antimonasia

[antimonasia]

Little Death by OwenGrey

Link to the AO3

Chapter 1

It was quiet at Heelshire manor, days passed since Greta moved here. At times, she could hear the house groan in pain due to the decades it stood ground, her ears picking up creaks that she would explain as the house trying to keep itself from collapsing. This was not a comforting house, and sometimes she would feel paranoid, staring at the end of a corridor as if she saw something move just outside her line of vision. She would shake her head and reject those thoughts from plaguing her mind, instead she would make herself a cup of tea and sit by the kitchen counter. The very odd thing about this house however, wasn’t the noises it made or how it brought chills down her spine if she were to stare too long into the walls thinking that someone was living inside them, no it was the rules she had to follow for this... doll, the owners deemed as their son. 

She did what they had instructed, well some of what they wrote.  

No Guests

Never Leave Brahms Alone

Save Meals in Freezer

Never Cover Brahms Face

Read a Bedtime Story

Play Music Loud

Clean the Traps

Only Malcolm Brings Deliveries

Brahms is Never to Leave

Kiss Goodnight 

Honestly, she half assed most of these and with good reason, I mean who would follow a set of rules for an inanimate object especially when the owners weren’t there to see it? She laughed when she read the word “guests” on the list, that was a funny way of the owners to say that she shouldn’t bring her hookups here. Not that she was that outgoing, to meet someone and be eager enough to fuck them especially after her first relationship. Well, an ex now, which is why she was here, trying to escape from that person. So, as unsettling as this house was, it brought her the comfort that she could at least have the luxury of hiding herself away from him. 

Never leave Brahms alone, she followed that rule. She began to see that doll like a mascot, so she would carry it around and leave it in places she would be in which would mostly be the living room where she would read and the kitchen where she would daydream about the kind of life she could have had if she wasn’t hiding. The music that the owners had was only classical, not the kind that she would find interesting but at least it beats the dead silence that would make her ears ring. “Brahms is never to leave” she never really got that one, the doll is not supposed to leave the house, why? Would it turn to dust? All sorts of questions piled up in her mind the more she stayed but one day, those questions were answered. 

It had been almost two weeks since she had moved now, and she wasn’t that diligent in the “duties” that the owners burdened her with, and as she got up from her bed, her eyes fell on her bedside table with a note on it. She furrowed her eyebrows in a mix of confusion and slight fear, and upon reading what it entailed, her heart dropped.  

FOLLOW THE RULES  

She had never felt fear this way before, but then she tried to rationalize it and thought of the only possible explanation; Malcolm. She smiled and then laughed to herself a bit. This must have been a prank by him, to stir her up , she thought to herself. However, the handwriting in the note was peculiar. It looked as if a child had written those bold capital letters, the lines were too shaky, the O’s were too deformed and overall, it seemed too real to be a fake note coming from a man who delivered groceries once a week. She heard the house creak again, and she got up. Superstition might be a false conception of causation but when you are alone – as alone as she was – you start to reconsider a lot of things. She would start being serious about the rules, steadily getting them more and more into her daily routine. 

She thought of what she would do when Malcolm came by next week. He must have had another set of keys, but he was too bold to come into her room at night, while she was sleeping, maybe even rude at that. How did she not hear him come in or walk around her bed? She shivered at the thought, was she that much of a heavy sleeper?  

 The house was a living entity, its walls were its flesh, its windows were its eyes and Brahms Heelshire was the blood that poisoned this house, making it rot from the inside out. He was watching her, standing behind a wall with a small slit that barely allowed him view of Greta who was immersed in a book she held against her thighs. She would constantly shift position, and at times Brahms could see the slightest bit of skin revealed when her shirt would lift as she moved. He would support himself against the wooden surface and try to minimize how loudly he was breathing behind his mask. She was so enthralling, everything about her behavior, everything about her made her look so inviting and Brahms wanted to take advantage of that. 

No, he wouldn’t. Not yet at least. He savors this part, the observing part, the stalking part. He gets to know her in her most vulnerable intimate moments and sees how she really is when she’s not putting a facade to other people. It was riveting to watch her go on about her day, not knowing that he was there, looking at her. There were times when Brahms was tempted to watch her bathe, he wanted to see what her body looked like completely bare, but he refrained from indulging. He felt too unstable to withstand the urge to break the wall and take her then and there, if he were to see her naked, well... 

He thought it best not to. 

That doesn’t mean he wasn’t inside the walls of Greta’s bedroom, listening to how she whimpered when she touched herself. Oh, he was there but he wasn’t looking through the slit, he was kneeled with his head pressed against the wall, holding his breath so the only thing he heard was her voice. Brahms was not inexperienced, after all Greta was not his first nanny. The reason why he didn’t want to look at her and see her lying in bed with her legs wide open and her hands travelling down her body was because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to control himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he had gone rogue but this time, he wanted to do things right because he wanted to keep her here. Forever. 

Her voice was so mesmerizing, he could hear her change position and then her moans get muffled. He pictured her burying her face into her pillow, gripping it tightly the more she felt good. Would she do the same with him? Would she moan this way, would she try to muffle her voice and grip the sheets as the pleasure rushed through her body, the same way that pleasure was rushing through Brahms at this moment? His hand slithered under his pants, and he exhaled ever so slowly to forbid his presence from being known and began jerking himself off. He heard her getting louder and louder, and Brahms felt incapable holding himself back any longer and got up to his feet at last, his hand still jerking himself off and finally laid eyes upon her. She was... Oh, she was divine. Her eyebrows were furrowed, one hand gripping the pillow behind her head and the other was... she was fingering herself. 

Two fingers were penetrating her, and Brahms couldn’t stop imagining that they were his instead. He felt lost for a second, his eyes stayed focused on her, watching her body arch and her mouth hang open. It was the first time he had felt this amount of obsession with someone, and Greta was eliciting so many things out of him. He tightened his fist around his cock, making the friction more intense, a tiny whimper escaped him, but he was able to hide it between Greta’s moaning. Fuck ... He wanted her, desperately. He wanted to touch her, feel the warmth of her skin against his, make her feel good, be a good boy for her. His gaze never fell from her, watching her orgasm and finally relax, her chest heaving up and down as she tried to come down from the height of her climax.  

Brahms came into his hand, his fingers coated with cum, and he placed his hand on the wall smearing it on the wooden surface as if it had been Greta’s face. He had decided that tonight he would enter her room while she was asleep, and he would try not to alert her. Can you be naughty if you’re never discovered?

Chapter 2

He pictured her on all fours, pressed against the mattress while he gripped tightly at her waist, fucking into her. He wanted to have her screaming, to have her begging. Oh, he wanted to break her, to mold her exactly how he wanted her to be.  

 His pace got harder and more aggressive, he was nearing closer to his release. He finally let his hand touch her thigh, and he gripped it lightly enough to go unnoticed, and he came into his hand. He looked down at his hand that was now coated with his cum and looked back at Greta. He considered it. For just a small fragment of a second, he considered leaving his mark somewhere on her body. But he thought of something better, he took off her underwear slowly off her body, making sure to not disrupt her. Once it was off her body, he wrapped his dick with it and cleaned off any of the remaining cum in his hand. He brought the panties to his nose and inhaled, smelling how her scent was mixed with his and it drove him insane. He wanted to keep it, take it to his room and use it but he wanted her to know that he was here, so he carefully put it back on her the same way it was before, only now she would have a piece of him with her and that excited him. 

Would she notice? How would she react if she did? He desperately wanted to jump out one day and be done with it, remove the mask. But no, he will savor this. 

Chapter 3

She woke up and stretched her body, bringing her consciousness back to reality. Getting out of bed, she felt something weird when she moved, gazing down at her underwear she noticed it sticked too weirdly on her skin and touched the outer fabric to inspect it. 

“What the...” She whispered, feeling the fabric hard and sticky against her fingers. She quickly rushed to the bathroom and took it off, bringing it closer to her nose and as soon as she smelled it, she gagged and threw it in the laundry basket. Was that smell coming from her? Did she need a bath that bad, Jesus... She hopped in the shower immediately after that, thinking it was her own hormones that made her produce the liquid on her underwear. It never crossed her mind it could have been anything else, until she remembered the note. No... It couldn’t be, right? She thought there was no way that Malcolm would do such a thing, but now she was starting to feel actually frightened so she would prepare herself to ask him the next time he would come around and to her luck, he would be coming by today. 

She waited all day by the living room, biting her fingernails. At last, she heard the familiar sound of his vehicle coming to a stop at her entrance and she rushed outside to meet him. Malcolm was standing by his trunk and waved up at her, she rushed towards him in a spite of fury and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, frightening the unsuspecting man. 

“Did you get into the house last night?” She yelled, causing more confusion to spread in Malcolm’s face. 

“What are you talking about?” He questioned, looking down at her with a concerned rather than fearful expression. 

“Have you been getting into my room at night? Answer me!” She said, and Malcolm’s eyes widened. 

“No, of course not. What is going on?” The genuine confusion on his face made Greta relax her grip and step back from him. She looked back at the house, and then brought her eyes to meet Malcolm’s. 

“I’m... I don’t think I am okay.” She said, wrapping her arms around her chest and Malcolm dropped everything and led her inside. He made her tea and sat with her by the kitchen counter. 

“Would you like to talk about what just happened? I mean, you looked frightened, what is going on?” He questioned, staring at her while her gaze hung low. He watched her open her mouth to say something, but she closed it before she let out her thoughts. “I don’t think you could tell me anything that would make me think you were crazy, so tell me please.” He pleaded and Greta felt a sense of safety wash over her. 

“I think there is something wrong with this house.” she said, causing Malcolm’s hair to stand and his expression to shift into shock. “Do you know something?” She asked, her eyes entirely focused on his next words. 

“The townspeople talk a lot about this house and the tragedy that it holds but, I don’t see how this concerns you right now and I think it will only feed into whatever it is going through.” He tried to direct her away from the subject. 

“Has something bad happened?” She questioned, and watched as Malcolm’s eyes became vacant almost as if he was disassociating. 

“It’s only rumors, no one knows if any of that is true.”  

“Tell me...” She pleaded and Malcolm sighed. 

“The Heelshire’s had a son, not that creepy doll they keep in that room but an actual son. We don’t know much of the details but all we know is that a fire broke down in this house.” Greta was glued to every word coming out of his mouth. “We don’t know who caused it but during the fire, they lost their son. Ever since then the house was marked as a bad omen, the townspeople don’t like to approach this place.” Greta was stunned to hear all this. 

“Do you think the same?” She asked. 

“Do I believe in that superstition? No, but I am the only one here that doesn’t. I would like you to refrain from believing this shit, it won’t do you any good.” He paused, his mind bringing back their previous interaction. “Could you please now tell me what happened with you before?” He continued. 

“Did their son die?” She further questioned. 

“They never found his body from what I remember, I was about the same age as him back then. But they held a funeral for him, after that Mrs. Heelshire acquired that doll and well, I think I understand the amount of grief she must have gone through to be like this.” Greta was in deep thought. 

“Wait here a moment.” She said and rushed to her bedroom, taking the note out of her bedside drawer and bringing it back to Malcolm. “I found this one morning next to my bed.” Malcolm took the note and read its contents, shooting a few stares at her. “Is it a joke? Did you write this?” She continued.

“My handwriting may be bad, but not this bad.” Greta’s heart stopped. If it hadn’t been Malcolm, who was it? “Greta... I feel like you have been in this house alone for too long and you’re starting to get detached from reality. Trust me I understand more than anyone.” Malcolm said, holding Greta’s hand as he talked. 

“How about this, I take you out tonight to a pub, you have a drink with me, maybe even get your mind off this place. I know, that being alone here would drive a person insane so, getting out once in a while might do you some good.” He said, noticing the smile that crossed her face. 

“I’d like that.” She replied, the smile remaining on her face. 

“Great, I’ll come by at 7pm, is that good?” Malcolm asked. 

The house creaked.

Chapter 4

Greta returned home late, and after she said her goodbyes to Malcolm, she stood by the entrance mentally encouraging herself to get a grip. Her evening with Malcolm brought a lot of clarity and she understood that he was right to get her out of this place. But once she was back, there was something in her that made her want to run away. She couldn’t quite place it, but it was as if the house was awake waiting for her to come back like a strict parent waiting to scold a child for coming home way past curfew. She opened the door and went inside, turning on the lights and leaving her coat by the coat hanger. The house creaked, making her focus on the sound. She shrugged it off and headed to the kitchen, getting herself a glass of water to quench her thirst.  

She stood by the sink staring at the window in front of her, it was pitch black outside so the only thing she saw was her reflection looking back at her. Suddenly, she saw something move in the reflection by the entrance of the kitchen and she froze in place when she saw someone standing behind her. She didn’t move. 

“Greta...” She heard a child’s voice. “Why did you leave?” It continued with the same childlike voice. Greta was terrified, like a deer in headlights she kept staring at the reflection of a tall muscular man looking straight at her. Why is his face like that? She thought to herself. It was pale too pale compared to the rest of his body, almost like it had been a ghost. He moved closer and Greta gasped, making the figure stop in his tracks. 

“I felt so alone...” There was something weird about its voice, the first words sounded like a young boy and the more he talked the more the voice deepened. “I don’t like it when other people steal my things.” His voice was now completely changed into an adult, making Greta’s body tense and cold sweat started forming at her temples. He had taken a few steps closer to her, Greta’s gaze never moving away from the reflection. 

“You’re not real...” She cried. “Please, please you’re not real...” She sobbed, lowering her head to the sink. She closed her eyes and mentally tried to convince herself that she was going insane, and that she needed to rid herself of these delusions. But when she opened her eyes and saw a set of hands placed between the gaps of her arms, pressed against the sink in front of her she jolted backwards, and her back was met with the chest of this ghost. Her eyes were met with a clear image of a guy in a white pale mask towering over her in the reflection of the window, and her body shivered as she saw the guy’s face approach her from the side. She turned her face away, avoided looking and facing what was happening. 

“I’m real and I’m angry, Greta.” The figure snarled against her ear, making her body shake. “I don’t want you to leave again. You’re mine.” He said, and suddenly Greta felt a hand wrapping around her waist, gripping her hips tightly. A cold sensation crossed her neck, which she quickly identified as the mask of this person being pressed against her skin. She heard him inhale, and then exhale in an exasperated and deprived manner, causing her mind to scream and her fight or flight response to kick in. She pushed him back with enough force to send him stumbling a few steps back, she quickly made a run for it and as she was about to make it through the door, a knife was thrown at her, and it landed in front of her on the wooden surface of the door. She didn’t look at the source, but she heard his screams.

"GET BACK HERE!!"

Greta had no intention of listening to him, and instead focused on running in a different direction and went up the stairs to her bedroom. Once, in her room she looked back and saw the man just coming up the stairs behind her and she locked the door. She heard loud banging coming from the other side, and the door shook as if it was ready to fall down and then, silence. Her heart felt like it would jump out of her chest, and her breathing was erratic. Soon, she began hearing footsteps coming from beside her and she followed that sound, her eyes widening when she realized where the sound was coming from; he was in the walls.

A loud punch resonated in her room, and she saw a hand emerging out of the walls. Quickly, she rushed to open her window, sliding the panel upwards and sat on the edge, looking down. It was high, the landing would hurt she knew but when she looked back and saw the man burst into the room she jumped, landing harshly on a grassy part in front of the house. Her ankle getting twisted by the drop and her head buzzed from the collision with the ground. She got up to her feet and staggered a few feet further away from the entrance of the house, but she didn’t make it far enough before a set of arms grabbed her by the waist and lifted her from her feet. She struggled and after a few seconds of protest she was roughly dropped against the ground and her vision grew hazy. 

Her limbs were too weak to fight him back, and she felt her body being lifted back up and being led back inside the house. She lost consciousness in the arms of a stranger whom she didn’t know if he would have been merciful enough to let her live and she could do nothing else, but hope that she would wake up the next morning. 

Chapter 5

She regained consciousness later in the night, but now she wished that she hadn’t because as soon as she opened her eyes, she was met with the stranger’s gaze looking back at her. He was on his knees against the floor with arms crossed on the edge of her bed and his face leaning against them, presumably watching her as she slept. They stared at each other for some time, until Greta decided to break the silence. 

“Brahms...?” She questioned, not knowing if she was right to assume that this person sitting next to her had been the little boy that the rumors spoke of, well not so little anymore. The man got up, his gaze never leaving Greta’s. She pushed herself up and winced when she felt a pang of pain in her foot. 

“Don’t move.” A child’s voice again. Greta stared at him with bewilderment, how was his voice changing like that? She thought to herself. “You hurt yourself badly. I had to bandage you up.” He continued. Greta felt like she needed to play along in order to make it out alive, so she mastered up the strength to speak. She looked down and saw that she was wearing her night shirt, and only her night shirt. 

“Did... Did you have to change me as well?” She asked, feeling filthy after realizing that he had seen her naked. 

“No.” He said, his voice more mature. “I didn’t have to but, I wanted to see...” Brahms continued, his eyes travelling down her body, and he inched closer to touch her face. 

“Brahms!” She scolded like a mother, making him shiver and move backwards. “It is very late young man. You should be in bed.” She said, and watched as then man cowered his head like a child. 

“Will you read me a bedtime story?” He said, following her as she limped to get to his room. 

“I’m afraid I’m too tired today, Brahms. I promise I’ll read you one tomorrow.” She said and signaled for him to get into bed which he happily complied and got into position. She brought the covers over him and tucked him in, but as she was about to leave Brahms grabbed her tightly by the wrist to stop her. 

“I want a goodnight kiss.” He said, using his child voice again. “You aren’t reading me a bedtime story so, I deserve a kiss at least.” He complained. 

“Y-You’re right Brahms...” She said, mentally cursing herself for being in this situation. “Okay, lay back down.” She placed her hands on the bedframe to support herself as she leaned down and kissed the mask at the spot where his forehead would have been. “There, now goodnight, Brahms.” She finished and limped her way out, closing the door of his bedroom. She took a few steps forward in the direction of her room but a few feet away from here there were also the stairs that she could use to flee. She stood there for a few seconds and lowered her head as she thought of her injured leg. She wouldn’t make it far with this. 

“Greta...?” She heard Brahms' voice again, and she turned to see him standing outside of his room. His body was tense, his eyes were as black as coal and in contrast to the pale white mask he wore, he looked terrifying. 

“Hm? What is it, honey?” She said, trying to stop herself from sobbing right then and there. 

“I’m scared, can I sleep in your bed?” Greta wanted to cry so badly, but she stopped the tears from forming and continued playing along, thinking that it could be the only thing that would save her at this moment.  

“You can’t sleep in my bed like that. You are dirty. We can talk about this in the morning, now go back to bed please.” Her words weren’t reassuring at all for him, and he stepped forward, until he was standing right above her, his face towering over her. 

“If I’m dirty then give me a bath. I want to sleep in your bed tonight.” He said, making Greta’s face scrunch up beneath him as she felt the fear ripping through her, tears finally dropping down her cheeks. “I can’t trust you, Greta. I want you to stay with me.” He said, his voice more mature again. Trust , that’s it. She needed to make him trust her, and then when he would let his guard down, she would make her escape. 

“Okay then, sweetie. Let’s go take a bath.” She limped to the bathroom and filled the tub with hot water. She turned back and signaled to him to get inside, and as she made an attempt to leave Brahms on his own, he grabbed her by the wrist again. 

“I want you to wash me.” He ordered, making Greta look up at him in disbelief. She shakily gave him a smile and nodded, seeing as in this situation she couldn’t really say no. So, she grabbed a washcloth by the side of the tub and turned to the wall. 

“Undress and get in the tub.” She said her tone was more authoritarian than she intended it to be, but Brahms liked it a little too much. He did as he was told and removed his clothes in a flash, eagerly getting himself in the warm water. Greta heard the water surface of the tub being disturbed while Brahms made his way in and slowly turned when she was certain he was inside. Upon looking at his naked body, she froze. He was muscular, sweat dripped down his hairy chest and it was then that she had realized that she wasn’t dealing with a child, but with a very delusional and demented grown man. She averted her thoughts from keeping her from the task at hand and she got closer to him, keeping her gaze away from looking at his crotch.  

She dipped the cloth in the water and lathered the bodywash on it before she started scrubbing his body. She turned her head to the side as she washed his front, making sure to refrain from staring at his lower half. This act felt too intimate, and she was feeling extremely embarrassed and uncomfortable to be doing this. She tried to think of something else, to bring her mind elsewhere and she was brought back to reality after she realized that she had been scrubbing his front for a little too long. 

“Okay, now lean forward for me. I’m going to do your back.” Brahms complied almost instantly, making Greta a little surprised with how eagerly he was listening to everything she asked him to do. When she placed the washcloth on his back, she watched him cock his head to the side and his body relax against her touch. Greta couldn’t make out what exactly was going on but when he saw him grip the side of the tub tightly, she quickly realized that in Brahms mind her touch was akin to affection. She scrubbed his back as fast as she could to get it over with and then hung the washcloth on the side of the tub, as she grabbed the bottle of shampoo.  

“It’s time for you head now.” She said, hinting at him that he needed to remove his mask, but Brahms made no effort to follow what she asked this time. “You have to remove your mask.” She spoke. 

“No.” He said firmly, looking at her with his blank stare. “You cannot see my face.” She wanted to see his face though, to identify him to the police when she would get out of this place. 

“I promise I will close my eyes while I do it.” She paused. “Cross my heart.” She said, while doing the gesture over her chest. Brahms stared at her for a while and after a few seconds he agreed. Greta placed a good amount of shampoo in her palm and closed her eyes. She heard Brahms move his arms out of the water and after a few seconds he told her he was ready. She extended her arm to find his head and he grabbed her wrist guiding her to his hair. Once she figured out where he was, she started scrubbing his scalp with shampoo. She pushed his head down slightly and thought it would be a good idea to open her eyes a little to see the person behind the mask but as soon as she opened them, her eyes were met with his in the mirror across them and she had barely enough time to see his features before her wrist was grabbed and she was violently pulled forward. 

She would have almost fallen into the bath, if it hadn’t been for Brahms’ head that supported her. She tried to move back but Brahms held her wrist tighter and pulled up her shirt, getting his face underneath it. Greta froze when she felt his breath against her chest, and her hand being guided inside the water. She didn’t have enough strength to pull her hand away, as it made contact with his cock. He held her hand into a fist and breathed deeply against her bare chest. 

“You promised you wouldn’t look.” Brahms said, his head still inside her shirt. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

“You promised...and yet,” He paused, and wrapped her hand around his length. “You still cannot be trusted Greta.” He said and licked one of her nipples, letting his tongue playfully wet the area. Greta hunched forward, while simultaneously putting all her might to get away from his grasp. Brahms forced her hand to jerk him off while he sucked on her breast. 

“Brahms... please stop...” She gasped, when he playfully bit her nipple before continuing sucking. That spot was too sensitive for her and stimulating it, made her mind grow weak and her body even weaker at resisting him. His other hand grabbed her breast tightly as he sucked, causing Greta’s legs to get weak and almost losing balance. She grabbed his head, and leaned against him, incapable of concealing the sounds that dared to escape her. Her senses were filled with the stimulation of her nipples being abused and her hand being used for Brahms pleasure. Fuck , her body was reacting in a way that she had no control over, and she despised herself for feeling good at the mercy of this psychopath. She could feel his dick twitch and get harder in her hand as he neared closer to his release, and he quickened his pace. It felt so filthy to be used this way, to be giving pleasure to this man but his tongue was... Christ, it felt so good. 

“Brahms...” She moaned. “Please, stop. Stop...” She felt lightheaded and rocked her head back, her eyes welling up in tears as Brahms came into her hand and he groaned against her chest, finally freeing her from this torment. She leaned forward again, only this time she had no strength to stand or keep herself conscious, the steam from the bath and the intoxication of her orgasm making her mind hazy. The last thing she could remember was the feeling of her feet being swept up from the ground.

Chapter 6

She woke up the next morning with a foreign weight on her body. She pushed herself up and immediately was pulled back down into the embrace. She looked down at the hairy arm that was wrapped around her waist and realized it was Brahms, and as he pressed himself against her she also realized that he was naked. She felt him nuzzle against her back and then mumbled something incoherent. 

“Brahms?” She tried to push herself away from him. “Brahms let go of me.” She said in a stern tone, and he loosened his grip.  

“How did you sleep, Greta?” He was too nonchalant for someone who was keeping her here against her will. She took a moment to respond to him. 

“Why are you not wearing any clothes?” She said, scooching a bit further away from him. 

“It felt more comfortable.” He explained. 

“That’s not...” She stared down at his chest. “That is not polite.” She continued. 

“Did I do something bad?” He said in his child voice. “Am I naughty?” He continued, in his mature one. He knew exactly what he was doing, and Greta felt something in her stomach twist when he used that word in his mature voice. He pushed himself closer to her and Greta leaned back, putting her arms in front of her to shield herself only for Brahms to grab them and pin them above her head. He quickly positioned himself above her and buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent. “If I’m already being naughty then I should go all the way, make it worth it.” He purred against her skin, making her body shiver.  

Greta felt his dick pressing against her cunt, rubbing along the fabric of her underwear. “Brahms, Brahms!” She kept repeating in an attempt to stop him, but he was not listening to her. He seemed too entranced, too fixated with the idea of getting himself off that it seemed he was hardly even registering anything that she said. She tried to push her legs together so she would forbid him entrance, but Brahms held both her wrists with one hand and moved the other one down to her thighs, gripping them tightly. 

“Open your legs...” He whispered again her ear. “Please, please keep your legs open.” He whimpered, making her stop her protest and as soon as she relaxed, he slid his hand under her underwear, his fingers coming into contact with her wet entrance. Greta gasped when she felt his finger penetrate her, and she turned her head to the side, gritting her teeth. Brahms breathed heavily against her ear, the feeling of warmth on his finger making him hard, thinking of what it would feel like to be inside her at this moment. He wanted to, so badly, but it was more entertaining to build the tension in him, to make himself wait a little longer for it. 

“I want to use my tongue, but I don’t seem to find myself trusting you enough to let go of your wrists.” He said, using two fingers now. “Should I tie you down?” He considered it for a moment and watched Greta turn her gaze back to him, looking at him with a spiteful, and angry expression. “No, I don’t think you will go anywhere. After all,” He paused, letting go of her wrists and positioning his face in front of her cunt. “Even if you do run, I will end up catching you.” He finished and pulled his mask up just enough to let his mouth free, and he dived his tongue into her entrance. 

Greta grabbed his hair and tried pulling him away, but Brahms was tightly gripping at her hips, having no intention of being separated from her. Brahms’ tongue grazed her clit, making her head rock backwards and beg for him to stop. His hand traveled up her stomach and he grabbed one of her breasts, eliciting more and more lust out of her. In better words, Brahms was devouring her, he was making her gasp for air and the sounds that escaped her made her feel ashamed of herself for finding pleasure in that moment. She fisted his hair and watched him suck and lick her cunt as if his life depended on it. 

“Stop, stop, please...” She moaned, her hips moving alongside Brahms’ movements. He pulled back and as she continued laying down, he brought his dick in front of her mouth. She placed her hands on his hips and turned her head to the side, forbidding him from going on with this, but Brahms was too far gone. He grabbed her face and forced his way into her mouth, moving his hips as he fucked into her throat. Greta gagged when he felt his dick hitting the back of her throat and had to turn her head to the side to take a breath. She coughed, tears slightly building themselves in her eyes, but Brahms gave her no time to get used to it, he pushed himself into her mouth again, this time slower. She looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed, whining and gagging uncontrollably from Brahms’ rough treatment. 

“Ah, that feels so good. Your mouth feels so warm.” He whimpered, moving his hips harder the more Greta whined against his length. She tapped at his thighs and Brahms pulled back, watching her cough and try to regain her breath. 

“I can’t... please... let me do it.” She said, her voice sounding too sultry for Brahms’ sanity. He did as he was asked, and pulled back, allowing her to get on her knees.  

Greta tried to regain her composure. He would have killed her then and there if he hadn’t stopped shoving his cock down her throat like that. If this was to happen, it could at least happen on her own terms. She wrapped her hand around his length and began jerking him off, but Brahms was too impatient and grabbed face pushing himself in her mouth but made no further movements. Greta looked up at him as she bobbed her head up and down, managing to take only half of Brahms’ length. He gripped her hair into a fist, rocking his head back as the sensation of her tongue around his dick made him reach closer and closer to his orgasm. 

“Greta...” He whined and hunched a bit forward. He was enjoying himself, lavishing this moment, his dick twitching into her mouth. Greta felt his impatience, his need for release and tried to move her head up and down as quickly as possible to get this over with. Her jaw was starting to feel sore, and her movements became sloppy, exhaustion plaquing her body as she drove Brahms over the edge. She didn’t like this, she didn’t want to do this but, there was something about the way he whined her name and whimpered when he felt pleasure by her that made something in her mind reconsider. All morality in her was thrown out the window, her brain went blank, and her eyes became vacant of all life as she felt him finish into her mouth. 

Brahms shoved his dick down her throat, his cum going all the way down her throat and Greta rolled her eyes back, feeling at the mercy of the man. He was panting, holding her cheeks as he pulled himself out and held her chin up to him, looking at her as she tried to swallow down the thick liquid. He sat on his knees, now with a bit of clarity he realized that he had crossed the line and that she was not satisfied with his behavior.  

“I’m sorry.” He said, and Greta’s eyes widened when she looked back at the masked man, witnessing him being profoundly apologetic of his behavior with his head hanging low. She couldn’t understand him, one minute he is rough and relentless with her, the next he is apologetic like a child that has done something wrong. Trust , she remembered. She needed to build his trust and keep the act going if she wanted to survive. 

“When you want something, you should communicate first. It is not right to take something whenever you want it.” She said. He looked at her with bewilderment as if he had never taught before about consent and Greta realized at that moment that she was talking to someone who was locked up inside the walls, with apparently no knowledge of the outside world. He probably thinks that it’s normal to not ask, to just take and use anyone to his liking, but something about his apology made her think that perhaps he does understand to some degree that he shouldn’t be doing this. 

“I’m hungry.” He said, looking down at his stomach. Greta thought of something when he said that, as if a lightbulb had gone over her head.  

“Alright, let’s get dressed first then, shall we?” She made the attempt to push herself off the bed and get to her wardrobe, but she remembered that she was naked and held the sheets up to her chest. “Brahms, would you mind letting me dress myself?” He didn’t get the hint. “Alone?” She continued. 

“I don’t trust you.” There it is again. She faked a smile and tried to think of a response. 

“You can wait outside my room. I won’t go anywhere I promise. Besides, I can’t jump from the window anymore.” She hinted at her injured foot. Brahms took a deep breath and complied, getting outside of Greta’s room, closing the door behind him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck , she cursed herself mentally. "Okay, get properly dressed and when we go downstairs and make breakfast, I’ll make a run for it , she thought to herself. She didn’t even consider her injured foot, but she felt that she could pressure herself enough to get far away from here. Malcolm won’t be here for another week. Malcolm... She imagined him coming here, taking her away.  

She finished getting dressed and it was now time to prepare herself for what she planned to do. Opening the door, she immediately saw Brahms standing behind it, waiting patiently for her. She gave him another fake smile and averted her gaze, as he was standing naked right in front of her. 

“Okay, let’s find you some clothes.” She thought of his parents’ room, perhaps they’d be able to find him some clothes there. He followed her as she limped through the hallway, getting into the master bedroom. Brahms looked around; it was the first time in a long time that he had gone inside. They usually didn’t let him come in, so he was reluctant to enter. Greta told him to come inside, and searched into the wardrobe for something that would fit him. His father didn’t have much casual attire, but she found a sweater and some pants that would go along with it. She placed the outfit on the bed alongside a pair of briefs and attempted to leave him at it, thinking it might give her some time to execute her plan, but Brahms got ahold of her wrist. 

“Dress me.” He said, making Greta swallow and feel like she had lost a chance at escaping, but it was not over yet. She could still find another time. She went back to the bed and handed Brahms the briefs, turning around to give himself the space to put them on himself. After that, Greta told him to sit by the bed so she could put the pants on him. Brahms complied and sat by the edge, looking at Greta’s every movement as she shuffled around to get the pair of pants and then kneeled to put his legs through them. She then instructed him to get up so she could pull them up, and in the position she was in, she was met with Brahms’ crotch. She turned her head to the side and shakily got up, pulling the pants up with her. 

Her foot hurt when she applied any amount of pressure and she winced slightly when she tried to keep herself standing. She walked again towards the bed and fetched the light blue sweater, instructing him to lower his head so she could pass the hole through his head. He leaned closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers as he bent down, making her feel slightly anxious. Then, she held the sweater sleeves so he could pass each arm through and that was it. He looked down at himself wearing his father’s clothes and looked back at Greta. 

“How do I look?” He asked, waiting for positive affirmation from her. 

“Stunning.” She said and formed another fake smile. Her heart began to race as she thought of what would follow after this. When they would reach the stairs, she would push him as hard as she could and then she would sprint down the stairs to her escape. She was terrified, but she had to keep this act just a little longer. “Let’s go downstairs.” She said and began walking towards the stairs. She felt him walk behind her, she could feel his gaze piercing daggers through her and tried to ignore it. They reached the stairs and as Greta was about to make her move, Brahms took her in his arms, lifting her from the ground. 

“W-What are you doing?!” She asked, a hint of despair in her voice. Brahms looked at her for a second, his eyes piercing and cold as he walked down the steps. 

“Your leg is hurt. Stairs might be a challenge for you right now.” He said. 

Greta felt something from Brahms, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking of doing, and he made sure to not let her plan come into fruition. She felt dread building in her chest when they passed through the front door and went into the kitchen. Her opportunity was lost, and who knows when the next time will be when she’ll have the chance to escape. She wanted to cry but did her best not to show it, but Brahms caught on as he sat her down on one of the kitchen chairs. He leaned closer to her with one of his hands on the table as he got inches away from her face. 

“You will stay here.” He said, his gaze unforgiving, merciless. Greta tried with all her might not to start sobbing then and there.  

“Brahms... I won’t leave you-” She was interrupted mid-sentence. 

“Don’t lie to me!” He banged his fist onto the table and Greta shivered, memories of her ex-relationship waving through her. “You wanted to leave, I could tell!” He continued yelling, his voice making her body shiver in fear. 

“Brahms please...” She felt the tears prickling her eyes, and she lowered her head in defeat. “I beg of you please...” She sobbed, pushing Brahms away. He got ahold of her wrists and pushed her onto the table, her face pinned against the cold wooden surface. 

“You will not leave! Not ever. You are mine.” He said, his words sounding deranged and his behavior even more unhinged. He pulled her pants down and pushed her head harder against the table as she struggled. 

“Brahms, I’m sorry. I promise, I won’t think of leaving you ever again.” She pleaded, trying to calm him down from his frenzy but it was to no avail. She felt his dick probing at her entrance, forcefully making its way inside her, and she winced from the sting of the intrusion. “Brahms please don’t, it hurts... it hurts...” Greta could hear him breath heavily, as he hunched forward his masked face now hovering next to her ear. He stopped, and made no further movements, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her into an embrace. 

“I’m sorry, Greta...” He said, his voice shaking. “I don’t want to lose you.” He finished, and Greta let the tears drop down her cheeks. She felt hopeless, her mind pictured her remaining a prisoner to him, having to live with this monster for as long as he was alive. She felt him breathe against her neck, inhaling her scent and his dick twitching inside her with anticipation. She placed a hand on his head and caressed his hair. She felt pity for him, even though she had every right to want to leave, she began sympathizing with him. Two broken souls cannot mend one another, but they can understand each other, they can bond.  

Brahms pressed his mask against her cheek and moved his hips, making Greta hold on to the table. He grabbed her waist as he fucked into her, pounding her progressively harder with each thrust. Greta gasped for air, feeling her insides getting filled to the very brim, her walls stretched by Brahms’ girth. His thrusts were too violent, each slap of their hips hitting her deep inside, making her mind grow hazy. 

“You.” Slap . “Are.” Slap . “Mine.” Slap . Greta moaned, feeling her stomach grow hot, as her insides were being ravaged. She extended her arm backwards, attempting to stop him from further going on with this but Brahms held her wrist and pushed her arm behind her back, landing a hard spank on her ass. Greta whined in pain, and Brahms landed another slap on her cheeks, redden them more and more. She arched her back and closed her eyes, the sensation of his dick hitting her insides with this visceral force and his words that dripped with possessiveness drove her to edge, making her lose her sense of stability. 

“I can’t... Brahms... I can’t...” She moaned, Brahms’ thrusts getting more erratic the more she begged. His hand slithered on her throat and squeezed her, as he pounded into her, forcing an orgasm to build inside her. He whined her name into her ear, his words holding a ravenous desire for release, and Greta felt him nearing close. “No... Not inside, please... not inside...” She tried to speak, Brahms’ hand gripping her throat made it harder for her to articulate her raging thoughts. Brahms had no intention of heeding her words, he wanted to make her his, he wanted to forbid her from forgetting that she belongs to him.  

He was desperate; an overwhelming urge to exhibit his infatuation brewed inside him, making him lose himself, disregard all sense of reason. As powerful as he felt for having her pinned on that table, moaning from the pleasure he was influencing out of her, he felt just as weak against her. He was enamored, completely entranced by her, he imagined himself becoming her slave, giving her everything she desired. At this moment, Brahms felt at his weakest, most hungry, most enslaved, by her. He felt his orgasm reaching its peak and in the spur of the moment, pushed himself deep inside her, making her rock forward from the intensity. 

She whined, feeling his dick reach deep inside her as the thick warm liquid filled her to the very brim. She fell onto the table, her legs unable to support her anymore and Brahms noticed her exhaustion and wrapped his arms around her chest, pulling her up against him. She rocked her head back, breathing deeply as she came down from the peak of her climax, the sensation of Brahms’ hips slapping against hers still ringing inside her even after long they had stopped. Her body was remembering the feeling of being filled, her cunt pulsating from the pleasurable torture she was put through. They stayed there in that embrace; Brahms gripped her hips and pressed himself harder against her, his behavior making it known to her that she had no other place to be, no other purpose in her life than to fulfill his needs of companionship. 

Greta turned her head to face him, and she saw the desperation behind his eyes, his need for intimacy. A part of her died that day, and she became something else, someone who could remain, and she entered the maze with no precaution or will of ever getting out. 

[antimonasia]

Jealousy

(Warnings: 18+, threesome, spanking, small face slapping, clit slapping, v in p sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, deep throating, nipple play, voyeurism, masochism, possessive behavior(?), jealousy, fem reader, reader has female anatomy, mentions of murder and blood, no plot, 2nd person, short, wrote this in one sitting, lmk if there’s anything else.)

The sound of slapping filled the quiet, small, and messy bedroom. Jason’s machete on the floor, clothes, and blood. You cried out in pain, a small grunt came from Jason. Sure he loved to be rough from time to time but he was a little worried.

Tears started to fall, and the sound of skin slapping soon followed. Micheal used his hand to turn your head, your eyes staring into the void of Micheal’s eyes. He slapped your face seeing the tears.

He let go of your face letting it fall back into the sheets of the messy and dirty bed. He went back to fucking you, his eyes wandering to Jason who was in the corner of the room watching the whole thing go down as he played with himself.

Jason was getting impatient and jealous. He wanted to be inside you, feel you clench around his cock, he wanted to be the one to make you feel so good to the point of crying. He stood up and walked over.

He grabbed your hair, pulling you up to be met with his cock. Your eyes widened at the size. You let out a moan when Michael hit a certain spot, he was going at an intense speed. Making you not even able to think. Jason shoved his cock into your mouth.

Taking you by surprise. He started to fuck your throat, fast. It took your throat a minute or two to get used to his size, Jason’s head fell back in pleasure. He loved the way your throat felt around his cock. Micheal let out a grunt of jealousy as he watched Jason deep-throat you.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, feeling so overwhelmed with pleasure. Micheal felt you clench tight around him he let out a groan. He looked down at his cock, waiting to see your cum covering his cock.

Your muffled moan vibrated Jason’s cock, his cock twitched as he groaned lowly. He was so close, Jason looked down at you. Your messy hair covering your face. He quickly moved your hair out of the way to see ruined mascara and you crying.

He let out a loud groan as he came, his cock twitching before you felt hot liquid squirting down your throat. You gagged at the sudden liquid down your throat. He continued to fuck your throat until he came drown from his high.

You soon came after that, he let go of your hair. Your face falling back into the sheets. Jason looked down at you once again, pushing some hair out of your fucked out face. He wanted to see your face as you came.

You let out a loud moan as you came, face scrunched up in pleasure, knees bucking, you felt so weak. Your hands gripped the sheets, knuckles turning white. Micheal continued to fuck you as you came, you felt overstimulated. Micheal slightly smiled seeing your cum covering his cock.

He pulled out his cock, your whine from the loss of his cock getting cut off with a yelp. He turned you over on your back, he quickly put his cock back in. Thrusting at a fast speed, almost breaking the bed in the process.

Jason’s cock twitched seeing you're fucked out face hanging over the edge of the bed. He worked his cock, already rock hard. His thumb ran over his tip, letting out a very small moan. He carefully kneeled in front of you putting his cock back in your mouth.

You were still on your high when you felt Jason’s cock in your mouth. Your eyes widened, as you felt his cock slowly thrusting in your throat. His pace soon sped up. He put his hands on your tits for support. He watched them jiggle from the thrusting from Micheal.

He started to play with your nipples as he fucked your throat. More tears started to fall, choked moans came from you. Your hands on his stomach for support. You felt Micheal's cock twitch. You whined as Micheal picked up his pace even faster. He felt you clench around him again.

He kept hitting your sweet spot causing you to be a muffled moaning mess around Jason’s cock. Your eyes rolled back as you came again. Micheal looked down at his cock seeing more of your cum covering his cock. He groaned at the sight.

He came as he slapped your clit. Your hips jolted as a tear fell, he held your hips down from moving as he came inside. His calloused and rough hands holding you down, from how hard he was holding you down you knew he was gonna leave bruises.

He slapped your clit again and again and again and again until you came for the 3rd time. Micheal’s cock came out with a wet pop. He watched as a mixture of your cum and his cum flowed out. He panted, as he watched Jason fucking your throat. Jealousy rose in his stomach.

You became so used to Jason’s throat fucking you forgot about it when you came twice. You felt his cock twitch in your throat. His movements came to a stop when he came. Groaning in pleasure as he let go of your tits.

His head fell back as you felt his cum flow down your throat. He slowly fucked your throat as he came down from his high. He slowly pulled out his cock panting. Both Micheal and Jason watched your overstimulated body. You swallowed Jason’s cum as you finally got to breathe.

They were both obsessed with you and your body, they would do anything for you. The night ended with them cleaning you up and putting you to sleep. They both went to murder the same guy who hit on you today which caused them to fuck you for hours over jealousy.

taglist: @sl4shers @starboashee

[antimonasia]

Howling at the Moon

Sandor Clegane Smut by cuntoid

The only sound for a long time is the low creak of the leather in his armor, followed closely by the metallic thud of his boots, his sword. It’s in his nature to be silent like this. Mindful. Always on alert and ready to go at a moment’s notice, fueled by some simmering thing deep in his being like a blight. His brow, perpetually drawn by both nature and his disposition, is knotted with some clear hostility today. His fondness for tolerating you on small errands such as this one is usually exciting, the chance to see a little into his life, into what he really gets up to, and you’ve been led to believe he finds amusement in it, in your perpetual wonder at his ‘mundane’ existence. This time he hasn’t so much as nodded to you since meeting you in the market and whisking you off, some food under his arm and the request for a shortcut toward the Riverlands.

“Hey… you all right?”

The Hound grunts dismissively, sparing you the barest courtesy of even looking your way. His sourness leeches into the air, a miasma that permeates through your skin and eats into your own cheerful mood, and it irks you that he’s acting like such a insolent child. You stop in your tracks and watch him trudge forth several steps before he notices your absence. He turns, grim against the gorgeous, clouded sky, ominous, and you stare him down until he gestures impatiently at the beaten path.

Once you catch up to him, he scoffs. “Something twisting your knickers?”

A hundred crude responses fill your mind and spill over your tongue, bitten back only by the remaining shred of your will. This time, you give him the gift of his own medicine, treating him to a baited silence with your eyes trained forward.

He grabs your shoulder with one huge hand, stopping you with enough force to make you stumble over your own feet. He steadies you in the same gesture, towering easily a foot or more above you, the ball of your shoulder fitting easily into the curve of his palm. Now, he looks. Now, his eyes blaze at you like the fire he hates so much.

“Out with it, girl. The fuck you want from me?”

“I just wanted to help. You haven’t said a damn thing the entire way – ”

“Did it not occur to you that this was on purpose? Do I so owe you these things, my thoughts, my burdens?” He grabs your chin when your eyes shift away from his, jerking your focus back to him. “Oh, no, none of that. You want so badly into my business, do ya? Go on, little girl. Ask your fucking questions.”

“That’s not fair!”

“We ain’t talkin fairness, are we? Can’t tease a man and pull away the last minute – go on.”

“Sandor.”

His name leaves your lips low, poisonous. It gives him pause as he considers you again, jaw tightened perceptibly as the bright boil of hate slows back to a simmer. Still he rolls his eyes and curls his lip at you, in no mood to entertain your curiosity.

“Needn’t be concerning yourself with my affairs, I think. You want to be useful? Hm? Be useful by keeping quiet and showing me to fucking Riverrun. The only use your pretty little mouth has doesn’t involve much talking.”

“You should be so lucky,” you spit, hate filling your spine like iron. Hate, and something else, something even more sinister than that. A wayward tingle that fills you and reaches out in tendrils, in long, searching fingers that sneak under your ribs and quicken your pulse. “You’re vile.”

“Yeah?” His frown melts slowly into a smirk, slanted in cruel glee, and he cocks his good brow. “Am I vile? Look at you. Flushed pink over it. You want my cock in your mouth, girl? That it?”

Whether he’s bluffing or not, blood rushes up underneath your skin and warms your throat, your ears, the apples of your cheeks. You burn with both resentment and disgust, that he should be so shamelessly forward. The most infuriating part is the truth, which pools molten in the cradle of your hips, begging to be stoked to the blaze you know he can handle.

“Bite your tongue, Hound.”

“Rather bite yours, little lamb.” He scents the air as he leans down, nose skimming the delicate edge of your ear, his hot breath on your throat, and he inhales until it comes back out in a growled hum. There’s barely room between you to start with, but he makes the effort to close the space, radiating heat and naked, stark hunger. “Think I can’t smell your cunt every time we’re alone? I can see it in your eyes, wide and dumb with lust – am I getting hotter?”

His derisive chuckle makes you shudder. His lips refuse to light on your skin and you refuse to admit to yourself that this is a necessity; loneliness is blind, after all, and you’re ready to jump directly into whatever seedy abyss seems to be parting before you, like a vision, like a fever-dream as he brings his thumb across your lips and brings his teeth to your throat. A desperate, high sound leaves you without your express bidding and this time you feel his laugh rather than hear it, buried in the nape of your neck where he seals it against you with an open-mouthed kiss, saliva hot on your skin.

He stoops low until he can grab at the hem of your skirts, inching them higher, higher, until they’re rucked up around your thighs and his fingers press into your panties, tracing the slit of your cunt through the fabric.

“Feels like I’m getting hotter. Fuck. Your poor little pussy burning up? This starved for cock, are you?”

Who has ever spoken to you like this? It’s like something from a fantasy before you drift to sleep, something unspeakably sinful that electrifies you in late hours in bed with your own hand tucked between your thighs. And now he’s here, insistent and big as ever, pawing at you like you barely have a choice in the matter. His rough hands; that’s all you can think of as his thumb pushes between your lips with one hand and he yanks your panties down with the other.

“Y’want me to ask nice, girlie?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought… lie down.”

“In the dirt…?”

In an instant, he twists two thick fingers into your pussy. As slick and eager as you are, the sudden breach inside of you is unexpected and the stretch stings, it throbs around his knuckles as he curls them into a place that laces the pain with stars, with pleasure that comes in rapid little bursts that match the scattered moans you breathe into his ear.

“Fuck, oh fuck –”

“You want to be a filthy little whore for me, and filthy... little... whores... do two things: they do what I ask of them, and they cum on my cock. Doesn’t that sound easy?”

He pulls you down, the absence of his fingers aching worse than the pain of receiving them as you wait for him to free his cock. He kneels between your spread thighs and stares down at your cunt, exposed and parted for him like a flower, like a delicacy. Like it’s his for the taking. The sight of you alone makes him draw a deep breath, chest filling before trembling on the exhale. He may not resemble a hound in the least, but he makes for a wonderful predator, shoulders undulating as he crawls the rest of the way over your prone form and tips his hips forward.

The only generosity afforded you through his first thrust is the slowness with which he moves, driving into you inch by gentle inch until he’s somehow hilted within you. He puts a hand over your mouth and coos in your ear, dripping with ridicule.

“Oh, come on, darlin’ girl – been craving it. Mmh, fuck, hold still – you’re tight, very fucking tight. Is this what you like? Being fucked into the ground by bigger, older men, hm? Should have used you before – if only I’d known. If only I’d known how hungry you were for it, for a monster like me to fill you up.”

If there are comprehensible words leaving your mouth, trapped between your lips and the tight seal of his palm, you can’t make them out. You say his name, beg him, thank him, you whine like a bitch in heat. He takes on a pace that borderlines pain, your spine arching up underneath him as if your poor, overstimulated body can’t stand to have an inch of skin not pressing against him. You swivel and buck in your limited range of motion and ride against the pain of his size, swollen and thick and forcing into you with each vicious pound. The sound your bodies make in the quiet stretch of nothingness around you must echo pretty far; the thought of an innocent stranger in the distance hearing your wanton squealing is enough to make you clench your inner walls around his cock, squeezing him, earning yourself a rumbling growl that only serves to make you spasm all over again.

“Easy, little bird. You love this. I can feel you, slut – I can feel you cum. Go on, then, keep cumming for me. Show me what a good girl you can be. Bound to make a man very happy someday; you were made to be fucked like this, like my very own little toy.”

He tilts his hips and unleashes a vicious series of thrusts that makes you scream against his hand, thrashing under his massive body as he puts more of his weight on you, pinning you, fucking you open while you reach violent climax, the swell of his head rocking into a spot so sweet you could cry. He murmurs something in your ear and it could be anything – soothing little nothings, commands, death threats – none of it would make a difference in the midst of the explosively hot rush of ecstasy that races through every vein, that glows inside of you like divine light. How could this be wrong? He’s right – he’s right about all of it, about how you’re already fantasizing about the next time he’ll do this to you as he pauses, flips you on your belly, and lifts your ass into the air so he can fuck you from behind.

The new position gives the both of you a slow hiss of approval as you suck air between your clenched teeth. It’s so much tighter this way, new nerves sparking in the dying tingle of your aftershocks. The Hound shoves his fingers into your mouth, the same fingers he’d had tucked deep inside your pussy before all this. They still faintly taste of you and he rolls his hips, needing barely a few strokes before digging his fingers into the fleshy curve of your hip with urgency, with the tension of someone about to burst.

“That’s it, fuck, there it is – bounce back on my cock, girl, do it. Do it, yeah, like that – come on, make me cum, make me cum deep inside that tight little cunt,” he grunts, losing his rhythm as he swells even bigger. The telltale throb gives him away before his moaning does, the broken stutter of his hips as he holds you flush against his body and empties his balls inside of your twitching, sore cunt.

His fingers relax over your tongue and slide out with a pop. He uses much more care disconnecting your bodies, sliding out of you a moment later and steadying you so you can redress, pulling your panties back up with some guilty pleasure at the thought of his seed seeping out of you over the afternoon, the secret thrill of your damp underwear as you walk and go about your business. He sighs with clear satisfaction as you watch, furtively, pretending to busy yourself with your skirts while he arranges his own clothing.

Once put back together, you share a silent, unreadable stare with him until he clears his throat and nods in the direction of your destination, the barest hint of a smirk on his mouth. The marks of his teeth and the feeling of his lips on your flesh is still vibrantly alive.

“Get moving, girlie. We don’t have long.”

[antimonasia]

Sandor Clegane x Reader Fic (Size Difference)

This is fic is not mine, but of @hightowhxre, who's blog I cannot access anymore

"𝐼 𝑔𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑔𝑒𝓉 (𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹)"

lyrics from 'Midnight Rain' by Taylor Swift

(A/N): hello there lovely,

first of all, thank you for sending this request and I hope I was able to make good of it, as I am a bit rusty in writing smutty, but this was funny; also I hope you didn't mind that I combined this with another request I received!

“i don’t care, to me you’re perfect!” w/ sandor clegane?

(also very funny story: me at sixteen reading over and over Sansa's chapters to read about Sandor 'oh I hoe this doesn't awaken something in me'

me now at twenty-four with a thing for older men with a gruffy exterior and trauma 'oh fuck, it did').

as always: any feedback is welcomed.

WARNINGS: attempted sexual assault (not Sandor), fem! reader is mute (there are still consent checks because it is as it should be but they aren't verbal), slight mention of emotional manipulation (not Sandor), slight angst (cheating but they aren't together, so more like believed unrequited love, but it is very requited the fucker is just a self-pitying idiot), oral sex (female receiving), fingering, sex (p in v), dirty talk (and a lot of curses), slight degradation - praise kink, belly bulge and size kink.

They said that outcasts have a special nose for each other.

And maybe that was how you and the Hound ended up being so close, together.

You thought, the fact that he was dubbed the Hound, was quite ridiculous in all honesty as it made little to no sense to you to call him a dog, when he bore such little resemblance with the animal in question.

To you, he looked more like a brownish bear with his large stance and his imposing height.

And the terrible grunts he released as you met him the first time after you had been charged with the harsh and hated task of delivering to him his clean clothes.

It was almost a rite of consecration to the order of the servants at the Red Keep and you were the newest entry as you had come after the birth of princess Myrcella to help queen Cersei.

‘Knock on his door and be swift to leave the clothes or he’ll eat you alive’ some older laundry girl had scared youwhile the gentle cook that had taken you under her wing had reassured you that the Hound was all bark and no bite.

He certainly barked as you were stuck a moment too long, deep in your thoughts of that man eating small servants like.

You had promptly been awake as you shoved the clothes into his chest with enough strength – and probably surprise – to have the man back away.

‘Don’t tell me they sent a newbie’ he cursed as you lowered your head promptly ‘… don’t tell me girl that you were nervous to meet the old dog? Poor little dearie weren’t they cruel to send out such an unprepared lady?’.

You were mute – since birth – but even if you had had your voice, you wouldn’t have answered his taunting and not simply because he was indeed scary, but also because he ranked much higher than you and you didn’t intend to get into trouble with the crown who had just hired you.

‘Don’t you speak, girlie?’ his tone was growing restless as if he didn’t enjoy the lack of reaction that you were having ‘… don’t tell me that my ugliness has rendered you mute?’.

 It wasn’t the taunt that got you to reply but more the tint of sadness in his tone, as if he truly believed the jest, he spoke that got you to shake your head lightly, before pushing a finger to your throat and as much as he was criticized for being nothing but a dog, he understood promptly what you meant.

‘Oh’.

His face softened for a bit, and you could look a scar on the side of his face as you thought about how painful it had been to have such a huge memory of somebody’s cruelty.

His brother had the rumors been true.

‘… a little mute girl’.

The shiver that went down your spine wasn’t out of fear as you finally diverged your eyes away from his scar the moment that he finally made you aware that he didn’t appreciate such staring.

‘… at least you won’t speak to anybody of this, will you, girl?’.

At that it took everything in you not to raise an eyebrow in annoyance at him, and even in that case you didn’t succeed fully as a small smirk appeared on his face before he closed the door right in your face, his clothes in his arms and this strange sensation that warmed your chest.

When the girls back in the laundry asked you how scared you had been of the hound, you just shook your head and fell beside Ylenia, the cook, asking whether you could help with anything, as your mind seemed broken.

And the curse of the Hound seemed to continue the following day.

And the one after.

Whenever you’d be in a room together, you felt his amber eyes onto you and the moment that you’d turn to catch him in the act, he would be looking anywhere but you. although a pensive smirk was fixed onto his lips, as if this was a game between you.

A game that came to a halt the night that you thought yourself safe enough to walk through the Red Keep.

At night.

Alone.

You hadn’t been able to sleep, something about the full moon rendering you restless and if you weren’t wrong Ylenia would be in the kitchens, so you had thought to reach them and stand by her; had you been lucky, she’d have a cup of tea for you and some stale pastry from the days before.

You had noticed them following you the moment that you had taken a particularly swift turn, and you had just prayed it had been a coincidence.

But how could the gods hear you when your voice wasn’t there?

They got closer and closer.

But so did the kitchens.

Just a few steps and you’d be…

The taller guard caught onto your arm and turned you roughly enough to make you feel ditzy while the gaunter one pinned you against the wall by your other arm and the third one, a man with a stale breath of his own pushed himself between your legs.

“We were lucky, brothers” he spoke making you want to vomit as you tried to breathe through your mouth and not your nose, not to further inhale the toxic scent of his mouth “… a pretty one, ain’t she”.

“Ain’t she the mute girl?” you fought against the grip of the man that was holding you, but it held little solution to her problem as he was stronger than you “… she won’t be screaming for us”.

“Who cares about fucking screams?!”.

The first one relented his grip onto your arm the moment that the one with the smelly breath had pushed a hand onto your chest, both to grope you and make you stay seated where they wanted you.

“… I just care whether her cunt is tight enou…”.

“I thought it’d be you, fuckers”.

The voice froze you as you thought about how cruel the gods could be.

The Hound was an impressive man in just his clothes, and he had just appeared in his full armor.

Dirtied by blood that seemed like cherry wine.

“Sandor” ‘Smelly Breath’ spoke, and it caught you off guard as you don’t think that you had heard anybody call him anything but ‘the Hound’.

And yet these were probably his friends and fellow soldiers, so it made little sense for them to be formal.

“… have you come to join the party, haven’t you”.

The thought filled you with much more dread than the thought of those three men using you for their filthy needs, but the moment that Sandor moved close to them, you realized that he had just unsheathed his sword and the grip on your arms had loosened enough for you to escape it.

‘Smelly Breath’, still, remained a problem as he pushed you back against the wall.

You moaned in pain at such an action as he hissed to you to ‘cease fucking moving’.

“We could give you the first round” the taller one who had been slowly distance himself from the scene offered, as he eyed attentively the sword in his hands “… you are the oldest among us, it’s only right…”.

“It’s only right that you leave her alone” it was final, and as close as to an order than he’d have ever come to “… get a fucking whore from one of Littlefinger’s brothels”.

“What if we want this?” ‘Smelly Breath’ seemed the head of the group and the most daring, as his fingers dug into your skin, and you were sure there’d be bruises by tomorrow.

“She is a mute”.

You tried not to scream at the obvious fact that Sandor entailed with such a phrase that you were flawed because you couldn’t speak.

“You can tell that a woman enjoys herself even when she doesn’t speak”.

“I don’t think that you have ever fucked a woman properly since you first became aware of your cock, Hitan”.

Sandor’s reprimand made Hitan’s mates laugh as the man grew purplish and his grip tightened further enough to make you hiss with no sound.

But Sandor saw the discomfort written on your face.

“Get to your fucking beds” he ordered, although you doubted that he was above any of them, although he was an impressive knight for sure “… tomorrow will fuck you up, even more if you are as shit as I remember at handling wine”.

“Don’t spoil our fun, Sandor” the man whose hands had been onto her arm spoke, although he didn’t dare to look at the bigger man in the eyes “… just because your fucking cock doesn’t get hard for pretty girls, it doesn’t mean ours don’t and it has been too long”.

“Then you’ll fucking lose that cock, tonight” and just like that his sword pointed right to the man’s little friend.

It was enough to have him back away which was as far as he’d have come with an admission of having given up.

Hitan also didn’t seem so happy to continue as he swiftly released her from his grip with one last shove against the wall and a muttered ‘fucking bitch and cockblock’.

The third one just ran after his companions.

It would have been almost comical, hadn’t you still been reeling from what had just happened.

You didn’t detach from the wall till, you felt a gentle but strong hand onto your arm and although the touch was attentive, you still answered in defense, bringing the arm to yourself, and slumping against the wall as if to become one with it.

“I won’t hurt you, girl”.

his voice was gruff, but it sounded sincere, and you strangely trusted him after he had wrestled you away from those three men, if they could be called that.

“… although I would rather be interested into knowing what the fuck you were thinking about wandering the Keep alone, at this cunt of an hour”.

You moved gently a hand in the direction of the kitchens and then mimed the act of drinking tea.

“Fucking hells” Sandor commented as he offered his hand to you – this time he made sure to hold it in front of you, so you’d see him – and gently but strongly brought you back to your feet “… you aren’t only a mute, but also a fucking idiot”.

You sent him a glare that got him at least to lower his head as he let out a laugh.

Your hands stayed joined as he escorted you back to your room.

‘Don’t fucking care if I need to lock you up, you are staying fucking inside, alright?’ it should have sounded like a threat but it wasn’t and you pushed down your heels, almost like a child at the denial of your nightly drink, but there was little resistance that you could offer to a man twice your size and with violence written all across his body ‘… fuckers would have ripped right through you’.

You grimaced at such an image and did lock yourself back into the communal room you shared with the other girls that worked with you, none the wiser to your absence as they all slept soundly through the exhaustion.

Unlike you.

It wasn’t anymore the restlessness that you had felt before mixed with the almost assault that you had just risked, but there was something that burned and hurt in the hands that Sandor had hold, so strangely delicately that it had no reason to pulse with pain.

Unless it was signaling the fact that it longed for its own match, Sandor’s own hand.

You thought that it’d have been an awful night, but then three knocks – quite in succession and not strong enough to wake up anybody but the lightest of sleepers – came and as you rushed to see whether anybody was summoning you, a small tray with a cup in it, still steaming and smelling of herbs that brought you good dreams.

Sandor was smiling in each of them.

Since that night, your relationship with Sandor had grown into a more explicit one, with him accepting only you for his tasks that required a servant and with your eyes boldly settling onto him every time you could, never getting enough of him.

The other girls that worked with you thought you stupid and a dreamer, but you knew what truly went on as Sandor sat beside you on slow days when you were summoned to his room.

It was always a small piece of parchment and a thick piece of charcoal to talk with him apart from gestures.

‘You can’t speak but you can write?’ he had first laughed as you had explained to him that had he given you a piece of paper and something to write with, you’d have been able to communicate better than through charades ‘… gods, you are fucking weird’.

The septa at the orphanage had taken pity with you and while the others chatted through the small moments of happiness, you stayed behind to learn the shape of letters; when you had told that to Sandor, he had had this strange expression on his face, sadness mixed with the violence that characterized him.

‘Lonely childhood’ he had commented as he slapped his thighs ‘… we have that in common, weirdo’.

If he was the Hound, soon people had taken to call you puppy.

And his bitch, but more secretly for Sandor had once broken the hand – and all the fingers – of a drunken man that had shot it on your face while you were serving the knights at a feast.

And it wasn’t always violence that came with Sandor, but also a wicked sense of humor and a smart intelligence that brought him to be the sole one that understood you immediately.

Maybe it was the fact that you were both outcasts that you knew each other so well.

Or maybe it was the fact that you were fated.

That night you had decided to confront this hypothesis.

You had to admit that you had been slightly drunk; queen Cersei had received a commission of wine, she didn’t particularly enjoy and sent it to the kitchens as ‘it might not be up to her tastes, but it wasn’t to be wasted’.

‘She might have poisoned it’ Ylenia had joked, making all the younger girls spit it back, as she took a swing of it ‘… oh gods, don’t be so uptight! At least if we die, we with good wine in our belly, which is much more than dying starving and exhausted!’.

To you it had just seemed like second nature to give some to Sandor, to run to his chambers with heated cheeks and a dumb smile to make him taste that precious nectar, although he probably tasted it daily as he might not be fully a knight, but he was above you.

Still, what little of good you owned, it went to Sandor.

And maybe you were indeed his puppy following him and you didn’t mind it when his eyes were onto you all too proud and swift while his cheeks flustered red.

And your own grew redder the moment that you came close to Sandor’s room, hearing exaggerated female moans but also clearly male grunts that belonged to the same man that you had been hounding desperately in those months, believing that you were special to him.

That his lack of cruelty for you meant that he held something for you.

Instead, here he was with a common whore.

The wine in the chalice you had brought to him, spilled onto your dress in your haste to go back and be consoled by Ylenia, who was kind but stern as she reminded you that:

‘Dogs were animals after all’.

That’s how you finished your dilly-dallying with a man that you by now knew that you’d never have, as you blushed thinking about how foolish you had been; from then on, your gaze never met Sandor and you switched with the other girls your turns, offering them money and your food for that task.

In a few weeks, he had gotten the hint and he left you alone.

It took much less resistance than you thought and you tried not to have it hurt as much as it felt, as you focused into your work and there was so much work with the queen’s new child’s arrival, enough that you misplaced the sole precious possession that you owned: a brass bracelet that the septa that had taught you how to read had left you after her death.

It was a little thing of no beauty but of comfort to you, and the day that you came back from a long shift, it was nowhere to be seen and while you questioned aggressively everyone about where it had gone, nobody gave you an answer, insisting that nobody would have stolen it for the little value that it had.

First you lost Sandor – not that he had ever been yours – and now the bracelet that had been your sole possession.

Gods, if you felt lost at the Keep.

Thankfully still the bracelet was just a simple object, hence it could be returned, and it was returned to you by one of the delivery boys, Jason, who brought it to you with a happy smile and received many thanks.

In all truth, he had been kind with you and asked for nothing but a walk for his gesture, one that wasn’t uncomfortable or felt particularly awful, but neither had the spark that the ones you had been on with Sandor, trailing after him as he moved faster.

Still, Jason was nice, good to you and a perfect gentleman.

All the girls in her dormitory swooned over him and he had brought you what little preciousness you held dear to her heart.

He kissed you in a hallway, a bit forceful: his hands searched beneath you dress as you felt again back to that night with the smelly breath and probing hands.

But it was Jason, he was perfect and sweet and…

‘What the fucking are you fucking doing, boy?’.

You kept your eyes closed as you thought this was a dream, as Sandor had taken onto avoiding you as you did with him, so it made no sense for him to be there.

‘… it’s a fucking hallway not a brothel’.

You tried not to be insulted by the implication as you opened your eyes to send Sandor a glare, more out habit than anything else, and realized he was there, handsome in his cloak and armor.

Even his ugly scar was a detail that you missed.

‘I and the lady were just too eager’ and although you had wanted to kiss Jason, you didn’t like his tone.

And neither did Sandor.

“The fucking lady is coming with me” and just like that he crossed over to Jason and took your hand, again, as he had done that night and again you felt that relief at being joined together “… scram off, you cunt”.

Jason looked like he wanted to fight, but what little could he do with a mountain of muscles?

Hence, he – indeed – scram off and Sandor turned to you and while you had expected him to avoid you quickly, his gaze was settled onto you heavy and angry.

“I don’t want you around that fucking idiot, anymore, alright?”.

You didn’t have your usual piece of parchment so, you couldn’t tell him that he wasn’t your father, your husband, or your master so you simply flipped him off and moved to get in the direction of where Jason had gone.

But Sandor stopped you, again.

“He isn’t fucking good for you, girlie” he spat again, as she levelled him another stare “… fucking glare all you fucking want, but hadn’t he thought your tits were pretty, he’d have sold your fucking bracelet to the first person he saw”.

Your eyes went wide open as you realized that Sandor knew something you didn’t.

And that he hadn’t meant to tell it to you, as he his eyes found the floor, almost ashamed.

You promptly tugged onto his sleeve, as if to tell him not to leave you like this.

And as much as he didn’t hold you in his heart like you did in your own, he gave you the truth.

At least you could count on him for that.

“Heard it as we rounded up a small band of thief” he commented swiftly and gruffly as he released your hand “… said he fucking stole it from one of the servant girls… the cute mute one with the…”.

He scratched his head, and you couldn’t believe that for a man that enjoyed his own whore, he couldn’t report what vulgar thing Jason had said about you.

“… he said that had he given it back to you, he might have seen…” again that loss for words, that reticence as if you hadn’t learned early on your life all the terrible shit men could spat and you mouthed the word, he was missing him, as a light dust of red appeared on his cheeks “… yes…”.

And it did hurt – not as much as Sandor’s betrayal – but it did hurt.

“Let me accompany you in your rooms” Sandor spoke almost pleadingly “… fucker might corner you again and I’d be rather happy to deck him across the face…”.

You promptly shook your head, feeling as vulnerable as fucking ever and not wishing for the company of the man that had broken you first, but as you lowered your eyes and put your face in between your shoulders, it was a rough hand that brought your chin up.

“What have I done, little girl?” he spoke as if he knew that there was something.

As if he felt it.

“You are all chatty and fucking smiley for weeks with me and then fuck off with a bastard who doesn’t deserve you”hadn’t you know against it; you’d have said that he was begging for you “... what did this old dog to make you so pissed?”.

You shook your head, turning it away from him, even though his tight grip.

“Don’t tell me that you fucking finally realized that you deserve better than me”.

It was meant to be a joke, but it held some strange lingering sadness that got you to look up at him, almost pained by what he didn’t let be said in his eyes.

And slowly you shook your head as if to get the point across.

“Well, you should fucking have” he spoke, and you hated the patronizing way in which he always seemed to know what was better for you, while he ruined himself for fucking nothing “… c’mon, let me fucking accompany you to your rooms”.

And before he knew it, you fucking took off and this time he wasn’t fast enough to grab onto you, although he did chase after you and you felt almost girlish in running fast as he ran after you weighted in his full armor, as if you were an hare running away from an hunter.

What a silly spectacle you might have made for those that might come in the empty hallway.

You were having enough fun till you were shoved onto the wall, although this time much more gently than when it had happened with the three soldiers that had cornered you late at night and you felt the deep thrill that you hadn’t felt when Jason had been kissing you so passionately, right as Sandor’s hand went to your sides to hold you in place, while his hips dug your back further into the uncomfortable brick patterns on the walls.

“What’s your fucking problem?” he spoke slurred as if he had been drinking although his breath didn’t smell in any way like ale “… you are more trouble than what you are fucking worth it”.

Was that way then he preferred whores to you?

They were easy: you paid them, you screwed them and then they were out.

“Screw you” you mouthed back at him, as you tried to – again – escape his grip.

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you, little shitstain” he spoke as his eyes were inevitably glued onto you, or better a specific part, your lips “… and the worst is that I don’t fucking know what to do with myself when it comes to you”.

And before you knew it, his lips had crashed onto you, with a savagery that got you thinking that Sandor wasn’t holding back.

And that you enjoyed it.

Your hands moved away and tangled loosely around his neck, while you didn’t know what it was, but you jumped up exactly the moment that Sandor’s hands moved onto your thighs, perfectly hosting you up as two circus exhibitioners who had tried this move over and over.

If you had thought that you were uncomfortable against the wall before, you had been painfully wrong, as now your breath was stolen not only by his lips but by the way his chest pressed against yours, thick metals against the soft cotton of your serving dress, not enough thick to protect you from the sensation burning into your stomach.

And still, when he retracted you tried to bring him onto you again, hissing and whining with what little expression you had left as you kept your eyes closed not wanting to wake up if this was a dream.

“Now you fucking understand what will happen if you fucking toy with me?” he spoke, breathless and it filled you with pride that you had reduced him to such a state “… I am not like fucking Jason or what the fucking… I won’t slip my fucking hand between your gowns and mess around lazily like a fucker. I’d fucking fuck you against this wall, if given the chance”.

And at that you opened your eyes, looking at Sandor with a gaze that clearly said:

‘Then, why don’t you?’.

He staggered back, almost forgetting that you came with him, surprised by the fact that your chests didn’t detach, that you didn’t fall to the ground horridly, and instead came onto him like something attached to him.

“You don’t fucking want what I can give to you, little one”.

You wished desperately for your usual piece of parchment, but when you had come after Jason, you hadn’t had it, and yet you couldn’t waste the occasion. Not when Sandor looked so conflicted.

So, you simply did what he had done to you before, pressing your lips against his with insecurity as you hadn’t kissed many and there was something different from the playful kisses you had exchanged with your friends to the one you pressed onto his lips, as it was this that would have brought the final decision.

That would have told him that you fucking wanted whatever he’d give you.

Whether it’d be his lips, his hard cock that rubbed against your stomach or his heart.

You didn’t have a specific preference, not when you wanted him as yours.

Just for one night.

You were addicted onto the promise of what he brought to you with his rugged lips and strong hands.

He detached clumsily and when he dropped you, you were sure that you had lost it, till his hands tangled with you own much more shyly than when he had kissed you so eagerly and you knew that somehow you had him.

For your own.

“I am fucking hard and it is all your fault” never any words had sound any sweeter “… fucking Seven Hells!  I was about to take you against a wall…”.

And he turned to you with a smirk that sent something dark shivering down your back.

“… and you’d have let me”.

You had at least the decency to feel heat on your cheeks as he brought you along by the hand – warm and calloused – into his rooms, ascertaining himself that nobody was there before he pushed you inside and while you expected – and wanted – his hands onto you again, you were practically shoved onto the chair at the small table where he usually consumed his meals.

Papers and pen were immediately sufficed to you and while you had thought to avoid this, Sandor looked at you with enough anger to make you smirk.

“You explain yourself, alright?”.

And you had promptly written back:

‘Then are you going to fuck me?’.

It was strange to see such a huge man blush at your wording.

“You wouldn’t have all this fucking boldness if you could speak, little shit” he shot back, as he brought back the paper to you “… and maybe. You know… you kind of left me offended… thought the dog was too fucking old for you and had to chase after some of the younger fucking bitches, all yapping to you?”.

You shouldn’t have felt his jealousy that hard, but you did as a special kind of throbbing started right in between your thighs.

‘You were the first one to replace me’ and you did have a bit of shame for yourself as you added ‘… I heard you with the whore’.

And Sandor at first looked surprised and confused and then realization settled onto him, as one his hand gently threaded into your hair.

“Don’t tell me you were jealousy, pretty?” he taunted you like an idiot “… oh gods, my little silly girl…”.

‘Fuck you, Sandor’.

“It’s the opposite, sweetheart” he made you again flustered, as he lowered himself till they were face-to-face “… don’t you fucking understand that I have needs? Needs that I can’t push onto pretty little girls like you, because you’ll break”.

‘I won’t break’ you wrote back, straightening your back and raising your head but most importantly making sure to look at him as to let him know that you weren’t scared of him.

Not now, not ever.

And he looked taken aback, unable to hide the way his eyes widened before he shook his head lightly.

“We shall see” and like that he gently raised you up by the chair, holding out a hand to you “… although don’t think that you get any bonuses just because you are you”.

And your gaze seemed to almost say ‘I’d never ask for such a thing’ as your back found the bed and his lips your own.

He was strangely gentle for a man that just threatened to break you, and never like in that moment you regretted not having your voice, as you’d have moaned his name over and over every time his lips left your own, as you were worried, he’d change his mind each time he left you.

So, you only chased after him, till his hands again held you down by your sides and he had this wicked expression on his face that got you to feel the rush of adrenaline all through you.

“You were so fucking silly” he spoke as he looked at you, while your bag duck into the soft plushness of the mattress “… to be jealous of me, when we aren’t nothing for each other”.

Again, you wished to have a voice to tell him that he was mean for denying something that was very much between you, so you just levelled him a stare that said it and hoped he’d get the message.

“You are so smart” he continued as his hands gently raised through your sides to your ribcage and onto the sleeves of your dress “… too smart to fucking chase after an old dog like me”.

And just like that your dress was ripped apart and you silently screeched at the show of strength while Sandor went to lap onto all the naked skin that was revealed onto him, at first kissing it and then biting where it was the softest as you brought your hands onto your back, digging your nails in the metal of your armor.

He wasn’t as cruel as he had promised, but he was relentless.

He made sure to mark you and there was something inherently arousing in the knowledge that he could have made you take everything from him.

And you’d have gladly accepted it.

“A pity you can’t speak, although that cunt of Hitan was right” and all too soon his hands slipped into the rip of your dress to your smallclothes, lightly ghosting over your clothed mound and finding it drenched “… you can tell when you are doing a good job with a woman, even if she doesn’t scream”.

You had expected him to rip away the rest of your dress, move aside your small clothes and dive inside of you.

You had hoped, but instead his hand had gently retreated, and he had moved onto kissing you again tenderly, brushing away the hair from your face to see wholly your face, while his own was hidden beneath his locks, and you had an inkling that he enjoyed it this way.

After all, you were mostly undressed in front of him, while he was still in his armor.

The coldness of the armor felt almost like a relief on your heated skin.

“You shouldn’t fucking lust after an old dog like me” he breathed out on your lips “… but I don’t want that cunt of Jason to have you… I don’t fucking want anybody to have you but me, and I am a fucking monster for that”.

It was as close to a declaration as it came and you moved up to gently kiss Sandor, in hopes he’d hear that you didn’t think he was a monster, as you wished the same; you wanted to have him, not nameless whores for a night. You wanted him for ever.

But right now, it wasn’t a question of time.

And you’d have avoided the talk.

“Still, if this isn’t something that you want, you better fucking say it” and realizing the mistake of his words, he added “… beat onto my chest one time to tell me to continue and a second and I’ll have you sent back to your rooms, no fucking expectation”.

He waited for the second beat on his chest after your first, and when he realized it wouldn’t have come, he looked at you like you were somehow crazy and a miracle at the same time and then he raised up to kiss you, desperately and urgently.

“The beats on my chest are valid also now” he spoke as he seemed not to get enough of your lips, while you giggled against him “… one is for ‘continue fucking me, Clegane’, two is for me to stop, alright?”.

You giggled at him and nodded as you gently moved his hand onto his armor, wanting him to take it off, but he didn’t seem to listen to you as his hand dipped down into the gash on your dress and this time he didn’t simply caress you; he pushed aside the garments and swiped your own wetness for his own, making you huff and throw back your head against the pillows.

But nothing could have prepared you for when he brought your wetness to his lips and he sucked, looking at you hungrily and darkly.

“You are fucking sweet also down there” he commented, before his mouth latched onto one of your exposed nipples, and his hand went down to your garments, and onto your Venus’ mount “… fucking dogs like me are used to bones, not to fucking little girls who taste better than Arbor”.

You felt yourself grew heated in embarrassment at his bold words, and yet there wasn’t much left when his hands started to gently draw out patterns onto a part of you that you didn’t know existed but brought the most intense pleasure you had ever experience.

And Sandor, that fucker, knew it.

“… just a few rubs to your pretty pearl and you are already acting like a fucking whore” he spoke gently to your ear, although the words were cruel and they made you cry out silently “… maybe I should have been fucking you instead of those whores, you taste so wickedly and tremble so prettily”.

You cried out at the praise and your legs tightened around him, trying to keep him there and you almost choked out in pure fear as his hand moved away, brushing against your folds, before gently dipping inside.

“Can you stay without me for a few fucking minutes?” his voice was dark and not a request “… I want to fucking see whether you are as pretty down there as you are here”.

You hid your face into the crook of his shoulder and nodded, hearing Sandor smirk as he left behind a kiss on your cheek, a promise to come back, as he went lower down your body.

And you felt him, each kiss, each nip, as the tip of his finger separated her folds, and here you were exposed to him.

“Fuck” he spoke out in admiration “… the prettiest I have ever seen”.

Then something dark came onto him, as he dipped closer to where you ached the most and you closed your eyes, unable to hold such an image in your eyes.

“… and you were about to squander it with a boy that wouldn’t have gotten you to come” he spoke almost as if it was a reprimand “… fucking fucker. You don’t fucking need a boy, you need a man and although I am not the man for you, I’ll teach you fucking better”.

And just like that his tongue was covering all of yourself and you were crying out, squirming away at the sensation of him onto you, inside you and desperately against you.

“Just a lick and you are bashful?” he taunted you “… just you wait till I fuck you open on my finger, little girl”.

But he did wait before doing what he intended, and you realized that he meant to ask for your consent to have you utterly debauched and you didn’t know whether he did out of concern, or it was a power move onto you, but you still knocked against his chest one single time.

And yet, he didn’t spread you open but went to taste you as he fully removed your dress and now you were naked in front of him, a position that should have made you feel ashamed; but how could you when Sandor made you feel like a goddess at whose altar he was praying?

After all, wasn’t he on his knees, between your legs?

Although what he was doing was anything but holy.

You were surprised when you first felt his finger dip inside you and only then Sandor raised his face from his attentive work to have you loosened on his tongue to take in your expression as he seemed to check for any signs of discomfort, while he pushed inside his thick index, making you choke out softly and close your eyes.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, although it was a weird sensation you hadn’t felt before.

You felt full.

“… don’t tell me that you haven’t put your own fingers inside of yourself, little one” he cooed to you “… well, it wouldn’t matter, as they are fucking little compared to my own”.

And if those were his fingers, you couldn’t think about his cock.

His finger inside you stretched you to the point of discomfort, although his tongue kept on working circles through you, relaxing you enough that the tension of your walls moved into a more comfortable bliss as he started moving his finger in and out of you, lightly crooking it at times as if he was searching for something.

“… fucking hell, where the fuck is it?” he spoke to himself, and you pouted at him, digging your heels into his bag as a way to get him back to you, and pushing out your lips for a kiss “… I should have fucking foreseen that you were one of the fucking needy ones”.

But he did kiss you and added another finger.

Two fingers shouldn’t have been so different from one, but the stretch intensified and then fuck… he found what he was looking for.

“Does it feel good, little girl?” he taunted you, as he gently released the hold onto hat soft spot that got you seeing the stars “… don’t fucking tell me. You are drenching my hand and the sheet probably”.

He bullied that spot with an urgency that brought you to fucking screech with what little sound you had in your body, as your nails dug into what little skin you could feel through the armor.

“You are doing so well, girl” he spoke, almost cooing and although he meant to be teasing it just made you feel a whole lot better “… so pretty for me and my fucking fingers”.

And his tongue as he dipped down again, and it almost felt too much: the conjunction of his fingers and tongue brought you to feel your stomach tighten and then release slowly, oh so slowly as pleasure overcame you wholly and here you were desperately rutting against his bear as you pled with all your body for him to continue.

And to let you go.

Thankfully Sandor might be menacing but he was a giving lover and held you down as you shook a second time, wetting his beard with your juices this time and he laughed at that much to your embarrassment when he came up to kiss you.

“So shy for just a few times?” he teased her as he gently ghosted his lips over her own “… fucking virgins are always the easiest, aren’t they”.

You pounded lightly his back at that, although your legs inevitably brought him forward into you.

“Don’t tell me that you aren’t a fucking virgin” he teased again, although it had an hint of possessiveness, the slightest “… you certainly do fucking blush like one”.

Instead of further goading his teasing, you tugged against his armor, obviously asking him to take it off, but Sandor resisted you although he did move the lower part to help himself out of his breeches.

“A virgin and one that hasn’t ever seen a cock” he spat out as your eyes were so focused onto his own member, all red and veiny and deliciously big to the point that it low key scared you.

And aroused you.

Your hands moved to where he held it, and it wasn’t only pretty but also strangely silky in the touch, as it lightly twitched in your smaller hand, making Sandor curse out much to your satisfaction.

“… gods and fucking Seven Hells, don’t do that to a man” he protested, but he didn’t comment on the way you loosely started pumping him, up and down and again and again, as your instinct guided you, taking in any small expression on Sandor’s face “… oh gods, fucking… don’t make me come in your fucking hand like a shitstain on his first ride with a woman”.

You smirked at him, happy to have regained some power over him as you did detach from him but not before having lightly tightened your hold on his cock, just the softest pressure to have him hiss through his teeth, while you adjusted further on bed to allow him to sit as well.

It was only when he crowded onto you, standing on top of you with each arm by the sides of your face that you realized that it was going to happen.

That for all his talk, he was going to take you.

He was going to make you, his.

And yet, he seemed to wait, as his eyes moved onto you, his face still partially covered by his hair falling on his face to hide his scarred face and you desperately wanted to hold them back and tell him that you didn’t care, that he was perfect, scarred face, rough hands, and soft words just for you, as he waited for you to give him the one beat.

And you did so as you spread your legs for him, a bit bashful to offer yourself to him like a feast but any of his restraint broke at that and soon you felt that same smooth tip that had been in your hands moments before right against your pearl, rubbing in teasing circles.

“Just two times you have come, and you are already fucking drenching my cock” he gently bullied your hole with the type, bringing it upward and downward into you “… a man isn’t going to last long, you should know that”.

And like that he first breached you and you had to admit that the pain that you thought would have come, didn’t.

It was just a strange sensation of an intrusion not painful but not pleasurable as you opened your eyes to find a smirk on Sandor’s face as he pushed down to kiss you and pushed himself further into you.

There it started to hurt.

He was so big, and you were so fucking small.

And yet, the pain wasn’t unbearable, as he pushed himself into you to the point that you wondered just how far he could reach into you, just how far he could claim into your body as he fully sheathed into you with a grunt, his face falling onto the crook of your neck, and although he was the bigger one, you felt the control that came when your hands gently started threading through his hair.

“You are tight” no bold words to have you flustered “… indeed a fucking virgin and you are allowing me to take you. A fuckin dog, oh gods, fucking…”.

His hips dig into you and the first thrust left you breathless and immediately Sandor checked for you, almost as if he was worried for what he had done but you just smiled at him as you whined at the sensation of his cock dragging against your walls as they molded around him.

You felt yourself clench and then relax, and then do it again as his thrusts became more present, and although they were slow, you felt his strength into you.

“So good” he breathed into your neck, littering it with a few soft kisses, as he seemed lost in the pleasure and you took that exact moment to look at what your joining looked like, curious to know whether it was as good as it felt, and you were surprised by one fact.

The way your stomach bulged every time he thrusted back inside you.

Fuck, it should have been grossing you out inevitably and instead you were fascinated by the way he let his claim into you; how he bullied your body to find his way home into you.

To slip himself inside of you further and further.

Whatever pain you had left was now behind as his hips started thrusting faster and faster and you couldn’t complain, not when the hand on your pearl started to match said rhythm and soon you were overstimulated by both the sensations: the primal one of his pushes into you and the soft pleasure of his stroking.

“I am so fucking close” he seemed almost to beg you for something “… I am going to fucking come like a virgin. I’ll fucking spill into you and that cunt of Jason won’t ever try to sneak his dirty hands inside your skirts”.

Before you knew it, you were now onto your stomach as Sandor had exited you to push himself as you laid with your face down, stomach to the mattress and your ass up like a bitch in heat; you would have complained, hadn’t the angle felt much better and his hand had much more freedom, while your nipples brushed against the coarse material of his bedding bringing  even more stimulation.

You were done by this the moment that you felt him press himself wholly against you, his seed spilling into you with enough force that you felt it tickle down yourself, as he didn’t make a move to detach himself from you.

Oh no, not at all, as he instead pushed you further against his weight onto the mattress, and it felt all too much as the pressure proved to be grounding while you went through the aftershocks of your own orgasm.

The moment he realized that he was crashing you – not that you minded – he pushed to the side, effectively separating himself from you and the sensation was as awful as the coldness that hit you and for a moment you thought that it’d end up like this.

After all, Sandor had made it clearly: he wasn’t interested in you past that.

And yet, a few moments after his arms came around you.

“Sleep, then we can fetch a fucking septon” and at your confusion he added “… you need one for a fucking wedding, don’t you?”.