dreamt about a knight coming to you after a battle and getting on his knees in front of you and roaming his hands up your legs and smearing blood across your skin as he rests his cheek against your upper thigh. btw. additionally i would like to add taking his helmet off and hearing it rattle against the stone floor and running your hands through sweaty hair and praising him for protecting your kingdom. anyways.
listen, hear me out okay? soldier girl and puppy!reader…
.ᐟ.ᐟ soldier boy who absolutely dehumanises you. like, let's be real. if you want to be a puppy, then you're going to be his puppy. doesn't matter if you're some hybrid freak raised in a vought lab from some experiment gone wrong, he's going to have you at his beck and call; rough fingers curling around your collar and a firm hand coming down your ass when you get out of line. "don't remember meetin' any bitch that could talk," is his usual complaint when you act up– usually due to your heat, or some chemical imbalance in your brain that causes you to slip into full puppy-mode sometimes– and you guiltily apologise for your behaviour. "don't know what i'm supposed to do with you, doll. might as well have you put down if you keep actin' like a brat.."
.ᐟ.ᐟ soldier boy who loves to fuck you so hard that you slip into puppy-mode. he gets off on not only how cock-drunk you get, but also how incoherent. being so deep in your gaping hole, barely able to contain his strained groans as you clench around him. "feelin' me up in you, pup? gonna make you my bitch for good?" he grunts, pushing himself harder, deeper, into your guts, tugging on your perked-up ears and then grinning wickedly when you yip sadly at his cruelty and your tail swishing limply against his thighs– your sweet praises for him now turning into broken syllables and pathetic barks.
see, when he first got you, he'd have to forcefully intoxicate you to fuck you into this state. but these days, you're so conditioned and well-trained that it doesn't take all the theatrics any more. he misses that. :(
.ᐟ.ᐟ soldier boy who is not afraid to also act like a dog. like, if you bite him? oh, he's 100% biting you back, but it's so much worse. the difference between your biting and his, though, is that you can't really help it. it's just instinct. his is because he wants you to hurt like he did (even though he didn't). he just likes to punish you– and this is before any threats of a muzzle. and good luck if you bite him whilst he's balls-deep in you.. you'll be wishing that you didn't!
Dunk (Ser Duncan the Tall) X Fem!TravelCompanion!Reader
Warnings: smut, explicit sexual content, no y/n, mutual pining, accidental voyeurism, fingering, unprotected sex, size difference, praise kink ( i think?), one use of “good girl” (I had to guys), knight/lady dynamic, porn with little plot, not proofread
Word count: 5.7K (*does debby ryan hair tuck*)
You lay in bed, your body scarcely covered by the itchy sheets. You were exhausted. This was the first real bed you’d gotten to sleep in for a few days now. It wasn’t the best quality — you were at an inn, so you hadn’t expected fine sheets or anything of the sort — but it sure beat sleeping on the rough ground.
Unfortunately, exhaustion wasn’t the only thing you were feeling. Your hand traveled down your body, tracing over your stomach before slipping between your thighs. Your legs widened softly as you began to toy with yourself, your eyes closing slightly.
You hadn’t had the luxury of privacy as of late — not with Dunk and Egg sleeping right beside you every night — but now, in a room all to yourself, you found yourself ready to scratch an itch you’d been harboring for what felt like ages.
Your eyelids fluttered as your movements grew more certain, your fingers slipping inside you with ease. Your breathing became labored, your eyes squeezing shut as you allowed images to fill your mind — his hands, his large thighs, the way his blue eyes gazed at you whenever you spoke.
Your free hand moved over the sheets, gripping the rough fabric as your mouth parted softly. The chill nipped at your bare nipples, but you paid it no mind, far too consumed by thoughts of him and the sensation of your own touch to care.
Maybe if you had been paying attention to your surroundings, you would have heard his feet thundering down the hall. He never tried to be loud, but his large size did not make stealth easy. Perhaps if you had been paying attention, you would’ve been able to tug your hand out from inside you before your door came crashing open.
But you hadn’t.
When you heard the door slam against the wall, followed by Dunk’s voice, you startled, your body jerking upright into a sitting position as you quickly yanked the sheets up over your bare frame.
“You hungry? Dinner’s—” Dunk paused, his eyes landing on you on the bed. They widened more than usual.
For a moment, you thought perhaps he could see the flushed state of your face, could notice the way your chest heaved behind the sheets you’d tried to hide yourself with. He stood there in the doorway, practically blocking it with his large frame, his mouth unmoving, his eyes fixed on you.
Then something clicked. He wasn’t looking at your face. He was staring… lower.
Your head snapped down before you could stop yourself, eyes widening as you realized your left breast was completely exposed. In your haste to pull the sheets up, you hadn’t done a very good job.
Your gaze shot back to his just as he finally dragged his eyes up to meet yours. If the embarrassment on your face wasn’t obvious, the deep red flushing Dunk’s certainly was. You tugged the sheets up quickly, covering yourself completely this time, your arms crossing tightly over your chest.
Dunk opened his mouth as if to say something — perhaps an apology for staring so long — but before he could get the words out, Egg slipped beneath his arm and into the room.
“Did the Ser tell you, my lady? The food’s ready, aren’t you—” The young boy paused, the excited tone he’d carried into the room fading as he looked at you. “Oh. Did we wake you?”
The innocent way he asked, as though he were genuinely sorry for disturbing you, made your heart ache. You forced yourself to give him as soft a smile as you could manage despite your embarrassment. But then your eyes flicked back to Dunk’s, and your expression shifted again into mortified horror.
“I’ll be right down,” you managed to squeak out.
Dunk grabbed Egg by the shoulder, guiding the boy back out ahead of him.
“Yes, of course, m’lady, we’ll see you—” His head smacked against the doorframe in his haste to leave, earning a soft ow from him and making you grimace.
He shook his head as if to clear it, then muttered without looking back at you, “See you downstairs.”
You watched him close the door behind him, your eyes lingering on the spot where he had stood before finally turning back to the bed and burying your face in the pillow to muffle an exasperated groan.
Nothing had been said about that exchange — not at dinner, when you three sat together chewing your food in silence, nor in the morning when you mounted your horses and continued on your journey.
You and Dunk didn’t avoid each other exactly, but the ease you’d always felt while interacting seemed to have vanished. You only exchanged words when necessary, and whenever your eyes met, you were both quick to look away, faces flushing as you searched for anything else to focus on.
Luckily for both of you, Egg never seemed to tire of talking. When he wasn’t telling you about his family and sharing facts about the kingdoms — according to him, there were nine, not seven — he was singing songs that were pleasant enough, though some carried meanings you weren’t sure he fully understood.
The journey went well enough despite the lingering awkwardness, and by the time you stopped beneath a tree to make camp that night, you had almost forgotten the ordeal of the evening before.
You nudged at the fire with a stick, trying to keep it alive. Dunk was off with Egg somewhere, presumably gathering more wood. Leaning back, you watched the flames dance while you waited for them to return.
The patter of feet against leaves sounded to your left, and you turned just as Egg came racing toward you.
“Look at what I found!” he exclaimed, finally reaching you.
He opened the piece of fabric he’d been using as a sack so you could see the contents. Your eyes widened at the variety of berries he’d managed to gather.
“Well, look at that,” you said softly. “Well done, Egg.”
You smiled at him, and he beamed in return.
“He wanted to eat them straight away,” Dunk’s voice rumbled from behind him.
You lifted your gaze through the dim light and found him easily in the darkness. Your eyes drifted down to his forearms, catching the way they flexed beneath his sleeves as he shifted the weight of the logs he was carrying. You quickly dragged your gaze back up before your thoughts could wander too far.
“But I thought it best to have you look at them first.” Dunk grunted softly as he dropped the logs beside the fire and dusted off his hands. “Don’t want him poisoning himself by accident.”
You stared at him for a moment.
“Or us, for that matter,” he added with a faint smile.
Your shoulders relaxed at the sight of it. Shaking yourself from your distraction, you turned your attention back to the berries in Egg’s lap.
“Yes, that was wise, Ser Duncan.” You examined the fruit carefully, searching for any telltale signs of danger. “It seems your squire has been paying attention to my lessons. All of these are safe to eat.” You grinned and gently ruffled Egg’s hair.
The boy settled beside you, legs crossed, the bundle of berries resting in his lap. You plucked one from the cloth and popped it into your mouth just as Dunk lowered himself onto your other side. His arm brushed yours as he reached past to grab one as well.
The brief contact made you glance at him. Your eyes met for a heartbeat, and though neither of you spoke, the shared awareness lingered in the air.
Gods, how were you meant to survive this?
After you’d eaten your fill, Egg let out a soft yawn, the day’s excitement finally catching up to him. He settled onto his bedroll with a quiet goodnight and was asleep moments later.
You remained by the fire, watching the flames. Your body was tired, but your mind felt far too awake. Sleep seemed distant.
Beside you, Dunk shifted and pushed himself to his feet. You looked up at him.
“Off to sleep as well?” you asked.
“Oh — uh, not yet,” Dunk muttered. “I’ve got to, uh… take care of something.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion for only a moment before you understood. He needed to go to the bathroom. Dunk always seemed oddly shy about such matters around you.
“Alright,” you said lightly. “I’ll keep an eye on things here.”
He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary before he turned and disappeared into the trees.
It was unusual for Dunk to take so long to relieve himself. Even on the rare occasions he lingered, it was never for this long. You were beginning to worry.
Then the rain started, sudden and heavy, dousing the fire you had been carefully tending so Dunk could find his way back with ease. Without the guiding light, you were certain he would struggle to locate the camp in the darkness.
You stood beneath the tree, trying to shield yourself from the downpour, your hands twisting together anxiously as you searched for Dunk’s large frame in the shadows. You couldn’t just stand there and wait. Dunk was a good knight and knew his way around the wilderness well enough, but your skills were sharper when it came to tracking and foraging.
What if he had gotten turned around? With the rain falling this hard, it would be nearly impossible for him to retrace his steps before daybreak — and dawn was still a long way off.
“That’s it,” you muttered to yourself.
You cast one last glance at Egg, making certain the boy was still fast asleep and sheltered from the rain, before stepping into the trees in search of Dunk.
It didn’t take you long to find him. He wasn’t far from camp at all. Your eyes caught his frame against a tree almost immediately. He was leaning against the trunk, no doubt trying to shield himself from the rain as he waited for it to pass.
You thought about calling out his name, but with the thunder rumbling overhead, you were sure he wouldn’t hear you. Squinting against the rain, you began moving toward him.
A bolt of lightning split the sky, illuminating the world around you for a heartbeat. You froze, your heart hammering in your chest. For a moment, you wondered if you had imagined it — if the light had played tricks on your eyes. But when another flash followed, you realized you had seen correctly.
Dunk wasn’t simply hiding from the rain. He wasn’t lost.
He was touching himself, his hand wrapped around his length as his head rested back against the tree. His mouth was slightly parted, his movements slow and deliberate despite the downpour soaking him through.
Your breathing quickened. You felt rooted to the spot, unable to look away.
Another crack of lightning struck, closer this time, jolting you back to your senses. You turned and ran, racing toward camp as fast as your feet could carry you.
You dropped down beneath the tree, casting a quick glance at Egg to ensure he was still asleep before squeezing your eyes shut, your head falling back against the trunk. The image of Dunk seemed burned into your mind.
“You’re wet.”
Your eyes flew open, a startled gasp leaving you as your hand flew to your chest. Dunk stood beside you, rainwater dripping from his hair and clothes, strands plastered to his forehead. You forced yourself not to let your gaze wander anywhere but his face. He was looking at you with mild confusion.
“Oh — yes,” you managed. “The rain caught me off guard.”
“Yeah,” he said, glancing up at the sky. “Wasn’t expecting it either. Sorry I took so long. I was waiting to see if it would ease up.”
The lie slipped from his lips so naturally that it made your stomach twist.
“No problem,” you replied quietly.
“Is Egg alright?”
Grateful for the change in subject, you looked toward the boy.
“Yes, he’s fine. The princeling’s tougher than he looks.”
Dunk grunted in agreement as he lowered himself to the ground beside you.
“We’ll sleep at an inn tomorrow,” he said. “It’ll be more comfortable.”
“Whatever you think is best,” you whispered.
He shifted, turning his back to you as he settled in. “Well… goodnight, m’lady.”
“Goodnight, Ser.”
Sleep would not be finding you anytime soon.
This inn was a bit better than the last one. The sheets were certainly softer. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, dressed in your sleeping gown. You’d learned from last time. A soft knock pulled your attention to the door.
It seemed you weren’t the only one.
You pushed yourself upright, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Come in,” you called.
There was a brief silence. You wondered if you hadn’t been heard, but before you could repeat yourself, the door creaked open. Dunk’s head peeked inside, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. You caught the flicker of relief that crossed his face. He stepped fully inside and closed the door behind him.
“Is everything alright?” you asked quickly. “Is something wrong with Egg?”
“Oh no,” Dunk replied at once. “Nothing’s wrong, m’lady. I just wanted to… well, I wanted to— uh— I…”
You rose from the bed, your bare feet padding softly across the floor as you approached him.
“What is it, Ser?” You placed a hand gently against his chest. “You’re worrying me.”
“I don’t mean to,” he said quickly. “There’s nothing to worry about. I just— well— I wanted to—”
“Your heart’s pounding, Dunk,” you murmured, concern lacing your voice.
The sound of his name seemed to steady him. He exhaled and lifted his hand to cover yours where it rested against his chest.
“I apologize.”
Your brows knit together. “Whatever for?”
Now it was his turn to frown. “Well… for the other night. In the inn.”
“Oh. Right.” You blinked. “That.”
“I should not have entered without knocking. I know that now. And I apologize for staring. That was not the right thing to do. I should have left as soon as I—”
“I saw you last night.”
The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them.
“I— you what?” Dunk asked, confusion clouding his face.
You forced yourself to hold his gaze.
“I. Saw. You. Last. Night.” You spoke slowly, not to mock him, but to be absolutely clear.
From the way his eyes widened and his brows shot upward, you knew he understood exactly what you meant. The color drained from Dunk’s face before rushing back twice as fierce. His hand slackened slightly around yours.
“You—” he swallowed. “You did?”
You nodded once. There was no point pretending otherwise now.
“I meant no dishonor,” he said finally, his voice low and rough. “I would never— I wasn’t thinking. I just—”
His jaw tightened. He looked away first this time, staring somewhere over your shoulder as if he could will himself out of the room.
“I didn’t know what else to do with it,” he admitted quietly. “With… the wanting.”
Your breath caught, startled by his confession — by how deeply he seemed to be affected by you.
“Dunk…” you whispered, your fingers twitching slightly beneath his hand.
Your heart was beating so loudly you were certain he could feel it beneath his palm.
“If I’ve offended you—”
“You haven’t.”
The answer came too quickly to be anything but true.
His gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before snapping back up again, as though even that fleeting glance felt like too much.
“I am not a man practiced in this,” he said softly. “I don’t know what the right way is. I only know that when I think of you, it feels…” He hesitated.
Your lips parted, your body drifting closer to his without you even realizing it.
“Tell me,” you breathed.
His eyes locked onto yours.
“It feels as if I am burning from within.”
You gasped, your fingers tightening slightly against his chest.
“Dunk…” you whispered again.
He searched your face as though bracing himself for rejection. For command. For dismissal.
“I do not wish you to burn alone,” you said quietly.
His hand flexed around yours.
“You would not ask that of me if you knew what I think when I look at you,” he murmured.
Your pulse fluttered. “Then tell me.”
His jaw worked for a moment, restraint warring with honesty. Then honesty won.
“I think about touching you,” he admitted, voice barely above a breath. “Not in passing. Not by accident. I think about it the way a starving man thinks of bread.”
You slid your hand slowly higher along his chest, feeling the tension there, the strength beneath your fingertips. His eyes darkened at that. At the way you stared at him, eyes full of something not at all innocent.
“Tell me to leave,” he said quietly, almost pleading. “If I stay, I do not know that I will remain a gentleman.”
“I do not want you to leave,” you answered.
His hand rose — slowly, giving you every chance to pull away — and hovered near your cheek before finally, gently, cupping it. The touch was careful, as though you were something precious rather than something he had confessed wanting.
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He leaned down then, hesitating only a breath away from your lips — waiting. When you closed the distance yourself, pressing your mouth to his, the last of his restraint broke. His hand wound around your waist keeping you pressed to him.
He kissed you like a man who had held himself back for far too long. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic as though you needed something solid to anchor yourself. He made a low sound in his throat when you did, the hand at your waist tightening just slightly. You parted only because you both needed to breathe.
“I thought wanting you from a distance was difficult.” His thumb brushed lightly along your cheekbone, almost unconsciously. “This is far more dangerous.”
You felt it too — that edge. The way the air seemed charged. The way every small shift of his hand sent a ripple through you.
Your hands slid from his chest to his shoulders, feeling the strength there. Solid. Steady. Real. He shuddered faintly at the contact, as though your touch affected him more than he had expected.
“I do not wish to frighten you,” he said quietly. “If we go further—”
“You will not frighten me,” you interrupted softly.
You lifted one hand to the back of his neck, guiding him down into another kiss. It was rougher this time, filled with the quiet hunger you both seemed to harbor for one another.
Dunk’s hands slipped lower, his broad frame bending slightly as he grasped your thighs. You gave a small gasp at the sudden movement, but you didn’t resist. Instead, you let him lift you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.
His boots thudded softly against the floor as he carried you toward the bed, your lips still fused together. He placed his knee against the mattress, lowering you slowly onto the bed, his large frame remaining above you. Your legs unwound from his hips, moving to rest your feet flat on the bed instead. Dunk's hands moved over your leg, pushing the fabric of your nightgown up as he went. His forehead rested against yours as his hands inched between your legs. You gasped as his fingers grazed your pussy.
“You’re wet,” he murmured.
A faint, breathless laugh escaped you. “Second time you’ve said that.”
His lips brushed yours as he exhaled. “It wasn’t what I meant last time.”
“I know,” you whispered, nipping gently at his lower lip. “But I was wet then too.”
He let out a groan at that, his head moving down to place kisses on your neck. Your body arched off the bed as his tongue lapped at your skin and his hand continued to move against you, not teasing exactly but not touching you entirely either. His head trailed down until he got to your chest. He raised himself enough so he could use his free hand to tug your nightgown down enough to reveal your breast. As soon as your skin was free from the cloth Dunk leaned down, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking. Your hand moved to his head, fingers tugging at his hair as you moaned.
The hand that lay on your thigh tensed at the movement, squeezing your skin between his fingers without him even noticing. The action only heightened the sensation, your back arching softly against the bed. A low rumble escaped Dunk as your body pressed into his. He pulled off your breast with a soft pop.
“Gods…” he muttered, more to himself than to you.
Your fingers were still tangled in his hair, your body still warm and responsive beneath him. You could feel the hesitation settling back into him—the part of Dunk that always tried to do the right thing, even now.
“Dunk,” you said softly.
His eyes flicked back to yours, and even though they were blown wide with desire, you could still see the restraint in his gaze. You could tell he was searching for a reason to stop this before it was too late.
Your hand moved from his curls to his face, a finger trailing over his lips for a moment before your eyes lifted back to his.
“Touch me,” you breathed.
“I am,” he whispered, his voice tinged with confusion.
You shook your head softly, your hair dragging against the sheets beneath you.
“No, I mean—” You grabbed the hand resting on your thigh, lifting it from your skin. Wrapping your fingers around his wrist, you guided it slowly between your legs. “Here. Touch me here.”
A faint, almost disbelieving smile ghosted across his lips.
“Here,” you repeated softly, your voice gentler now.
His breath caught, his gaze dropping briefly before returning to your face, searching—always searching—for doubt, for hesitation, for anything that might stop him.
He didn’t find it.
Slowly, carefully, his hand moved where you had guided it, his movements tentative at first, as though he feared misreading you. The moment your breath hitched, his eyes snapped back to yours.
“Is that—” he started, unsure.
“Yes,” you whispered, your grip tightening slightly around his wrist. “Don’t stop.”
That was all it took.
Not for him to lose control—not entirely—but for something to settle. His touch steadied, growing more certain, though never careless. Every small reaction from you seemed to anchor him further, to teach him.
Your head tipped back against the bed, a soft breath escaping you before you could stop it. His name followed without thought, quieter this time, but it made his jaw tighten all the same.
“Gods,” he murmured again, almost under his breath.
Your free hand found his shoulder, then his neck, pulling him closer—not just for the contact, but for the closeness, the shared heat of it. He leaned in without resistance, his forehead brushing yours, his breathing uneven.
“You’ll tell me,” he said, voice low, almost strained. “If it’s too much.”
“I will,” you answered, though your body was already answering for you, leaning into him, urging him on.
Your fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck as he slipped his finger deeper, your mouth opening in a silent moan. Your hot breath mingled with his as he continued his movements.
“More,” you groaned.
“You sure? I don’t want to—”
“Dunk. More.”
The way you said it—like a command rather than a question—made Dunk twitch against his breeches.
“As you wish, m’lady.”
As his second finger slipped inside you, you couldn’t help the groan that left your lips. You buried your head in his shoulder, teeth grazing the strong muscle there as he quickened his movements slightly. Your thighs trembled despite yourself, hands clawing at Dunk in desperation.
“Is it good?”
“Yes,” you breathed. “So good, Dunk. Please don’t stop.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, m’lady.”
You weren’t sure if he’d meant to say it so confidently, but it did things to you. You’d grown so used to seeing him shrink back—not in fear exactly, but in a way that showed he knew his place. But now, alone with you, his muscles flexing as he continued to pleasure you, that shyness you’d become accustomed to seemed to have disappeared.
He’d said he didn’t know how to do this, but the way he was working you with such ease told you that perhaps he was underselling himself.
And when he found that spot that made you cry out, your nails digging into his skin as you came undone against his hand, you were certain he had lied about just how much he knew.
His breath stuttered when you cried out, your grip on him tightening as if you might come apart without something to hold onto.You sagged slightly against him, your forehead pressing into his shoulder as you tried to catch your breath. Your fingers loosened their hold, though they didn’t leave him entirely, as if you still needed the reassurance that he was there.
“I didn’t—” he started, then stopped, shaking his head slightly. “I didn’t expect…”
Before he could finish whatever he was thinking, your lips were on his. He groaned against your mouth as you clung to him, your tongue brushing at his lips in search of entrance. He granted it, of course.
The kiss was messy. It was unclear whether it was due to inexperience or overwhelming desire, but you didn’t care.
Dunk shifted, his muscles flexing as he moved. A soft gasp left his lips as his hardness brushed against your thigh. You didn’t pull away, your mouth still pressed to his as your hand slipped between your bodies to caress him through his breeches.
Dunk let out a strained breath against your mouth, the sound catching somewhere between surprise and something deeper. His body reacted before his mind seemed to catch up, hips shifting slightly before he stilled himself again, as though fighting the instinct.
His hand found your wrist—not to pull it away, but to still it, just for a moment. His grip wasn’t firm, just enough to make you pause, to make you look at him.
“We should slow down,” he said again, quieter now, though his gaze hadn’t softened. If anything, it had deepened.
“Is that what you want?” you asked earnestly.
“Gods, no,” he breathed. “But I don’t know if I’ll—”
“Then don’t,” you cut in.
Something flickered in his eyes at that—something close to surrender.
“I want you,” you stated simply, the words making Dunk swallow a groan of need. “And you want me. Well, I assume you do, unless I—”
“Of course I want you,” Dunk cut in, his voice more certain than you’d ever heard it.
You couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across your face. You placed your hand on his cheek.
“Then why should we not?”
Dunk closed his eyes, biting into his cheek for a moment before opening them again.
“I don’t—” He stopped himself, the red on his cheeks deepening before he forced himself to continue. “I don’t want to hurt you, m’lady.”
Your heart tugged at the words, and before you could even think about it, you placed a reassuring kiss on his lips.
“You won’t,” you whispered.
Perhaps you should have expected it. He was a big man—it was only natural to assume that all of him was big—but you were still taken by surprise.
When Dunk finally pulled down his breeches, your eyes widened immediately. But before he could see the expression on your face and call the whole thing off, you schooled your features into calm.
Still, the only thing running through your mind as he made his way back to you was: How in the seven hells is that going to fit?
It wasn’t a simple task, but with some patience, you managed. You tried to keep your eyes from rolling back with every one of his thrusts, but he wasn’t making it easy on you. Not only did he hit the right spot every time—how could he not, when it felt like he was reaching so deep—but he was also incredibly vocal.
His head barely left your shoulder as his hips continued to move against you, so every sound that escaped him was heard clearly in your ear. And the praise—gods, it was driving you insane.
“Feels so good, m’lady… taking me so well,” Dunk groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly enough that you were sure they would leave bruises.
The sound of his voice sent a shiver through you, your grip tightening on his shoulders as you tried to steady your breathing. Every word he spoke seemed to go straight through you, leaving you more unsteady than before.
“Dunk…” you breathed, his name slipping out without thought.
He answered with a low, strained sound, his forehead pressing into your shoulder as if he needed the contact to ground himself. His hands were still firm at your hips, but there was something careful in the way he held you—like he was always just a breath away from pulling back if you needed him to.
“Fuck… could live inside you,” he groaned.
You moaned at that, surprised by the dirtiness of the words slipping from his mouth. Who would have known that beneath Ser Duncan the Tall there was this whole other man?
“Dunk, please,” you moaned.
“What is it, m’lady? What do you want?”
“More,” you whispered. “Give me more.”
“Greedy thing, eh?” Dunk murmured, amusement clear in his voice. “You sure, m’lady? I’m not going to hold back.”
“Ah—ugh—more, Dunk, please.”
“Alright… as you wish.”
You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. As soon as the words left his mouth, Dunk lifted himself off you. You looked at him as he straightened up, brows furrowing in confusion.
Dunk just gave you an easy smile, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs before dragging you closer to the edge of the bed without fully pulling away from you. Once he seemed satisfied with the position, he looked down at you.
“Ready?”
You nodded. Dunk raised a silent brow at you. You flushed immediately, understanding what he wanted.
“Yes, Ser.”
The smirk that graced his face dripped with sin, and before you even had time to process it, he moved again with sudden, overwhelming intensity.
The shift in him stole the breath from your lungs.
Your hands clutched at him instinctively, your head tipping back as the sudden change drew a sharp sound from you. Dunk’s jaw tightened at the reaction, his control visibly fraying at the edges.
“Careful,” he muttered, though it sounded more like a reminder to himself than to you.
You shook your head faintly, your grip on him tightening. “Don’t be.”
That did it.
Not recklessness—but permission.
His movements grew firmer, more certain, no longer testing but knowing. Each shift of him was met with your response, your body answering in ways that made his breath hitch, his composure slipping further with every passing moment.
“Gods…” he groaned, his voice low and strained. “You feel—”
He cut himself off, like even saying it might push him too far.
“Dunk, I’m—I—”
A moan tore through you before you could finish.
“You close?”
You nodded quickly, hands scrambling for anything to hold onto as the sensation became almost overwhelming.
“Yeah? You gonna come all over my cock, huh?” Dunk asked, his movements speeding up. “Gonna make a big ol’ mess, aren’t you?”
“Yes—gods, please, Dunk, don’t—”
“Not going to, m’lady,” Dunk muttered, a groan escaping him before he could stop it. “Go on… be a good girl and come for me.”
That was the tipping point. You cried out his name as you came, your body spasming as you clenched around him. Dunk wasn’t far behind, with one more rough thrust and a groan of your name, he came.
Dunk stilled, a rough breath leaving him as your body relaxed around him, your name still echoing in his ears. Your grip on him slowly loosened, though your hands didn’t fall away entirely, still clinging to him as you tried to steady your breathing.
For a moment, neither of you moved. Then Dunk finally pulled out of you, a soft hiss leaving your lips as he did. You were still trying to catch your breath when Dunk’s hands slipped beneath you, lifting you with ease before repositioning you in the bed. Once he had you settled, he lowered himself beside you with a soft grunt.
You waited only a second before inching closer, resting your head against his chest. Dunk’s arm wrapped around you in a way that felt natural, almost instinctive.
“Gods…” he murmured again, though this time it was quieter—almost awed.
You let out a soft, breathless laugh, the sound muffled slightly against him. “You say that a lot.”
A faint huff of amusement left him, though it was still threaded with something heavier. “I don’t think I’ve ever meant it more.”
That made something warm bloom in your chest, softer than what had come before, but no less intense.
“You alright?” he asked, his voice still rough, but steadier now.
You met his gaze, your lips curving faintly despite the lingering heat in your body. “I am.”
Relief flickered across his face so openly it almost made you smile wider.
“Good,” he said, quieter now.
For a moment, the world seemed to settle around you—no urgency, no rush. Just the quiet aftermath of something neither of you had quite expected, but neither of you seemed to regret.
Your hand found his cheek again, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin.
“We should probably be quiet,” you murmured, a hint of teasing returning. “Unless you want Egg knocking on the door next.”
Dunk let out a low groan at that, his head dipping briefly. “Don’t even joke about that.”
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