MY MAN ON WILLPOWER! • SER DUNCAN THE TALL
pairing: ser duncan the tall x f!reader
word count: 6k
content: SMUT, NSFW 18+ minors dni, oral (f!receiving), fingering, handjob, teasing, brief rowan and raymun appearance, size kink, f!masturbation, piv, belly bulge, breeding, brief mention of pregnancy/childbirth, creampie
notes: sorry for the loooong wait for this one! thank you for your patience <3 i’ve started worrying all my works read the same but dang i like what i like what can i say,,, this probably will be my last long piece as life is getting #Real and i will be moving country soon aaaa!!! i will be replying to all the yummy thoughts in my inbox tho fear not!! hope you guys enjoy this one, smut is not proofread, it came from my ancestors speaking to me
masterlist
18+ content, minors dni
things with ser duncan are good. really good — great, even.
the first moon cycle travelling with the gentle hedge knight and his cheeky squire had been something awkward, a life of never feeling truly at ease with your back so exposed and never staying anywhere long enough to call home — but you’d chosen it anyway.
somewhere between campfire smoke and dirt-smeared cheeks, the protection offered by your hedge knight stopped being one born of duty, shifting into something warm, soft as sunlight, and possessive.
the very first time he kisses you is beneath the stars, unsure and inexperienced. his lips, chapped, against yours but gentle in a way so inherently dunk that it shouldn’t have surprised you in the slightest.
he’d gasped when you slid your tongue along his bottom lip, and flushed twice as hot at your teasing giggle. he’d copied the action once, twice. dipping into your mouth and eventually, the sweetness between your legs.
he’s never been a quick learner, so he insists on practicing until he gets it right.
and much to your benefit, you quickly find ser duncan the tall to be utterly insatiable. sneaking kisses when egg’s back is turned, pawing at you as soon as he gets you alone, and don’t even think about bathing in his vicinity if you have the intention of leaving clean.
so things are good. really, good. and yet…
i.
the sun beats down as you and dunk see egg off in his palace-bound wheelhouse. the air in the meadow feels different now, like the space between you has gotten smaller, even though neither have moved an inch.
dunk turns his head to face you, blinking when he finds you already looking at him, neck craned with expectation written clear as day over your features.
he tilts his head, wracking his brain for what he could possibly be missing. good gods, it’s not your name day, is it? surely he’d have remembered, even with his thick skull.
you watch in real time as the cogs turn, and your hopeful expression begins to wilt when you realise he’s not going to immediately ravage you with untamed desire.
you try not to pout, but the sting of not getting what you want irks you more than you’d like to admit. dunk flounders when you turn with a small huff, heading back in the direction of camp.
he follows two steps behind the whole way, eyes trained on the alluring sway of your figure, even as he ponders what he could’ve done to upset you.
the wind has picked up. it makes your skirts cling to your thighs, and he can almost make out the curve of your hips from here–
there’s nobody around for miles. the facts click into place like mosaic and when he blinks again, he pictures himself pinning you to the grass and tasting you until he’s had his fill.
his cock twitches with interest, and he shoves a palm harshly against it with a frustrated grunt. smothers the feeling as he stays following behind you.
his restraint isn’t strong enough to stop him from wondering if he’ll ever feel the warmth of you around his length — if you’d be just as pliant and sweet with him nestled inside you as you are when he has his mouth on you.
the thought is tossed out as soon as it comes. he couldn’t. he’s seen the size of himself, pressed up against you, dwarfing you entirely. splayed a hand over your belly once, the heel of his palm against your mound and the tips of his fingers brushing your navel. he’d pictured his cock in its place, just how deep he’d reach inside you, and had to bite down the pathetic sound bubbling in his chest.
there’s simply no possible way he’d fit. you whine around two fingers, cry hot tears with three. dunk extinguishes his own desire for release with a reminder, like a bucket of ice cold water to the face — he’d likely break you if he tried.
your hedge knight nearly runs into you, lost in his own head and unaware he’s arrived back at camp.
it’s only when you’re tugging him down with you into the dirt, claiming ownership over his mouth that he remembers where he is.
“gods, girl. slow down,” dunk mutters between the wet smacks of lips. he’s slotted between your legs, one hand gripping your waist while the other props his long, hulking body over yours. just close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, and still not close enough.
your gaze remains transfixed on dunk’s lips, your own dragged between teeth as you shake your head up at him with a deliberate glint in your eyes.
it makes him shiver. you crane your neck and drag him down to you again. dunk lets you for a while, cradling your face with those big hands until you grow impatient — more than you already are.
“dunk, c’mon,” you whine, wriggling your hips underneath him, searching for friction where he seems just so unwilling to give. “i’ve been waiting.”
you twitch when dunk’s hand trails down your throat, following the path down to your breasts. “look-”
you grab his hand in yours, smaller and yet doubly demanding. guiding his warm touch under your layers and straight to where you drip for him. he groans harshly then, breath hot against your face as he rucks your skirts up with little preamble.
“poor thing’s soaked,” dunk sighs in awe, more to himself than anything. “how long y’been like this, love?”
your thighs part for him instinctually, trained for the broad width of his shoulders as he spreads you with his thumbs.
“‘m always like this when i’m with you.” you pant when you feel his hot breath fanning across your core.
there’s no grace in the way he eats you — messy, wet and desperate. your slick drips down dunk’s chin with how he presses his face into you, tongue dipping into your entrance with a hoarse groan.
you don’t see the way his hips buck against the earth, grinding with a bruising force in time with the plunge of his tongue as his fingers swipe at your swollen clit.
you cum before you get a chance to warn him, but dunk drinks it up with no complaint — just a loud, drawn out moan as you spill into his waiting mouth.
you kiss him hot and hard, licking the traces of yourself off his tongue. dunk offers it happily, draping himself across you. the tug of your fingers at his trousers is not unfamiliar, yet this time, he stops you.
your expression is almost pained, lashes fluttering as a question flickers in your eyes.
“i- i fear i may have let m’self get carried away, m’lady,” dunk tells you, cheeks bright red as his head dips. you follow, finally spotting the soaked patch on the front of his breeches.
your own chest burns at the sight. gods, is it a conflicting thing. you’re not getting what you want — not for a while. nonetheless, dunk spending from simply the act of pleasuring you, with the taste of you on his tongue is more than enough compensation.
for now.
ii.
the sun is low when you wake. the campfire has died, grey wisps of smoke dissipating in the aire. you bury your face further into your pillow, the firm, wide expanse of dunk’s back.
you cling to him in your half-asleep state — arm banded across his middle (as far as it’ll go), and a thigh hooked over his hip. there’s not much space for dunk to move when you’ve attached yourself to him like this, but he’ll be the last to complain when he gets to feel every inch of you snugly pressed up on him.
dunk’s tunic has ridden up, be it from sleep or your wandering hands that have found their way to the soft milky flesh, splaying across his belly.
your warm palm strokes his skin softly, gentle passes along the soft planes of muscle and fat. the soothing, repetitive motion rouses dunk from his sleep, a deep, pleased rumble in his chest letting you know of the fact.
“mornin’.” his voice is always so much deeper after he wakes. the rasp of it tickles your ears, and it’s almost laughable how much hearing him talk affects you. sighing deeply at the slow heat warming your lower belly, you press a kiss to his shoulder as your hand innocently travels lower, palming over where he’s already grown hard.
dunk hums at the lazy curl of your fingers around the shape of him, tightening in the way you know will get him curling against you.
“i know what you’re doin’,” dunk tuts, sleepy gaze meeting yours over his shoulder. your easy grin is blinding in the dim morning light.
“is it working?”
dunk grunts, neither a yes or no.
for a moment, things seem to be in your favour. dunk lets you stroke him to attention, pressing his hips into your warm hand. even bares his neck to keep your mouth busy, head lolled back against the lumpy pillow as his own lips part in a quiet gasp.
it’s slow, unhurried in the haze of the morning fog. you could do this in your sleep. seven hells, you might be.
but just as easily as dunk had let you in, he draws your hand away. up to his lips, where he presses a tender kiss to the center of your palm.
“sorry, love,” he murmurs. you make a confused sort of sound when he moves to get up. out of bed.
your thigh squeezes tighter in a futile attempt to keep him right where he is. “where in the seven hells are you going?”
dunk’s heavy palm smooths over the curve of your hip soothingly. “got somethin’ to collect from the smithy. said i’d be there early. ”
“b-but you– but you’re-” you sputter, still reeling from the way he’s gone from within your arms to being on his feet in a matter of seconds.
dunk’s head tilts, an amused smile across his lips, the same one you’d give a yipping puppy. adorable, he thinks, though he doesn’t quite understand.
his cheeks burn when your hand flies up to gesture at the tent in his breeches.
“happens in the mornin’ sometimes. it’ll go down on its own,” dunk shrugs, already donning his belt and scabbard. a stark contrast to you, still in your thin shift, pouting up at him from the bedroll.
“it shouldn’t have to.” you huff, frowning at the loss of the opportunity to have your hedge knight begging for you first thing in the morning.
but dunk’s not having any of it, or he doesn’t realise how badly you want just what he’s denying you. the man simply leans in, kisses your forehead and bids you goodbye.
“go back to sleep, darlin’. i’ll get you something to eat on my way back.”
with dunk gone, there’s really nothing more to be done. you fall back to the pillows, grumbling to yourself about the wasted slick between your thighs and how you’d failed yet again — this time before you even got to try.
iii.
you’re on a mission now, and you’re getting antsy. it feels like you’re losing time, crossing the days out where you and dunk are blissfully alone and uninterrupted.
“i swear to gods, he’s barely looked at me twice today.” you’re all too aware of how the words come out bitter and pathetically whiny.
lady rowan snorts into her mug across the table, and the undignified sound is enough to make you laugh despite yourself. your knights had left the pair of you in the tavern to “gossip, as all ladies do”, while they’d gone outside to spar and muck about in the mud — “as real knights do”.
“don’t laugh,” you chide when the redhead descends into a fit of giggles.
“i apologise,” she sighs, “it’s only that you and ser duncan are a match made in heaven, considering you’re both blind as bats.”
you roll your eyes even as your cheeks burn. “i don’t expect you to understand. raymun worships the ground you walk on.”
rowan swoons, and it would’ve made you roll your eyes harder, if only you didn’t understand the moony look on her face all too well. “aye, but he has his moments.”
you sit a little straighter at that. “what do you do when he does?”
her bright gaze settles on the two knights just outside the tavern doors — sweaty, muddied and just a little bruised. you can hear the wheels turning in her head, just before she leans across the table with a conspiratorial grin and a twinkle in her eyes.
“here’s what you have to do–”
—
like any diligent student, you follow rowan’s instructions to the letter.
you lace your corset extra tight, pushing your breasts up to an almost offensive degree. gods, if this doesn’t get him to look, you don’t know what will.
at the end of the day, ser duncan is a simple man. he spends half the morning trying, and failing miserably, to seem like he’s not being drawn into the orbit of your tits.
by midday, you’re starting to believe you’ll have to buy rowan a bouquet of flowers in thanks.
you touch dunk more than you already do, holding his arm with both hands when you’re walking through the market. it pleases him greatly, scratching an itch in the primitive part of his brain to have a pretty thing like you hanging off his arm.
you pepper kisses along dunk’s jaw, and he doesn’t pull away even as passing eyes begin to linger. he simply wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close while angling his body so your sweet form is for only his eyes to see.
it’s all good and well until lunch.
the tavern is near empty when dunk ushers you inside. settles you in before he returns to the table with enough food to make your eyes widen. he grins bashfully when you ask.
he can’t tell you it’s because something in the depths of his belly tells him to provide for you, to keep you fed and healthy so you’ll be ready to carry his–
“can’t have you going hungry, ‘s all,” is what he settles on.
you exchange easy words while you eat, and it’s so normal that, for a second, you forget your ulterior motives. dunk nearly chokes when your hand crosses the distance, thumbing at the corner of his mouth.
“messy eater,” you mutter with a fond smile as you suck the same finger into your mouth. you even have the gall to smile at him, like nothing’s amiss while he fights for breath.
amidst the blood rushing south, dunk uses what’s left of his brain to piece everything together.
you can pinpoint the moment he realises what you’ve been doing. understanding flashes over his face, and his eyes don’t harden, but cloud over with something undecipherable.
dunk holds his stare on you for a beat, as if he’s trying to reason himself out of the trap he’s walked right into with his head in the clouds. your head tilts, licking your lips clean as you wait for him to speak.
gods. he needs to get out of there, lest he does something stupid like mount you on the table for everyone to see.
dunk’s ears tinge bright red as he stumbles over an excuse to “go feed the horses”, even though you’re sure you’d seen him do that earlier.
he’s out the side door before you can think to stop him somehow. maybe you could scream and shout in his face like a deranged woman — because you’re starting to feel like one — in the hopes he’ll throw you over his shoulder and march you back to your tree.
“go slow, else you’ll spook the man.” you hear rowan’s voice in your head, but it’s too late. you’re left cursing yourself, because now you just feel silly, and a little humiliated. deep down, you know you shouldn’t be — you don’t doubt dunk’s affections. it’s most likely his own bullheaded stubbornness keeping him away from you.
if you crane your neck far enough, you can see out the window. and sure enough, there he is. your dunk, sweet-talking the horses as he brushes their manes.
you try not to stew, but it’s hard when your horses are being showered with the attention you’ve been one step away from begging for.
iv.
dunk’s no stranger to waking up with pains. for the most part, he’s gotten used to it. he’s slept on the cold earth more than he hasn’t, the strain in his back and neck hitting before he’s even opened his eyes for the day.
it shouldn’t phase him, but today he wakes up aching, and it’s one he can’t ignore. he would laugh at the irony, how two days ago he’d turned down your offer to make it go away. if he’d been a weaker man, he’d accept it in a heartbeat now.
except, you’d spent half of last night glaring at him and the other half pouting, and dunk may be thick as a castle wall, but even he knows when you’re upset. his gaze lands on your still-sleeping form, just out of arm’s reach and pointedly curled away from him.
he sighs, tearing his eyes from you. tells himself no, grits his teeth as he thinks about why. he knows damn well what you want, what’s got you so snappy and gods, if he doesn’t want the exact same thing. has, since the moment you’d kissed him back with a grin so big he’d felt it against his own.
but he won’t let himself do it. he doesn’t doubt you, or the extent of your desire. it’s himself he doesn’t trust. doesn’t believe that, in the heat of the moment, he’ll have the mind to be gentle, the way you deserve. even the size of his shadow compared to yours is enough to solidify his fears.
dunk worries he’ll hurt you — he’s sworn to you he’ll never. can barely stomach the thought of it, of your tears or your cries, completely at his mercy. it makes his chest burn, and he thinks resolutely that he’ll never put you in a position to feel pain just for his own pleasure..
he’s out of the tent before he can think twice. you sleep through his quiet grunts, his shirt bunched up between his teeth to muffle his whines as he fists his cock to the very thoughts he’s been fighting back.
when you wake, it’s with the helpless realization that dunk’s not in the tent, and nowhere to be found. you’d been angry yesterday, sure — who wouldn’t be? but you worry your silence has driven him away entirely.
the knot in your chest dissipates when he breaks through the clearing, the cradle of his arms filled with kindling. your relief is short-lived, filling with pure annoyance when you take in his tunic darkened with sweat, the sleeves rolled up his forearms as if to taunt you with the sight of his muscles jumping as he handles the weight.
you think he’ll come to a stop before you, but he merely walks past you, setting down the sticks and forcing you to breathe in his scent on the breeze, instead of straight from the source itself.
your arms cross over your chest, chewing on your lip as you watch him work wordlessly, sorting through the pile with the discipline of a soldier at war.
“can feel you glarin’,” he says with his back to you, voice strained as he retrieves his hatchet.
your jaw goes slack as he begins splitting the thicker logs. he can’t be serious. you watch him in disbelief, the muscles in his back bunching visibly under his shirt as he brings the hatchet down. your mouth waters, even as your annoyance bubbles over into rage.
“good.” you hiss, and he turns to face you with a frown to match your own. his cheeks are flushed from effort, forehead and neck glistening with sweat, and you hate yourself for wondering if this is how he’d look balls-deep inside you, even now.
“out with it,” dunk says, flinching at the sharp scoff you give in reply.
“alright,” you step closer, enough so you can feel the heat radiating off his ruddy skin. “why won’t you bed me, ser duncan? have you had your fill of me?”
dunk’s head reels back like he’s been slapped.
“have i become undesirable to you?” your voice wavers, and you catch yourself in your subconscious approach towards the hedge knight.
“never,” dunk gasps like he’s been affronted, hands reaching out to grip at your waist. he feels you relax at the touch, only to tense up again when you meet his eyes.
“then why won’t you have me?” your voice is quiet, meek in a way dunk hasn’t heard it before. your eyes have gone glassy, blinking up at him all doe-like, and he has to bite his tongue to stop the powerless groan that look evokes.
“you don’t understand,” dunk bites out, shutting his eyes so he won’t be tempted by yours. “i’ll hurt you.”
“what are you talking about?”
“i’m… too big for you. it won’t work.”
you can’t help your disbelieving laugh at that. his blue eyes flutter open, brows pulling tight at the sound.
“it’s no laughing matter, m’lady.”
“yes, it is! dunk, we haven’t even tried. how could you know that?”
“i’d tear you open, i know it.” dunk stands a little straighter, stubbornly firm in his belief.
“awfully confident of you.”
dunk does groan then, fingers curling into the fabric at your sides before letting go entirely. can’t stop his own frustration from seeping into his tone. “i’m serious. if it harms you, i won’t do it. i swear it.”
you see then that he is serious, recognising that look in his eye he gets when he’s made up his mind. by the seven, you wish you could understand his logic. any other time, you’d try to see it from his eyes. but not this time, because you know he’s wrong.
later, when your anger has cooled, your heart will warm at his worry and his dedication to protecting you.
dunk tells himself eventually, you’ll come to see he only wants to shield you from himself, and even thank him for it. for now, he’ll let you shove away from him, damn near stomping into the tent and securing the flap behind you.
you’ll see. he’s sure of it.
v.
it’s past sunset when dunk finally works up the courage to try the tent — and your patience.
he’s spent the day in the woods, reasoning to himself that he’s being the responsible one, he’s looking out for you as he’s sworn to do.
he walks up to the tent, lit from within, and steels himself with the reminder that he’s doing the best thing for you.
dunk finds the flap loose, and inside — his girl, bare naked in his bedroll with your hand between your thighs.
your eyes widen, shining with tears when they catch on his hunched frame by the entrance.
“dunk,” your voice is wet and weepy, guilt spearing his chest. dunk can’t decide where to set his gaze. your fingers still work at yourself while you plead for him. your chest heaves, nipples peaked and puffy. he wonders how long you’ve been at it.
your legs fall open for him, and the slick that shimmers in the candlelight tells him enough — he’s been gallivanting in the woods like an idiot while his girl’s been dripping and waiting for him.
“please, dunk,” you sit up, struggling onto your knees. his sharp eyes follow the way your hand still shines wet. “-just touch me. however you want-”
gods, you really shouldn’t say that.
“just- fuck, please? can’t cum without you. doesn’t feel right.”
maybe it’s the whine in your voice. the pathetic, needy lilt that knocks upon the door that keeps his baser urges locked away. dunk feels himself slipping, wanting, needing to give you what you want, to make it all better.
“hush, now,” dunk’s hand rises to your cheek, and his chest inflates with adoration at the way you burrow into his warmth.
he soothes you with gentle clicks of his tongue and the same voice he uses on sweetfoot, crowding into your space until you’re on your back again and he’s above you. “‘s alright, love. ‘m here, you’re alright.”
you sigh against his lips when he dips down to meet you. he shakes his head and kisses you sweet, tongue lapping at yours until you relax in his hold.
“‘m sorry for pushing. don’t want you doing anything you don’t want to,” you murmur, blinking wet lashes up at him. dunk thinks he’d forgive you for murder if you looked at him like that.
“enough o’ that,” dunk tells you, smoothing his hands down your ribs. smiles to himself when you shiver. “y’got no clue how much i want you.”
“really?” something bright and hopeful unfurls in your chest.
dunk grunts a reluctant acquiescence, and huffs a laugh when you drag him down to your lips again, because you both know you’re getting what you want. he may grumble and try to deny, but dunk will always give you what you ask for.
one hand settles where your own had been, the other holding your hip down as he makes you cum twice with a quiet confidence that has you begging for more.
dunk doesn’t need much convincing to lower himself to the ground, belly flush to the earth as he laps at you like he’s making up for the days. regrets every time he left you on your own, when he should’ve shouldered your legs apart and made you tremble with his tongue alone.
he thinks you’re sated when your thighs shake around his ears, but then you whimper quietly as he pulls away. a timid, almost resigned, “please, dunk. wanna feel you.”
he cracks straight down the middle. all that resolve, the determination that’s he’s doing the right thing by denying you — all but tossed out the door at the sound of your broken plea.
dunk is all heavy groans, manhandling you until you’re sprawled half over his lap, and his fingers are swiping at your swollen pussy again.
“you’ll take all of ‘em,” dunk murmurs with his lips pressed to your ear, “then you get my cock.”
your moans are so pretty, when his teeth graze the shell of your ear, panting against the side of your head, as two of his fingers slip inside your cunt with little resistance.
his cock is so hard it hurts. an incessant pulsing between his legs, but he refuses to do anything about it until he’s sure you’re ready.
you nod eagerly, pressing your face into his thick neck as he curls his fingers just right, sliding out just to squeeze in another. dunk chuckles a breathy sound at how you squeal, hips bucking in his lap. sly bastard.
but you want this. gods, you do. you’ve never been wetter, the sticky sounds filling the tent doing everything to prove it.
“you’re fuckin’-” dunk’s voice cracks on a moan when he swipes over your clit and gets a gush of slick against his knuckles in return.
you cum before he can add another, going tense in his arms and your breath audibly hitching as it hits you. he strokes you through the fall, clutching you tight as your chest heaves through your fourth orgasm.
“i’m ready,” you tell him, breathing like you’ve done laps outside in the field. and seven hells, dunk is surprised you’re still going.
“want you to fuck me, dunk.”
he flips you so fast you lose balance, but his big hands hold you firmly in place. your puffy core presses snug to the bulge in his trousers, and the pressure, the heat of you makes his lashes flutter as his eyes roll back.
“seven hells,” dunk chokes out, tightening his grip on the fat of your hips like it’s his last grasp on sense. “listen to me. you’ll go slow, or not at all, y’hear? don’t want you hurtin’ yourself.”
you nod placatingly, running your hands over the exposed planes of his chest, curling your fingers into the dusting of hair over his pecs. it hits you then just how big he really is, how he still towers over you when you’re in his lap. there’s so much of him, it makes your stomach tighten-
he grips your jaw in one hand, forcing your eyes to his. his hold is firm, but never cruel. no, it just makes you drip onto the fabric of his breeches.
“i’m serious.”
you nod again. this time your heart’s in it, so he lets you fumble with the ties on his breeches.
the feeling of his ruddy cockhead notched against your hole makes you gasp, and dunk bites his tongue to hold back something filthy.
you start to sink down, and even the fat tip is enough to have you whining. the stretch burns, and a cold sliver of doubt strikes you — maybe you have bitten off more than you can chew. but you asked for this, had thrown a whole fit over it, so you sink lower.
“gods, dunk, you feel-” so good. so big. like you’re not going to fit. you can’t decide, keening low.
“easy, girl,” dunk’s hands are still on your hips, neither pressing or helping, just holding. he watches you with rapt attention, darting between your face and where your folds part for him.
“tha’s it, nice and slow,” dunk nods, and he looks unreal with his chest flushed and his eyes heavy and half-lidded. “good girl.”
the praise goes to your head, makes you think you can do anything. you lower yourself even further, quicker than you planned for. and fuck, it hurts. you don’t want it to, but it does.
fuck, dunk was right. now it’s going to get to his head and he’s never going to let you do this again.
“shit-” dunk’s neck strains on a pained groan. “told you to be careful.”
his hands are pulling at your hips, and you clamp down subconsciously to stay where you are. the feeling of your soaked walls hugging him draws a pathetic moan.
“want to feel all of you,” you mutter, more to yourself as you try to lower yourself even more. you’re not even halfway. something stretches too far, and you can’t stop the yelp and full-body jerk.
dunk’s lifting you off before you can protest, and he’s rolling over you so you’re beneath him again.
“i’m okay, i swear it- please don’t stop.”
“silly girl,” dunk scolds, wide eyes scanning over you. if he were a stronger man, he’d stop while he’s ahead. but he’s felt the tight heat of your pussy, and you’ve made him weak.
he feeds his cock into you inch by glorious inch, murmuring under his breath how “you can’t be trusted”, and you’re greedy, a spoiled girl who doesn’t know what’s good for you.
you nod through it all, digging your nails into the hard muscle of his back. agree with cockdrunk babbles as he reaches halfway.
“look a’ that,” dunk breathes, marvelling at the way his sweet girl has taken half of him. your pussy stretched around his girth as he bullies his way into a new home.
you make room for him steadily, sighing into his ear as he circles your clit, kissing you soft and messy enough to distract you.
“more,” you gasp against his jugular, hips rolling to match his rhythm, a shallow rock of his hips, in, out, in deeper, out further. “fuck- give me more, i can take it.”
and you do, because you’re his good girl and you always make him proud.
there’s a bump in your belly where he’s seated inside you, sheathed all the way. dunk rests a palm there, pressing on the shape of him as he laughs, in awe.
maybe he’s drooling a little, pussydrunk and already on edge with how tight you’re gripping him, but he’s most amazed you’ve swallowed up all of him.
“‘s deep,” you whisper, eyes clenched shut. you swear you can feel every vein along his cock, and you’ve never felt this full in your life, and it’s all you dreamed it would be.
dunk draws back slow, a gradual emptiness that you don’t have time to mourn, because he sets a pace that erases every coherent thought in your mind.
your knight fares no better, reduced to a bucking, moaning mess above you. his tongue comes loose, and he babbles about how he’s touched himself every day this week, fucked his fist to the thought of you and how he should’ve done this sooner.
“told you,” you manage, a blissed out smirk on your lips. he rolls his eyes, smothering your smugness with his tongue in your mouth and his cockhead nudging the spot hidden deep inside.
you cum sooner than you wish, already wound up from the four highs dunk has pulled from you — he drags you, kicking, to the fifth.
your thighs squeeze around his strong hips, ankles crossed at the small of his back as your own bottom lifts to meet his thrusts. your vision whites out, and you think you call out his name, but all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears and the thundering pulse in your chest.
you’re begging, you realise, when you come back to your own body. you tell him to spill inside you, you want him to fill you and keep you plugged-
dunk’s answering moan is strangled. “don’t joke about that, love.”
and you’re whiny — satisfied and still fucking greedy.
“why?” you actually cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks.
everything feels too good. you’re so fucking full, and you feel dunk everywhere. his body pressed against yours, no longer thrusting but grinding deep and hard, reaching a place inside you know no one else ever will.
the flush on his chest has spread up his neck, to his cheeks, and his lips are shiny from where you’d sucked them between yours. he cages you in like this, and you can see and hear nothing but your man fucking you within the edge of both of your lives.
he’s panting and moaning, brows furrowed as he tells himself to not spill inside you.
“i need it, dunk. want your babes- shit-”
dunk’s rhythm starts to falter. the sloppy grind of his hips against yours is more than enough fuel for your running mouth.
“you’d be such a good father, dunk. can see it already- fuck, please let me make you a father-
and he really ought to know by now, he can never say no to you.
it only hits him a second too late that his children would inherit his size, and the thought of you suffering just to push out his gigantic babes is enough to make him sober up and try to pull out of your beckoning heat.
but your ankles are still snug and locked around him — he’s stuck.
later, when you've missed your cycle, he’ll debate whether or not he could’ve pulled out of your grip as easily as you say he could've.
for now, the nonsensical, non-survivalist part of his brain wins the fight and the need to claim you in the most primal, age-old way takes over.
dunk shudders through a whimper as he empties his balls inside of you. he thinks he should’ve warned you, but you’re sighing in relief at the hot spurts flooding your pussy.
he supposes if you wanted it badly enough to cry, then you won’t mind him fucking it back into you.
you’ve proven you can take it, and with you curled up to his chest, leaking him onto your thighs and finally sated, he really doesn’t know why he ever thought otherwise.
