Hazbin Hotel Masterlist | HOTD Masterlist | AKOTSK Masterlist
Bertie Character Masterlist
⬧︎ AKOTSK︎︎ ⬧︎ Wicked ︎︎⬧︎ ASOIAF ⬧︎ Hazbin Hotel / Helluva Boss ⬧︎ Stranger Things ⬧︎ The Legend of Vox Machina ⬧︎ Interview with the Vampire ⬧︎ House of the Dragon ⬧︎ Agatha All Along/Wandavision ⬧︎ Yellowjackets ⬧︎ MCU
to be clear, I believe younger artists and minors can write good fics (not to say “fanfic must always be good” either because it is a hobby and I still believe that as long as it’s done with love and the artist’s joy, it is good) and I believe it’s good when younger artists and minors start making art at young ages.
that said, a lot of fanfics out there that you read and love are done by adults with kids, jobs and responsibilities. adults who have years, decades of practice under their belts. adults who don’t let life and responsibilities take away their joy in creating.
someone’s love and passion don’t suddenly go away the second they reach a certain age. so if anything, I feel sorry for people who say “adults shouldn’t write fanfics or make fan art” because what these people really say is that they expect themselves to stop having fun and finding comfort in things that bring them joy and comfort the second they reach a certain age. it’s sad that they put an expiration date on their own fun and source of comfort.
Could I please request a modern!Dunk drabble with the losing virginity prompt? I was imagining the reader still being a virgin, feeling like everyone her age has already had sex, so she decides to finally get it over with by picking a random guy at a bar.I'd love for it to end with a little fluff.
You’ll Work!
Modern Ser Duncan The Tall X F!Virgin!Reader
WC:2.7k
Tags: fingering, car sex, sweet sweet Dunk, some liquid courage, groping, spit, fingers in mouth, Protected PnV.
A/N: I know this was apart of the Drabble request but I enjoyed this idea wayyyy to much to keep it brief lol!
“you’re lovely!” He said, too loudly in your ear. Your gals had gotten paired off with his friends, or teammates already, you couldn’t be exactly sure which they were.
“Thanks.” You response back, cupping your hand against the side of his ear so he could actually hear you. He was bent almost in half to be able to chat you up near the bar. Both of you just watching your friends dance. He seemed a bit awkward with his whole situation but you also knew you weren’t helping him out at all. One of your friends had mentioned you were a bit closed off…somewhat prudish.
Which you found laughable because what you desperately wanted was to just sleep with somebody. To just get it fucking over with by this point. You had waited a while, gotten through highschool without losing it to some shitty boyfriend after a school dance and then had just let it get away from you at uni, you were a full adult, living on your own, promotions in your Career, generally you felt rather fulfilled yet, this one thing still had not been done.
And it ate at you.
The big man took your short response in stride. Clearly he didn't mind pulling some weight in the conversation.
“just visiting or do ya live around er?” He pressed on. You eyed him a bit, looking at how he leaned one elbow against the bar top and his other made a full pint of Guinness seem like a short glass in his grip.
“I’m from here.” You replied and turned so you fully faced the bar. “Three tequila shots please.”
“Jesus-“ dunk blinked. That was alot.
“we can share.” You said while sliding one towards him, keeping the other two infront of you. You picked up a line and quickly downed the first one. He was still just awkwardly looking at the shot. You held your second one up waiting to cheers with him.
“I’m sorry-it’s just, I drove here.” He jabbered out. Lifting the half drank beer up. “I’m the designated driver of sorts.”
“you’ve got a car here?” You looked up at him, neck straining and when he nodded with a wrinkled brow you tossed back the second shot and looked at the third. Taking a steadying breath and then turning back to him.
“you actually think I’m lovely?”
“Yeah-i mean…:yes of course.” He motioned to you a bit as his cheeks flushed.
“let’s go out to your car then?” You phrased it like a question just before taking the third shot and moving the cup from his hand letting your hand remain there for him to hold at. “Yeah! Let’s go.” You smirked up at him taking a sip of his beer to get the nasty straight alcohol taste out of your mouth.
Duncan closed your hand up within his when you didn’t retract it and as soon as you slipped away from the bar and headed into the maze of people to get out the door and onto the street and followed. His hand shifting from holding yours to settling on your back and moving ahead of you a bit. People had to literally make way for him and so you could just slip in the space his broad body created as he muttered apologies while bumping people’s shoulders despite his effort not to.
“I’m parked around the corner.” He said a bit shyly. “Do you need a ride home, feeling sick?” He was worried suddenly, maybe you were unwell and just latched onto him for help? Then again…he had just watched you coherently order three shots.
“which one?” You took up his hand again and tugged him along…he let you pull him along. “I’m grand, just wanted some privacy with you.” He almost chokes at that. Privacy? In his car? Outside the bar?
“Green Subaru…” he blinks out and fishes the key out of his pocket unlocking the door which makes the lights come on. “What do you need privacy for?” He asked while tucking himself into the front seat. He got in first to make sure he could get the car on and get the AC pumping.
You ducked down hands planted on his wide chest and mustered all the courage those shots had given you so you could press your lips to his. Duncan’s hands flew from the wheel to your side and then back to the wheel before he muttered a “Gods” against your warm lips and his hands settled on the side of your thigh and back of your head, brining you into the car and onto his lap.
His long arm reached down to push his seat back further with the lever and the back rest eased into a wider angle as well giving you both some space. You’re the one that shuts the door sealing you both inside.
You kiss for a while. Kissing was safe for you, it was ground you’ve covered before. Dunks hands palming at the upper part of your thigh, fingers occasionally brushing the cheeky lacy underwear you were wearing under your skirt was new. Uncharted. Your lips got a bit uncoordinated and he noticed the nerves.
He pulled back and his big hand rubbed your cheek smiling up at you. Just making sure you were okay, giving you a second to breath. If you diddnt want to kiss anymore then this could stop, he would walk yoh back inside the bar to your friends and everything!
“I’m a virgin.”
You just blurted it out, needing to get that disclosure out of the way. The poor guy under you was blushing bright pink and seemed to be trying to come up with something to say. He wasn’t sure if he should assure you he hadn’t been trying to do anything more than makeout and hold you or if he should ask why you would be telling him that.
“but I want to have sex…preferably right now with you.”
“fuck-“ he was hard, to be fair he’d been feeling a little hard since you were smushed against him in the front seat and he could taste the mildly minty lipgloss you were wearing on his tongue.
“sorry, shite, I’m a idiot sorry.” You sat up right away and shifted off of him and onto the padded center console.
“No Doll!” He grabbed your knees right away and rubbed them. “Hey, you are not an idiot, I just-I was surprised it all!.” Now he felt like an arse. You’d been honest with him about what you were wanting and he hadn’t responded as carefully as he should have.
“I don’t know if I can help you though?” He explained, delicately when you looked back up at him, some hope back in your features.
“I have a condom.”
That was going to be his excuse as well, that was easier to explain than his real hesitation.
“I just don’t want to hurt you….physically.”
“so don’t, I just want to have sex I dont need to have kinky sex.” You plopped back down on his legs and rubbed your hand against his shirt, fingers trailing over his stomach dangerously close to getting near his bulge.
“I don’t have lube in ma car doll.” He laughed while cupping the side of your neck. You really were pretty, and he was just drawn to you for some reason. Maybe because he really liked to be chosen. Even if it was for some arbitrary reason you had still looked at every lad in the pub and opted to ask him.
You smirked as your hand settled over his crotch and gently palmed him. He let you explore as long as you liked, didn't try and get your hand under his trousers because he didn't want to push you into something you weren’t ready for. Eventually Dunks deep breathes and hushes whines started to make you quite wet and so you leaned in and kissed him, his hands all over your body made you even slicker, specifically when his fingers dug into the meat of your backside and you groaned into his mouth. Pulling back when he twitched against your palm.
“we have spit… Right?” That could be lube, all natural, you needed it to work. Luckily dunk was so worked up but this point that you probably could have suggested something even less sensible and he would have complied.
The car meant neither rod you got fully undressed but his fly came open and his pants and briefs got shoved down under his arse. Your panties hung off your ankle caught on your shoe and both do you laughed a bit because each of you was sort of mess. You nervous and unsure about mechanics and dunk was uncoordinated and crammed. The giggle died in your throat when his hand moved so his fingers could slide against your slit. You were already pretty worked up from what he felt and you could sense your body gushing some from the thrill of being touched by somebody else there.
“mmmm.” You exhaled and heaved his shoulders. “Higher.” He smirked, glad you weren’t afraid to tell him what felt right. It made him less nervous about minding your comfort later. He wouldn’t have to guess you’d tell him. He leveled his thumb over your clit and let his ring fingers pressed in and out of your core so you had something to squeeze around.
“I’m close-“ your stomach knotted and you gripped his trap muscle. Thighs squeezing and his free hand steadied you at the waist. “Fuck me!” The figure of speech flys out of your mouth as his finger on your clit tips you over the edge. He’s snickering as you pant against him for a moment.
“fuck you?” You look up at him hazy from the climax and from the shots.
“oh shut up…i was just…i was having a orgasm.” You defend and the big, kind man, you met a hour ago kissed your bitten lips.
“I’m happy to oblige the request.” He teased. “Just need a little bit of…” his fingers, wet from your pussy still press to your lips. You part them and relax your jaw and tongue so he can do what he needs. “This…easy doll.” He nods reassuringly as his fingers press against the back of your throat and your gage hard against them, your fingers gripping his bicep as he pulls them out. Wet with sticky thick spit.
“I know it’s going to hurt, and that’s okay.” You say while he spreads your spit all over his dick. He really was huge…you probably weren’t helping yourself with him being your choice of this loss of virginity mission but now you wanted it to be him. You felt comfortable with him being the one to do this.
“I’m gonna be gentle doll, and you’re not going to have all of me in ya.” His hand was pushing against your back brining you up into position over him. “You sit against this.” His hand gave your ass a rough squeeze. “Not my thighs.” He would make sure the last few inches of him were kept away from you. “Okay?” He asked as your chest pushed against him and you could feel his tip brushing against your silky folds.
“o-okay” you swallowed down the nerves and kissed him, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing as his tip spread you open. You groaned low against his neck where you now hid and Duncan’s restrained moan vibrated against the side of your head.
“fucks sake-“ both of you hissed. You because he was so big and him because you were so snug. Everything felt delicious and like to much!
“your so lovely…really fucking lovely doll.” He grunted out hips moving slightly as he held you still. He had hoped you wouldn’t feel as good as you did because that made being restrained and responsible wayyy more difficult for him. He wanted to rut up into you, push your down and feel your ass squirm against his lap as your body adjusted to him we your poor cervix opened up to accommodate his length.
“fuck…fuck.” You were trembling already, clit dragging against a vein on his shaft and your walls were clenching against his girth. You felt completely filled. “Fuck Duncan-“ you gripped harder to his back, likely leaving nail marks in his skin even with his shirt on. “Fuck that feels good”. You gasp and his hand on you bottom pressed high against your back smushing you against him, he needed to thrust, but he couldn’t when you were sat so low on him. With your body lifted up more he could pump the six inches he had stretched you with in and out of your warm core.
“gods doll you feel so good.” He caught your jaw with his mouth and kissed you there. You smiled at the feeling, it was tender and tickling because of his slight facial hair.
“this feels good.” You kiss him, “this feels really good dunk.” And that’s music to his ears. To hear that he was making a woman feel nice, a virgin no less!
“Can you come again?” His grip tightened because he was finding himself really close to finishing but he knew the moment that happened that the build up for you would stop. He wanted you to get a second orgasm first.
“mhm…mmm y-yeah i wanna.” You pant looking down to see where he met you and you groaned at the sight. He was glistening from your spit, your first release and a bit of blood as well. “Kiss my neck.” You pull him by his hair down to your chest and he might at the skin sucking on different spots, moving quickly enough that you wouldn’t bruise. It was the huffing that he was doing that really tipped the scale for you again. That he was making it very clear how good you made him feel, how tight you were and how lovely and how badly he needed to come.
The moment he felt your pussy flutter around him and your jaw go tight as you groaned he let go and you felt the strange warm sensation. His cum was contained in the condom but it was still something starling and new so you looked down quickly and Duncan’s hand flex. Pulling you back against his chest and keeping you there. He wanted you close still, especially as he still had a few spurts of cum to get out.
“that was lovely.” You whisper arms still around him and you looked up at him with a dopey grin. “Thank you.”
“That was thrilling-you don’t need to thank me for that doll.” He looked down at you, his hair sticking to this sweaty temple and he pecks your lips. “Let me take ya home?” He didn't want you walking around or having to wait in the bar for your friends when you really should get clean and lay down.
“your good to d-drive?” Voice quavering when you moved to rise off of him. You felt sore and raw now and he saw the wince.
“grand, promise.” He reached back to grab a coat out of the back seat as you pulled your panties back on. “Here sit on this.” He urged spreading the jacket on the passenger seat before you slipped over. He turned the cars lights on finally when you were settle into the passenger seat and he reached over your shoulder to pull the seat belt across you and click it into place.
“let’s stop at a drive through and get you something.” He suggested. “I’m fucking starved too.” He just wanted to be with you a little longer, make sure you felt okay and at ease.
You two ended up parking outside a fast food place for at least two hours. His hand rubbing your inner thigh and laughing at every little comment you made while sucking down a soda and sharing some fries with him.
He ended up taking you back to his after that because your eyes were heavy and you were half asleep against his window. The drinks, thrill and physical release all crashing down on you at the same time. He made sure you were in his bed and left a note on the side table that was over your phone next to a water and Duncan bundled in on his little sofa. He’d wake with a serious ache in his back but that was well worth you feeling comfortable!
Dunk Masterlist, Lmk if you want to be added to a dunk taglist
content tags are extreme diabolical yearning, fluff, canonical views of gender and marriage, canon divergence, reader uses she/her pronouns, discussions of sex but no smut, pet names, reader walks him like a dog, no physical description of reader, this is my first time writing for gwayne so i hope you like it :) thanks for reading <3 update: part 2 is here
Marriage was duty. Marriage was merely a political strategy. An arrangement to be struck between families; marriage had no place for matters of the heart. That is what Gwayne Hightower told himself before he met you, his betrothed. He told himself it did not matter if he found you beautiful or not. It only mattered to produce viable heirs and that you become a capable Lady of House Hightower.
He corresponded with you via raven weeks before your wedding day. In your letters, he found you were friendly, a little erratic in your sentence structure, but prompt in your replies. He wrote to assure you that he intended to give you a good life as Lady Hightower. You would be well cared for in Oldtown; the Reach would offer a climate that you would find very enjoyable. He promised that he would not rush you into marriage consummation, or sharing a marital bed, since you were only meeting for the first time on your wedding day. He wanted to make sure you were comfortable in your new life, as he could hardly imagine being in your shoes. He hoped you were pretty, or at least kind, but did not let himself hope for much. Marriage was duty, nothing more.
Standing at the alter in the Starry Sept, Gwayne mentally cursed and kicked himself a thousand times over. When he lifted your veil, he was met with the most dazzling girl he'd ever seen. Your bright eyes shone under the candlelight, the air around you seemed to sparkle, aided by the twinkling jewels pinned in your hair. Your mouth quipped into a half, nervous smile, that made is knees turn to jelly. He could tell you were accessing him back, brow furrowed in concentration. The crinkle that formed between your eyebrows was downright adorable. And with your wide eyes blinking up at him, you reminded him of a deer wandering a forest. When the Septon asked Gwayne to repeat the sacred words And I take you for my lady and wife, his mouth felt impossibly dry and disconnected from his body. He tore his eyes away from you, to look at the Septon instead, so he could concentrate. "And I t-take you for my lady and w-wife" Maybe he had been wrong about marriage before.
Honor? Duty? Where did it get him? Now, it seemed like those things, once upheld in his family's name, had doomed him. Gwayne had already put you at an arm's length by telling you that he did not expect you to share his bed. So all he could do was be a kind, doting husband, hoping that eventually you would feel comfortable enough to desire him the way he already did.
Gwayne observed you and helped you as you settled into life at the Oldtown. You were acclimating well, greeting everyone you met with a warm smile. You made an effort to learn each servant's name, offering genuine compliments on their work. Gwayne decided that he adored your smile, and you were as beautiful as the Mother, herself. Before he met you, he had faintly hoped that you were beautiful. But now, he wasn't sure if your beauty was a blessing to his eyes, or a curse that he had suffer to look upon you at a respectful distance. You were practically skipping through the corridors. Gwyane noticed you always moved so quickly, never simply walking, always seeming to be in a hurry to get to the next place. Suddenly, the ribbon tying your hair back slipped free and onto the floor. You bent down to pick up the ribbon, the fabric of your dress straining against the swell of your breasts. He’d always thought that a woman’s thighs were the asset he favored the most. But when he noticed the curve of your breasts, he wanted nothing more than to squeeze them, knead them, commit the softness to memory. Your nimble fingers twirled the ribbon, hands so petite and pretty. Perhaps one day they would intertwine with his? He could hold your hand and guide it along his cock, showing you how to stroke it and-
Then you were gone. Scurrying away and out of sight. Only the aroma of your rose scented soap was left for him to bask in, and replay over and over the time he had written that you were not expected to share his bed, and hate himself for it.
The day you came into his solar to show him your new dress, a part of him died inside. He was scribbling a letter to his father when you entered. When he looked up at the disturbance and saw it was you, he stood up so fast he almost sent his chair falling backwards. "My dear wife. What do I owe this pleasure?"
"So formal" you tease, your twinkling laugh lighting up the dim room "I just came to show you this!" You hold out your arms to display your attire, causing Gwayne's breath to hitch in his throat. You were wearing a rich green gown, with gold beading and embroidery all down the length. The design curled around your hips and torso, clinging to all your curves. The candlelight reflected off the gold shimmer, making you look like an angel dripping in Hightower colors.
"Do you like it?" You step closer to Gwayne, always on tip toe, and quickly, like a graceful doe. “Do I look comely?”
Your husband chokes on the words, watching you move closer to him- closer to his grasp. You are so near, he can count each if your eyelashes. “Come-? Comely?” Gwayne’s ears burn red at his misunderstanding. A feeble cough, then he manages to speak. “Yes. Very.”
"The seamstresses fastened the dress itself, but I did most of the embroidery work. See?"
Tentatively, he reaches out to graze his fingers over your hard work. He brushes the gold embroidery at your hip. You're babbling about the time that it look, and the technique you practiced, but Gwayne is zoning out. Only focusing on the warmth of your skin he can feel under the velvet. Your backside, that he had admittedly gawked at whenever you walked in front of him, was under his hand, splayed over your hip.
Your voice fades into the background as his hand, on it's own accord, moves up to your elbow, your shoulder, then brushes against the ends of your hair ever so slightly. It was so much softer than he thought possible. And when he brushes the tips of your hair, the smell of your rose soap wafts up to his nostrils. He watches in anticipation as his hand, seemingly pulled by an invisible force, moves to rest on the small of your back. You do not falter or pull away. In fact, you don't react at all. You just continue smiling, talking about your dress. Then you hold up the fabric of your skirt.
"Here, feel." You instruct, and Gwayne tentatively runs his hand over the gold beads. "I stayed up half the night to finish it. But I think it's worth the trouble." You laugh softly. "What do you think?"
"It's beautiful." He swallows, and meets your eye. "Like you."
Playfully, you roll your huge, doe eyes and there it is again - that laugh that makes his heart flip inside his chest cavity. Your lips brush his cheek so quickly, he thought he might have imagined it. But it was real. You kissed him. The dampness of your lips leave the irrefutable proof on his skin. Just as soon as you entered, you are moving away, towards the door, and out of his reach. "I think I will lay down to rest now. I am weary after staying up so late."
Gwayne must be unwell. He must see a maester. He feels unsteady on his feet and his heartbeat pounds mercilessly in his ears. Because after you leave his solar, his legs jerkily pull his body towards the door. You're fast. Much more agile than a young lady should be. Because you're leagues ahead of him, already out of sight down the castle corridors. He walks in a trance, following the trail of rose, stumbling after you. His cock jerks in his pants, half hard simply from touching you and the green fabric of your damned dress. Feverishly, his skin burns hot under his clothes. You're ill, you're reverting back to being a green boy, he tells himself. He wills himself to gain some sense, and stop following you like a lunatic, but his legs still carry him the way to your bed chambers.
When he arrives at your chambers, he enters without ceremony. He falls against the door and stumbles inside. It looks like you are getting ready to leave, having changed into a simple grey dress, and clutching your prayer book with a startled look on your face.
“Gwayne? Are you alright?” You ask, concerned for your husband’s current state- looking dazed in the middle of your bedchambers.
He does not answer your question. “I thought you were going to lie down and rest.” He blurts.
You were supposed to be getting ready to rest, he thinks, wearing your soft nightgown that I know you own because I've seen the servants filling your closet with clothes before you moved here. And you're supposed to be rubbing your eyes, sleepy and soft. I know you get like that when you're tired because once we dined together early in the morning. And I adored how you looked, one foot still in slumber, the other in wakefulness.
You smile, helpful, but so infuriatingly oblivious to his torment. “I was, yes, but then I remembered I am meeting the Septons this afternoon. We are discussing aid for the poor.” A pause. “Are you alright?” you ask again.
A broken sound emanates from your husband. A mixture of a groan and whine. He falls to his knees in front of you, hands clambering, pulling at your skirt. Gwayne knows he is a knight of the realm, but in this moment he does not care. He is a beggar at your feet. “Sweet girl. My sweet wife, please. Please do not leave.” His fingers fist tighter on your skirt.
Oof. You grunt, tugged off balance by your imploring husband. “I must go. I am new to my duties as Lady Hightower. And I can’t be seen shirking them so soon.” You rake your fingers through his auburn hair, as he presses his face firmly into the junction of your thighs. Gwayne’s hands have lost all restraint, pawing at your arse, tugging your cunt even closer into his face. With every trace of your fingers through his hair, his cock grows stiffer, straining uncomfortably into his pants. This surprises him, the reaction to your touch in his hair. All these new discoveries, particularly the unlimited bounds of his yearning, has his mind reeling.
You sigh. "By the seven, I really am late." You thread your fingers at the top of his head, and pull his gaze up to meet yours. "Oh Gwayne, what am I going to do with you?"
He strains, gazing up at you with watery eyes, "Oh dove, I-"
"Later." You tighten your hold on his long hair, secretly enjoying how much there is to tug on and manipulate in your small hand. You could feel his hot breath against your cunt, panting, building on the dampness that already gathered the moment he fell to his knees. You smile, giggling at the second whine that escapes his lips, "Have some propriety, husband." What were you going to do with him?
At a feast, you find you need your husband, Lyonel Baratheon.
Pairing: Lyonel Baratheon x Reader
Reader: Lyonel Baratheon’s wife
Contents/Warnings: Sexual content.
Word Count: 1.2k+
-
“So, anyways, the short of the long is she was not his cousin after all but his second cousin, can you believe that?” Lord Frey shakes his jowls.
You smile politely.
Lord Frey had to go over every family tree from roots to tip-top branches, not a leaf unturned. And once he got through the forest, every single one of his seven daughters-in-law’s looks were trotted out to be examined and critiqued like they were prize pigs.
You look out over the hall crowded with guests. Lyonel holds court in the middle, of course. A head taller than the other guests, arms spread, listeners laughing.
“Now, as for my fifth daughter-in-law, do you know her? Have you ever met?”
Lyonel starts to dance now. He pokes and prods the group into lines and sets them spinning. He throws back his black curls. The line of his throat a golden gleam in the torchlight. Even from here you can see the sweat there.
And your tongue flat at the hollow of his throat where black hair curls from his shirt and you lick up through the salt of him and—
“Please excuse me, Lord Frey. I just recollected I needs speak with my lord husband about a matter.” You’re up before you have his permission. He’ll like go on a bit longer about the complexion of daughter-in-law number six before he notices you are gone.
You make your way down the hall, weaving between dancers, until Lyonel spots you and sweeps your path clear with one wave of his arm.
“My lady wife! Join us!” He booms over the noise of the hall and the thunder outside. He loops one arm about your waist and swings you in close. Your hips bump into the side of his. Lyonel looks, laughing, out at the dancers.
“My lord husband, may I speak with you a moment?”
He claps a hand on your shoulder. “Oh come now wife, this is a party. It’s not time for chatting. It’s time for dancing.”
You set a hand on the black silk at his upper arm, rise up on your toes, and bring your mouth near his ear. See his throat. You were right: a thin gleam of sweat. “Lyonel.” Move your voice to something he cannot mistake. “I need you.”
He looks full at you where he has got you caught in one arm. His blue eyes go dark as fast as the weather could change in the Stormlands: blue skies to thunderstorms. “Why didn’t you say so at the first?”
He has already got you halfway out the hall. Pulls you down passageways where the noise of the hall thins. In an alcove, he pushes you against the wall, a knee on either side of yours, hands bracket flat against the wall beside your face. His body is a full line of tension just held off from pressing into yours. He manages to lift gently an errant strand of hair from your face, and say, contained, “Now, what is it my lovely lady wife needs from me?”
You have less containment. “Your mouth.” You roll your hips closer to him.
That same-said mouth quirks in a smile while his eyes go hungry. He near crashes his lips to yours but an abrupt change of course makes your heart shift throat-ward. He veers down your neck, mouth open and hot. Lips catch over the yellow silk of your gown. Over your sternum, ribcage. His hands follow the descent of his mouth. They drag down your sides until he is on his knees. He rucks your skirts up, rapid. He wraps his arms about your thighs, pulling you toward him. His hands slide up to find a hold where thighs meet glutes.
There is no preamble brush, no exploring of nearby territory. He open-mouth kisses you there. Your head falls back against the stone. He licks a long, close strip up you. Seals his mouth and sucks. His fingers dig into your flesh, and Lyonel, who can’t even be silenced by this, is at least reduced to murmurs. Vibrations of wet and warmth and sound that spark like heat lightening up into your belly. There is cool night air against your exposed skin and warmth where he touches.
You sway as he pushes and pulls you. Back against the wall with bump, closer into the heat of him. You set a hand on his curls. Dig your fingers there in a way that makes him groan against you. Your skirts are in the way again and he shoves at them. His beard scratches against you, gathering all the dampness between you, of sweat and spit and everything else, and Lyonel does his best to catch it all.
Through half-lidded eyes, you look about the hallway, wonder if anyone would pass through. Then look down at Lyonel’s head between your legs and can’t bring yourself to worry too much.
He curls his tongue at an angle that has you arching against him. A sound bitten back that makes you grateful for the thunder of Storm’s End. You bump harder against his nose and he makes encouraging noises.
Your heart and breath have been thrumming along together like a storm within your ribs, when, all of the sudden, your heart goes thundering onward while your breath hitches to a halt. Like a rider who keeps sailing forward when his mount comes to an unexpected stop. Your heart tumbles when your breath refuses the jump. Falls and falls.
When your muscles tense just before you expect to hit the ground, Lyonel catches you. A loose-limbed melt all over him. He holds you and continues to move until you come back. Can feel his breath again. Can hear him and yourself and realize you’ve been saying his name.
He keeps going until your legs near give way, but he’s there for that too. A hand splayed against your stomach holding you up against the wall as he leans back from under your skirts. He breathes through his mouth as he looks up at you, face and eyes fevered.
“My lady wife,” he says with a shake of the head as he rises to his feet. He gathers you against himself, and you have to use his arms to stay upright. He runs light, quick kisses up your exposed shoulder and the side of your neck. Marveling your name.
When you think you have your feet, you talk, practical and public: “Now my lord husband, we shall get back to the feast. Lord Frey has more daughters-in-law to tell me of.”
“Oh no—” he begins.
But you slip from his arms.
He reaches to catch you, but you skitter down the hall, leaving him standing blown, hair mussed, face smeared, eyes glassy.
“Fuck me,” he mutters.
“Not just right now, but I thank you for the offer,” you call back over your shoulder and trot round the corner.
You are back in your seat by Lord Frey, skirts and hair smoothed.
Lyonel takes much longer to come back. When he does, he is presentable, but his face looks heated and he lowers at you like a thundercloud in a manner that makes you laugh.
And if your complexion is little heightened after speaking with your husband, what of it? Lord Frey is too concerned with his daughters-in-law’s to notice.
-
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Comments and reblogs are always welcome.
The gorgeous gifs are by @cestpasfaux24601. The full set is here.
