billowing from her nostrils as she stretched one thick arm behind her head.
You watched the movement, admiring how her bicep flexed with the new angle. She was always doing that. Subtly flexing and showing off when you were around in a way that you were convinced was intentional.
“Smartass.”
Sevika knew you loved taking digs at her age, and she liked you enough to let you get away with it. A little lip from a fellow ranch hand was enough to get them the scolding of their life or their ass in the dust. But all you had to do was give her a smile and she was letting you pick and prod at her for fun.
“I’ll have you know this is a Glen Campbell song from 1967, thank you very much.” She said, batting your hand away and situating the volume where she wanted it.
“Yeah?” You asked with a small chuckle, leaning your cheek into your hand. “Bet that was a good year for you.”
Sevika didn’t even answer, just reaching out with her free hand to try and twist your arm as payback. You couldn’t help yourself, easily swatting her away while you laughed. It was just too easy with her.
You saw her take a slow drag off the cigarette in her hand, noting the slight curl in her lip as she exhaled the smoke through her nose, flicking the ash out the window.
“Let me try.” You said suddenly, reaching out to take the cigarette. But she was quick to hold it away from you before you could even touch it.
“Absolutely not.” Her voice was firm. “Your daddy would have my ass if he knew I let you smoke.”
“He’s not here, is he?” You countered, catching her eyes and the way her lips always tipped up just a bit when you said something she begrudgingly found amusing. “You know I won’t tell.”
“That don’t mean shit. You shouldn’t be touchin’ the stuff.”
“You are.”
“Not the point.” She said, making a pointed gesture with her cigarette, the smoke billowing up over her face. You reached out to try and take it from her hand, but her reflexes were faster. You tried again, sliding across the bench, invading her space.
“Will you knock it off? Can’t a woman smoke her damn cigarette in peace?“ Sevika tried batting you away, but being slumped in the driver’s seat didn’t give her much room to fend you off. “Darlin’, I mean it-“
Her words got cut off when you moved out from your seat, crawling your way on top of her until you were all but straddling her lap.
You two had exchanged fleeting touches before. Her hand sliding low on your back when she walked behind you or when you’d fix her neck scarf after she’d had a particularly tricky run-in with a new horse.
But you’d never just hopped up on her like this. Your soft and warm weight pressing right up against her in all the right places. Her hands went still as you slipped the cigarette from her metal fingers, looking at it like some foreign object.
Sevika kept her hands where they were for a brief moment before she settled them on your hips.
”How do I do it?”
“It’s a cigarette, darlin’. It ain’t exactly rocket science.”
You couldn’t help but laugh again, looking all too comfortable up on her lap like this. “Shut up.” You mused, placing the butt of it around your lips before taking an inhale.
Sevika watched, transfixed as the burnt end of it cast a warm glow over your pretty face. Her hands tightened just a fraction where he held them, too focused on watching how your lips wrapped around where her own had just been.
When you exhaled, you forgot it was common courtesy to turn your head before blowing smoke out and over her face. But she was too busy staring at you to even finch when it caressed her skin.
You coughed just a bit as the smoke recoiled from your throat, her hand gently patting at your back to help you settle.
“Atta girl.” She mused, a small laugh in her tone. “Not bad for a first timer.”
You rolled your eyes, letting out a small hum around the stick still in your mouth. When you looked down at her, you saw just how intently she was looking at you. Her organic hand slowly slid up your back, tracing the space between where your shirt had ridden up and the waist of your jeans started.
“Still with me, lady?” You asked, using the nickname you knew she hated just to see if you could get her attention.
”Hm?” Sevika hummed, clearly focused on more important things.
The music was still playing around you, the sound slightly crackling from her busted speakers she always said she never had the time to fix.
Though the wheat fields and the clotheslines…
And the junkyards and the highways come between us…
You took the cigarette from your lips, tapping off the smoke before taking another slow inhale off of it.
“Nothing.”
Her hand slid higher still when you didn’t call her out for it, slipping beneath the hem of cotton so she could slide her hand up your spine.
You could feel the worn-in callouses of her hand, the way they radiated such a warmth it made you shiver. You had seen her hands in action, wrung tight around rope or spread out flat against the flank of a horse. But you had never felt them on your skin like this. Like she wanted to memorize the feeling.
It was even better than you’d thought it would be.
And you thought about it a lot.
“This okay?” She asked, her voice soft and gentle in a way you almost didn’t recognize. Her fingertips were tracing soft circles into your flesh, just to feel the way it gave beneath her pressure. You were so close she could smell your perfume through the haze of tobacco, and she felt her heart race.
”I ain’t run away screamin’, have I?”
She smiled up at you in that crooked way that made you wonder what her tongue tasted like. How she’d breathe if you got even closer.
“No, I guess not.”
You leaned down close enough that your noses almost brushed against one another, just shy of feeling where her breath brushed against your skin.
“That a good thing?” You shifted further on her lap, making yourself nice and comfortable.
”Reckon so…” Her words trailed off as her fingers brushed against the edge of your bra. She backed off on instinct, but when you kept looking at her like you wanted to devour her, she had no choice but to carry on as she was.
You remained still, even when you felt her tracing the fastenings. She’d dig her thumb against the tiny metal clasps like she was going to take them off before running them along the lace edge instead.
Your own hand got curious, not wanting to be left out. With a slow drag, you let it fall low enough to trace the raised metal on her belt buckle with your thumb.
“You oughta slow down, darlin’.” She warned, but the way her breath caught told you she was trying to convince herself just as much as she was you.
”You started it.” You said around a coy smile, keeping your hand where it was as you gave an experimental roll of your hips down against her own.
The sudden movement made her jolt, accidentally sending your ass right back on the horn of the steering wheel. The sound made the dogs up on the porch start going off, and you could hear the distant shouting of your mama trying to get them to settle down.
You were both laughing as reality settled back in. The haze of desire slipped away even as she gave you one last squeeze of your hips.
”I should go.” You said, even as every iota of your being said to hell with it when you had her acting like that over a little touching. When you handed her back the cigarette, you could feel her fingers linger against your own.
”Yup.” She answered a little too quickly, and it only made you look more smug as she helped ease you off of her.
She gave your ass a small smack just as you crawled back over to the other side of the bench, opening the passenger door of the truck and hopping down.
Sevika watched you begin to trek up the hill, sliding her hand down her face and letting out a sigh so deep it nearly felt like a growl of frustration.
She glanced down at her cigarette, noting the soft pink sheen of your lipgloss where your mouth had been.
She smiled down at it, turning it in her hand to watch the sheen catch the light before placing it between her lips. She closed her eyes as she inhaled slow and deep just to feel the ghost of your touch.
She settled back against her seat once more, keeping her lips where they were even through her exhale as the radio music poured around her.
That you’re waitin’ from the back roads by the rivers of my memories…
cw: 18+, light dubcon, med play, doctor x patient, restraints, bondage, orgasm control, strap-fuck, condescension, degradation.
۶ৎ doctor!sevika who makes you strip and sit shivering on the cold exam table in nothing but the flimsy gown, smirking as your thighs rub together. she pushes your knees apart with her gloved hands, voice low. “spread ‘em. let me see what i’m workin’ with. you came here to be a patient, not a fuckin’ prude.:
۶ৎ doctor!sevika who warms the lube on her gloves, then pushes two fingers inside you under the guise of an exam. she curls them slow, making you twitch. “tight. responsive. slutty little cunt squeezin’ me already. what’s wrong, sweetheart? don’t tell me this is the first time you’ve been fingerfucked on a check-up table.”
۶ৎ doctor!sevika who clicks her pen, scribbling fake “notes” while she edges you with her thumb on your clit. “patient is loud, needy, and uncooperative. treatment plan: make her beg until she cries. prognosis: helpless little whore.”
۶ৎ doctor!sevika who straps your wrists and ankles to the exam bed with leather restraints, leaving you helpless under the fluorescent lights. she lines her strap up, teasing your dripping cunt with the head before slamming it in, hard and deep, making the whole bed squeak. “yeah, that’s what you came in for, huh? to get fucked dumb in my office till this pussy’s ruined.”
۶ৎ doctor!sevika who slides her stethoscope over your chest while her cock pounds your cunt. the cold metal makes you shiver, nipples hard and aching under the blue gown. she grins, pressing harder. “heart rate’s spiking. no shit. little slut can't take gettin’ fucked by her doctor."
۶ৎ doctor!sevika who tilts the speculum in deep just to make you squirm, watching your face contort while she toys with you. “relax. gotta check you’re healthy enough to be fucked stupid every time you crawl in here beggin’ for my cock.”
۶ৎ doctor!sevika who finishes her “exam” by filling you to the brim with her strap, hips grinding mercilessly and rough until you’re sobbing. she doesn’t stop until your cunt is clenching and dripping down the bed. “mm, patient discharged. overstimulated, thoroughly fucked. come back for a follow-up when you can walk properly again.”
Word Count: 1k
Content/Warnings: nsfw, porn w no/little plot, brothel worker!reader x service top!sev, bottom!reader, fem reader (no anatomy mentioned), masochist!reader, traffic light system
A/N: based on this post! credits to @no1jinxer for the idea! it's in the name; sev is high on shimmer fucks the shit out of you. enjoy <3
𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
୨ৎ Sevika on Shimmer, who usually refuses to set foot into the brothel under the influence of its effects
୨ৎ But tonight, she’s got a job to do
୨ৎ She’s been tracking a rival chem-baron for a few weeks now, and it hadn’t taken her long to figure out that he frequented the brothel
୨ৎ So, she struck up a deal with Babette; “I’ll pay you and your girls double for the next three months if you’ll give me a ring the next time he shows up.”
୨ৎ “You’d pay me twice to see Y/n, anyway,” Babette scoffs; but ultimately, they shake on it, and the rest is a waiting game
୨ৎ When Babette does give her the call, she’s there in less than 10 minutes, and he’s dead in less than five
୨ৎ She doesn’t typically let work get personal, but when she’d heard from a few of Babette’s girls that this chem-baron tended to get a bit too rough with them, it was hard not to let anger fuel the job more than she typically would
୨ৎ And as soon as he’s been taken care of, she makes her rounds, peeking her head into every open door to ensure that everyone’s okay
୨ৎ When she makes it to you, she releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding upon finding you arranging pillows on the velvet couch, unassuming as ever
୨ৎ “Hey, doll,” she sighs. “You okay in here?”
୨ৎ You’re calling her name in excitement before you can help it, head whipping around to look at her; and when you do, you find her in a state you’ve never seen; only heard of
୨ৎ Her copper arm hums with energy, working hard to circulate the unmistakable glow of shimmer through its workings and into her bloodstream
୨ৎ Her scar glows with the same hue, glittering like hot coals of magenta
୨ৎ And her eyes; lilac pulses in their irises, her gaze even more alluring now than it usually is
୨ৎ You don’t realize your own eyes have gone wide until she breaks the silence with a voice raspy from exertion
୨ৎ “I know,” she begins, almost apologetically, “I don’t normally let folks see me like this unless they’re about to get their shit rocked-”
୨ৎ “It’s okay,” you quickly interrupt, shaking your head. “I mean, I’m not scared, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
୨ৎ She nods tentatively
୨ৎ “Okay… and you’re alright?”
୨ৎ “I’m just fine, Vika. Come, sit,”
୨ৎ And when you take a step forward, she takes one back
୨ৎ “Listen… I can’t ask you for anything tonight. Not when I’m still riled up.”
୨ৎ You don’t take another step forward, but your eyes stay locked onto hers, your voice steady
୨ৎ “Do you want something?”
୨ৎ She scoffs, dark lips stretching up into a wicked grin
୨ৎ “Baby, it’s you. Of course I do, but I don’t wanna hurt ya.”
୨ৎ She doesn’t miss the way your lips quirk up into a smirk of their own
୨ৎ “Three months of comin’ to see me… and you haven't figured out that I like a little pain?”
୨ৎ Her face falls- morphs into something serious, something dangerous- and she raises her brows in a silent inquiry:
୨ৎ ‘You sure you know what you’re asking for?’
୨ৎ The cock of your own brow in return says:
୨ৎ ‘You have no idea.’
──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──
୨ৎ Sevika on Shimmer, who never would have thought such a sweet thing like you would turn out to be such a masochist
୨ৎ And when you’re begging like that for her to mark you up, throw you around, leave you sore… what kind of service top would she be to deny you?
୨ৎ Eventually, she starts showing up with an extra cartridge of shimmer, loving the way you go dumb for her when she triggers it and fucks you into tomorrow
୨ৎ It takes her a while to get comfortable with being as rough as you want her to be, not because she doesn’t want to, but because the last thing she wants is to hurt you in a way that suddenly isn’t fun anymore
୨ৎ But, just as always, you’re more than patient, and make her feel more than safe to explore this new facet of her time spent with you
୨ৎ She’ll bite down, and you say harder, she’ll pull your hair, and you say rougher, she fucks you deep, and you say deeper; until she knows just how limp you really want to be by the end of the night
୨ৎ And she has to admit; it’s nice
୨ৎ Really nice
୨ৎ She’s usually already pent up from the bullshit of her day’s work when she comes to see you, but when she’s pent up and wired off the purple substance flooding her system?
୨ৎ She can’t deny that blowing off all that steam in the form of ravaging you is quite the gift you've given her
୨ৎ Of course, Sevika still will not sleep with you if she’s too high to rein herself in the moment you need her to, and as much as she checks in with you when she’s not using it, expect twice the requests for your color and triple the orders to remind her of your safeword when she is
୨ৎ But, damn… quite frankly, you give her a run for her money, and that isn’t easy to do
୨ৎ By the time she’s done with you, you’re littered in bite marks and bruises, legs trembling and face tear-stained
୨ৎ She finds that aftercare with you makes the come down off of shimmer so much easier to handle, too; that pressing kisses to every mark she’s made and whispering praises in your ear as she wipes away at your shuddering form helps ground her just as much
୨ৎ And then, she sleeps like a Gods-damned baby
୨ৎ She never falls asleep at the brothel; or so she thought, but here she is, being woken up by an angel in pink lingerie letting her know that it’s closing time
୨ৎ Of course, she flips out when you tell her she’s been asleep for hours, but you refuse to wake her up and kick her out, caring more that she catches up on the sleep you know she’s not getting than the money you could've made in those hours
୨ৎ But, it’s not like the money matters; she pays double for you, now
CW: obsessive silco, yandere/kidnapping (please see part 1 for the full series warnings!)
Chapter warnings: graphic descriptions of canon-typical violence, hangovers, emotional manipulation, angst, self-doubt, fluff, references to past abuse, references to murder
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6
-
The first sensation that overwhelms your dulled senses, as your body pushes itself to groggily awaken, is the pulsing headache at the front of your skull.
You let out a quiet groan, lifting your head slightly to place a hand where most of the pain is residing, only to slowly realise that whatever you’re laying on is gently moving underneath you.
You frown.
It’s not until you make a feeble attempt to stretch that you’re alerted to the position you’re currently in. You’re not actually lying down at all. You’re upright and sitting on something.
With an almost Herculean effort on your part, you finally peel your heavy eyelids open, wincing as the light hits your eyes, only to squeeze them shut again the moment you recognise where you are.
you say “weeds” I say “widespread non-native edible plant and early-blooming pollinator resource that is not considered invasive because it behaves politely and does not cause deleterious ecological consequences”
CW: teacher student relationship (reader is of age!) breeding, minor name calling, SMUT
⋆┊ ┊ . ┊ . ┊✩ ⋆┊ ┊ . ┊ . ┊✩ ⋆┊ ┊ . ┊ .
While your many years at hogwarts went by very quickly, it feels like only yesterday you first stepped foot onto the grounds. Even though you had to stay an extra year due to poor marks, you loved hogwarts the same nevertheless. With all the laughter and excitement you shared with your classmates and friends these years, your mind was always occupied with the thoughts of your potions teacher;
Severus Snape
You weren’t sure what about him caught your eye, all you knew was that you wanted him, badly. None of your friends knew about your secret desire or you could even say , the hots for your teacher, how could you ever confess to that? But as your final year at the school comes near, there’s a dreadful realization that once you’re graduate, that’s it for your little dream when it came to him. As you daydream about graduation day and the fact you’ll leave everything in this school behind very soon, sooner than you realize. You’re suddenly brought out of your trance as Professor Snape smacks the back of your chair with his book.
⋆┊ ┊ . ┊ . ┊✩ ⋆┊ ┊ . ┊ . ┊✩ ⋆┊ ┊ . ┊ .
"Daydreaming again, Miss (L/N)?" he asks, his voice heavy with irritation.
My eyes snap open, the force of the smack bringing me back to reality. I look up to see Professor Snape looming over my desk, his lips curled into a sneer. I shake awake at his words; now fully processing it. “Oh shit..” I mutter . The class now quiet now as no one dared to say a word; the only sounds that could be heard were the bubbling cauldrons
“I-im sorry sir, im just a bit tired today” I say stuttering from embarrassment
“Well obviously you’ve been tired for the past three weeks , obvious by looking at your marks” Snape says harshly giving my seat another quick smack. I nearly jump in my seat , not daring to meet his gaze, I slightly tremble not knowing what to say next; what he would say next . “See me after class miss (L/N), at this rate I’ll be surprised to see you graduate this school” he says nearly snarling “I would hate to have you again as a student.” The class is still dead silent, as if everyone’s waiting for something to happen. “Yes sir” I say muttering trying my best not to make it so obvious I was beyond embarrassed at the confrontation about my marks. Snape eyes me up and down before returning back to the front of the class, his dark robes trailing near his feet as he walked briskly. For the rest of the class period, i try my best to focus on the lecture, but i can't shake the feeling of the embarrassment I faced earlier. Every time you glance at Snape, i can feel his gaze on me, like a hawk watching its prey. I thought to myself, “I knew I wanted his attention but this is NOT what I meant..” I tap my foot against the cobblestone floor nervously, keeping my eyes down either at my shoes or my empty notes.
As the class comes to an end, the students pack up their things and start to leave. My friends give me a look of nervousness, I knew I had to stay back but the fact it was going to be just me and him alone in the classroom was so terrifying but somehow it wasn’t in a scary way. Snape's voice rings out, stopping me in your tracks as i attempted to leave the classroom before he could see.
"Not you, Miss (L/N). Don’t forget you’ll be staying behind today."
I let out an annoyed groan before I turn around and face him, the realization that the only two people in this now empty classroom were you and him.
Your potion teacher, the one teacher you had the hots for
I feel my face slightly flush at the thought. The room was quietly; the only sound my nervous breaths in the still air. Snape stands at his desk, idly straightening some papers, his dark eyes never leaving you. I feel his eyes almost burning into me, even though i didn’t look up once after we were alone, i could just feel it. I take a seat in one of the chairs in the front row.
"You've been struggling in my class for quite some time," he says, his voice low and stern. "Why do you think that is?"
“I’m just a bit scared that I’ll graduate soon sir.” I let out a nervous laugh, I tap my foot on the floor once again but this time even faster. Snape's eyes narrow slightly and he stops straightening the papers, his full attention now on me.
"Is that so?" he says, his voice neutral. "You think that's a valid excuse for your poor performance in my class?" Snape stands up and walks around the desk, his footsteps echoing in the silent classroom. He stands directly over me, his body just a few inches away from mine. I'm not one to tolerate excuses, Miss (L/N). I expect excellence from all my students, and you haven't been living up to those expectations.” He snarls
I shake at his words, he’s never scolded me in such a way like this other than today, sure he’s called me out in class for sleeping or missing notes, but never this way, never this close. I couldn’t shake the feeling of fear and somehow, desire as well. For a few seconds longer I let my thoughts dwell until I bring myself to answer, “I apologize sir it’s just-“
He cuts me off slamming both his hands on the desk, the sound nearly echoing in the room. “I don’t want to hear any of your excuses” he groans, his facial expression changing to one that’s obviously more irritated. “I’ve heard it all before, you think I’ve never had a student who couldn’t care less about my class Miss (L/N)? You wouldn’t be the first he hisses” He says his eyes fixing on me.
“But sir that’s not it I swear to Merlin, I’ve just been distrac-“ I say frantically trying to prove to Snape wrong. Snape's hand reaches out quick and grips my chin, gripping it tightly and forcing me to look into his eyes. His eyes burn into mine as his face was mere inches away.
"You've been distracted?” he asks sarcastically , his voice a low growl. "It's a wonder how you manage to pass your other classes;if you even are at this point, with so much going on in that pretty little head of yours. Tell me, exactly what is causing this... distraction?” I tremble at let out a whimper as I feel his grip tightening on his face, He forces my chin up even higher to try to get an answer out of me. I see Snape’s lips curl into a slight smirk, my breathing became more unsteady by the second , as I feel my desire and arousal growing.
“Nothing sir” I say looking scared
Snape backs me up to his desk. “You must think I’m stupid little girl, do you really think I was born yesterday?
I see the way you look at me in class, this entire year, don’t try to deny it now miss (L/N), look at the way you’re quivering under my touch.” He says his voice trailing off and grip still steady on my neck. My breathing hitches at his words “fuck he’s right” I thought to myself. I feel my brows furrowing and my face becoming hotter by the second. I stir slightly at his grip needing more, more of his touch, I accidentally let out a soft moan. Snape nearly flinches at the sudden sound.
Your moan sent a shiver down Snape’s spine. He can feel your body responding to his presence, the combination of fear and desire making both of your heads spin. He eventually releases my chin and moves even closer to me, his body now pressed against mine. His hand shaking around my waist with a grip that was almost painful and apparent with desire.
"I know what you want little girl," he whispers in my ear, his voice low and seductive. "And I have just the way to get you to admit it." My arms wrap around his neck to bring him closer. Merlin you just had to feel more of him..
He nips at my earlobe, his teeth biting at my skin. The feeling goes straight to your core, and I can't help the small gasp that escapes my lips. I feel my legs shaking around his waist. I breathe heavy in his ear, my face turning even more red at the realization that he hasn’t even touched me yet and I’m acting this way.
Snape lets out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying the effect he's having on you. "Hush" he says, his hand moving to grip your hip. "No sounds until I tell you, if you want to misbehave in my class then you’ll have to work for your pleasure. Bad girls don’t get rewarded."
“Yes sir” I say shaking
He shifts himself so I can wrap around him better, I can feel his hard length lining up with my core. I grip his robes tightly as I feel it throb under his pants, the desires I’ve had are slowly becoming a reality, I have a hard time accepting that and my brain feels as it’s nearly melting at this point. I hear him groan as the readjusted position seems to have an effect on him too. I lightly squeeze my legs together and push myself further down onto his hardness just to be a bit of a tease to him.
I feel his grip on my hips tighten , his nails digging into the flesh of my thigh. His hand comes back up to grip my chin once more, “you minx” he hisses before crashing his lips onto mine. The kiss was possessive and rough, I moan as I feel him hold me tighter against him. His tongue slips into my mouth, it feels demanding, dominating even, I give into the feeling and let myself be devoured in that moment. It nearly feels like forever until I pull away from the kiss slightly to meet his gaze, breathing heavily with a moan in between each breath.
With my swollen parted lips and my eyes slightly heavy with lust “Professor” I say huffing with desire “Ravage me.” His eyes widen at your words, a hungry grin spreading across his face. "You don't know what you're asking for, Miss (L/N). Are you sure you can handle it?"
“Please!” I say nearly whining, my heads thrown back and my legs are shaking now more than ever. I feel the desire pooling in my core making it impossible to speak properly, all my words come out in almost a babble, but deep in my head I know I’ve entered dangerous territory, but you can't help yourself. You want this, you want him.
Snape smirks, his grip on you tightening. "Very well," he says, his voice a dangerous growl. "I'll give you exactly what you're asking for."
I can barely prepared what happens next until I feel him spin me around and pins me against his desk. His body pressed against mine even harder than before, his hands roaming over my body, his lips finding my neck once again.
"You asked for this," his voice a low growl. "And I'll give it to you, all of it.”
I moan loudly at the sudden feeling , my backside now exposed to him, I feel my legs slightly kick and twitch in anticipation.
Snape runs two fingers up and down my soaked panties then pulls them to the side, my body shakes slightly at the pleasure, I subconsciously let my moans out. I feel a tight grip on my hair then my head being pulled back, I hear him whisper; voice dripping like sweet dark desire. “I thought I made myself clear when I said to hush?”
“m so sorry sir! ” I say with slight tears welling up in my eyes. He brings his face closer to my bare neck and I feel his lips biting on my exposed skin. I cover my mouth with one of my hands to muffle any potential moans that could come next. I shut my eyes and let my body accept the feeling.
“Such a greedy thing” he whispers in my ear as his grip on me tightens. I can only whimper in response“So bold of you to tell me to ravage you. You don't even know what you're asking for." His whisper turning a primal growl. I moan into my hand once more nodding feverishly, my body responding to his every touch and every word. His hand moves back down to my ruined panties, his grip tight and possessive on me. "But I'm going to give it to you, darling," he hisses. "And you're going to take whatever I give you, aren't you?"
“Yes professor!” I cry out, my hips moving against his hands greedily. I feel my heart racing, my head is spinning, and I can barely think straight. I hear him laugh, his hand continue down its path down your body. He tugs at the hem of your skirt, his breath hot on your ear.
"I thought so,” he whispers. “You’re trembling so much dear, you want this more than you'd like to admit, don't you?"
“Yes sir” I say burying my face into my arms shyly. My body still violently shaking with pleasure and embarrassment. I hear the sound of his belt unbuckling followed by the sound of fabric hitting the floor, he slips off my ruined panties as well. I nearly wince at the feeling of Snape rubbing the swollen head of his cock up and down my leaking slit. I moan loudly at the feeling and feel a sharp slap come down onto my behind. I arch my back at the sudden pain and shriek.
“You just never listen do you Miss(L/N)?”
“Please professor I can’t take it anymore” I say tears running down my face now. “Im begging you please” I could no longer create coherent thoughts and all the words that came out of my mouth became nothing but babbling.
Snape chuckles “Then let it all out then dear.”
I feel him push past my fold, sheathing his entire length into my tight insides. I let out almost a scream at the feeling of pleasure. “Professor!” I say crying out , I throw my head down even lower, not being able to keep it up any longer. He leans over my back and moans, “fuck, you’re so tight. It’s like your body was made for me to claim” He groans. He was now balls deep in me, I shake at the feeling of being stretched out so much and by the man I wanted so badly. He kissed and bites my shoulders and back wildly as he pounded me hard and primal into his desk. I felt my back arch as he gripped my hips tight and thrusted even harder. “You’re so perfect..” I heard him mutter under his breath as he moaned. “more please sir I can take it” I say babbling , gripping onto the edge of the desk for dear life. Snape happily obliges, I feel my insides nearly split open as he continues his rough pounding. Hearing his guttural moans sends me over the edge.
His grip comes up to my throat , the gasp that came out my mouth sounded strangled yet full of pleasure. I feel another sharp slap come down my ass. “Fuck!” I scream out
My potions teacher was ravaging my pussy, using my body.
My eyes begin to roll back into my skull as I let him do as he pleased with my body. I felt my desires begging to turn primal, “Professor breed m’ please” I said barely holding onto my composure. A dribble of drool began to seep its way out of the corner of my mouth as I huffed. Snape come undone by my pleas and need to be bred.
I hear his breathing hitch into gasps, I feel him trembling as he continued to pound behind me as I heard him speak “ you’re sure love? You want to take that chance? You’re willing to let me breed you? Without any protection?”
Though I couldn’t see behind me I still felt a smile creep onto Snapes face. “Yes please breed me professor let m’ have your children! I cried out” , whining at the need to be filled to the brim with his cum, to carry and become round with his children. All the thoughts and pleasure overstimulated me to the point where the only thing I could do was moan,whimper, and drool.
Snape fucks me even harder , the desk below me starts to creak and thump against the floor. I moan loudly at his brutal rough thrusts. “Gonna fill you up so full with my cum darling” “gonna be so fucking pretty with your belly full with my children, you’d want that wouldn’t you slut?” He asks , “yes please don’t stop” I babble not being able to lift my head up to speak properly. “
he groans at my fucked state, “gonna cum “ he mutters. I feel his grip on my hips becoming tighter, his nails digging into my behind, his thrusts became more and more sloppy by the second, “m’ too sir “ I say muttering; my brain nearly fried at that point. The volume of our moans combined eventually spilt us both over the edge. I feel Snape feel my warm cunt up full with his hot potent seed. Afterwards I felt him lean over my back for quite a while , obviously tired from that entire ordeal, maybe even a hint of hesitation when it came to pulling out played a part in that.
Eventually he did, drops of his seed dripped onto the floor under us, the withdrawal made me whimper at the loss of what made me feel full. Snape and I take another moment to collect our composure. He sets me upright on his desk and placed a soft kiss on my lips.
“Gorgeous girl..” he mutters , I smile at his words , “I’ve always wanted to do that” I say shyly
“I know” Snape says buckling his pants again.
I give him a pout at the fact he didn’t play along, “can I stay with you for tonight sir?” He rolled his eyes and nodded. I slip my underwear back on and readjust my skirt and top, I grab onto his arm, “don’t pretend like you don’t like me sir, I know you’ll miss me once I graduate” I say still giving him a pout.
He gives me an irritated look but I could sense a slight bit of affection through it
“I’ll still be seeing you after you’re graduated.”
I give him a sweet smile now holding onto his hand as he led me through the corridors to his quarters..
