multi fandom > bnha, stranger things, bridgerton, marvel, top gun, acotar, got, tkotsk, twilight, heated rivalry… & whatever i eventually become obsessed with <
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IMPORTANT: smut, morally grey, filthy 18+ content, non/dubcon, dark kinks and themes find their way in my writing & reblogs often- but are always tagged w/ specific warnings in my writing !! reader x and oc x
you are responsible for what you consume! always read the tw !
here’s a glimpse into what your texts with jon look like as his controversially younger girlfriend. sometimes there’s a lapse in communication and understanding with one another, but fucking about it usually solves any issues.
“You’re doing so good.” Alice praises to you, holding onto you as your eyes roll back. She keeps her legs over yours so you can’t close them as Jasper pushes the rest of himself into you. “Almost there, just- hold on.” Jasper say, closing his eyes and taking in a breath he knew he didn’t need. But he needed to compose himself or else he could risk hurting you. “It’s alright, Jas, you won’t hurt her.” Alice says as she takes her attention off of you for a moment to look at Jasper. With those words, he pushes himself into you completely without any warning. He watched you cry out and arch your back, clinging onto Alice’s arm for support. For a moment he thought he hurt you, until he felt the pure bliss you were in.
Fanfiction is supposed to be cringy. You're allowed to write bad. You're allowed to be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be self indulgent. You're allowed to be cringe. Let yourself be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be fun. Stop putting arbitrary rules on yourself and be free.
You had never fit in with your family, always longing for someone to notice you for you, know you for you not the princess you were. never truly known or respected, your feelings never taken into account, that was until Dunk.
Ser Duncan the Tall x Targaryen!reader
Word count: 6,671
CW: MDI, 18+, size kink, praise kink. a lot of the use of good girl. family issues, Aerion being Aerion, canon typical violence. Making out, gentlemen Dunk who’s also a little horny 🤏 (as little as he is small) love at first sight?, soft!dom Dunk? Reader is described as being a lot shorter than dunk. Some angst. no smut in this part but there will be in part two
Masterlist | part two
You didn't even want to come to the tourney, had no desire to go and watch Aerion pomp around and best his usual cruelty. You didn't even see why you had to go. No one cared if you were there or not. Barley anyone cared about you at all.
You had ridden to the Ashford tourney with the rest of the family, eager to find your youngest brother, Egg and escape the stiffness of your father and the madness of your brother. And yet the boy was missing. Your family rushed off without even casting you a glance, as you got off your horse, not even giving you the chance to catch up with them, leaving you surrounded by horses and luggage as they walked into the Ashford keep.
You watched them walk in, your cousin, Valaar, enduring the words of your brother Aerion. Seemingly annoyed to be talking to him and yet easily engaging in their conversation, settling into the easy bond of family annoyance. Your father locked in conversation with your uncle Baelor, frustration nipping at your father's toes.
You had begged for your sisters to come, but if they had, you knew they too would be stuck side by side, not sparing you a glance either.
You were always the odd one out in our family, though you loved them dearly, there was always an odd number off you, leaving at least one of you without a partner in crime. And that person was always you.
Always the odd one out, you had thought you would be the first to run away, not Egg.
You sighed as you walked into the stable, your eyes catching on a man soothing your brother's horse.
“Easy. Easy now, come on,” the man soothed the horse, stroking the horse's snout in soothing motions, “Come on. Yeah, it’s okay. It’s okay. There you are, girl. Far too many people around.” he stroked the horse, grabbing her reins and pulling her into the stables. The horse nickered, nodding in agreement. The man smiled, “I agree, “ he chuckled, his voice soft.
“You speak more kindly to the horse than anyone has ever spoken to me,” you hummed behind him. Startling him slightly. He turned to see you there, dressed in your black and red riding clothes, a smile on your lips as you rolled on the heels of your feet.
“My lady-no, your grace”, he corrected, bowing softly, “I shall move out of your way at once.”
You waved your hands, “No, no, you can’t leave, gods know my brother’s horse is in need of kind words,” you mused, walking towards the otherside of the horse, petting her softly, “Are you the stable hand?” you asked, not unkindly.
He shook his head, “No, your brother thought I was too, must be the clothes”, he joked, his eyes glued to you. Never once leaving you as you focused your attention on soothing the horse.
“No”, you shook your head, “you are so good with her i had assumed only a stable hand would be” You looked up at him, smiling softly, moving to stroke the horse’s mane”
“Oh, I-i “, he spluttered, not sure if you were being kind or not, “ thank you, your grace?”
You laughed at his unsureness, “Don’t thank me, ’twas an observation,” you hummed.
He nodded, a nervous blush on his face, “Shouldn’t you be inside?”
You looked up, a loud sigh leaving your lips, “Do you tire of my company already?” you jested.
“No! No, your grace, I am sorry to offend you. I am as thick as bricks I-”
Your head fell back, and you laughed aloud, a smile so wide you felt your face stretch. “I am joking, I promise.” He nodded, a nervous smile ticking his lips, “You are right, though, but I shant leave without knowing your name first…” You trailed off, waiting for his answer.
“Oh- Dunk, ser Dunk.” he cleared his throat “Ser Duncan the tall” he stood up straighter, somehow towering over you even more.
“A pleasure, ser Duncan,” you smiled, your hand reaching out to shake his, though Dunk took it and placed a waked kiss to it, his face turning red. You laughed once more, “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, you know,” you hummed, stepping away from the horse and wiping down the loose straw that had landed on your dress.
“I won’t be, your grace, so long as you aaren'tunkind to yourself as well,” he smiled, watching you stop your movements at his words. Your head flicked up to his.
“What do you mean?” you cokced your head.
“Oh…uh, you know what you said when you walked in,” his lip twitched into a small smile, “you know when you said about me talking to the horses”
“Oh!” It was your turn to blush now, “I am sure you are not thick, Ser Duncan.” Your smile kind, as you stepped closer to him, your head angling up to look him in the eyes.
“And I am sure you get plenty of compliments”, he smiled too, blushing as your eye contact never broke.
“Thank you, ser Duncan-” you smiled, before he interrupted you. Telling you to call him Dunk, “thank you, Dunk, but I am still sure the horse is more complimented than me”
You bid your farewell after that, chasing after the family that hadn’t even noticed you were gone.
Dunk was unsure of what to think of your words. He thought you were the prettiest, kindest person he had met, and he would happily spend his days talking to you however you wanted.
“Oh,” you huffed, as you moved back from the wall like man you had walked into.
“Oh no, your grace I am so-“ he stopped when you looked up his eyes flickering to yours, a smile on his lips as he recognised you, “sorry” he continued.
“Dunk,” you greeted, stepping back slightly so you could look at him without straining your head, “don’t apologise, I walked into you” you laughed. “I’m not sure how I missed you though, ” you huffed, your head flickering to where he had just walked out from, noticing how your father had slumped in a chair his usual stern face even sterner than usual. “Were you speaking with my father?”
“Oh uh, I wanted to see if they would vouch for me so I could join the lists, Baelor he uh…” he scratched his head nervously “he agreed to vouch for me but I’ve got the get a new sigil,” he rambled on, pulling his shield in front of him to show you. He was far to nervous to speak to you, in truth he had followed you inside hope to speak to you again, only when he had wondered into the keep had he remember the tale Ser Arlan had told him about the tourney with Baelor.
“Oh, well that’s an easy fix,” you hummed taking the shield from him, “I can paint it for you if you’d like.” You waited for his response, but Duncan just stared at you, a blush overtaking his features. “Ser Duncan?” You probed.
“Uh yes of course,” what he had agreed to he didn’t know but if you wanted it who was he to refuse.
You smiled “what were you thinking?”
Dunks blush deepened, did you know that for the entire hour he had known of your existence that his mind had not left once thought of anything but you, of the hope he had that should he do well in the tourney that you would enlist him into your private guard, allow him to protect your admire you…
No words fell out of ser Duncan’s mouth as he gazed at you, perhaps he was right about being as thick as bricks, “Dunk? What did you want on your shield?" You probed, your hand squeezing his arm.
He started at the touch, at how small your hand was compared to him, “oh yes umm, an elm tree” he cleared his throat “uh on a field at sunset? Yeah the old Man always liked sunsets” his eyes moved to where your hand still rested on his arm, “oh and a shooting star.” His hand reached in his pocket, finding his near empty coin purse, “aye, how much for it?” He asked sheepishly.
You shook your head dismissively, “nothing, all knights should have a sigil, consider it a gift,”
“Oh I couldn’t accept” he shook his head his hand placing it on yours as you squeezed his arm.
Your eyes snapped to his hand, noticing how big it was, how his whole hand seemed to engulf your hand, a blush over taking your features at the contact and the thoughts that filled your head. “No no, I Insist it’s a gift,” you smiled, your eyes moving away from him and into the room where your father and uncle sat, neither had noticed you stood there but Baleor ever observant flicked his gaze over to yourself his eyes looking with yours. He eyed you and the knight cautiously , a kind look on his face, though not quit a smile.
Baelor's notice caught fathers attention, “get in here,” he ordered, though not harshly, “and leave the hedge knight alone”
Duncan’s hand squeezed yours, as your eyes locked with his once more “I shall see you later,” you promised, “where can I find your camp?” Your eyes never broke from his.
“Along the river bank, near an elm tree. I’ll sure I’m not hard to miss.” He jested, his eyes crinkling at the sight of your smile.
“Well then Dunk, I shall see you later then.” You nodded your head, shield in hand as you walked into face your father.
Dunks gaze lingered on yours as you walked into the room, a smile on his face at your simple act of kindness.
“Why do you have the hedge knights sheild?” Maekar, your father asked.
“I- uh, I offered to paint it for him,” your father scowled slightly, before his face softened as he looked at you.
He stood and walked over to you, “You are far too kind for your own good,” he squeezed your shoulders, kissing your cheek “, off to your rooms now, I won’t have you wondering around and ending up in a ditch too.”
“What?” You asked as he led you out of the room. He walked you to your rooms, taking the shield from you as the door opened.
“I’m leaving tomorrow to find Daeron and Aegon. I expect you to keep Aerion in line whilst I'm gone.” He inspected the shield, as he spoke, his gaze hard as he stared at it as if it would reveal some secret mystery to him.
You scowled, “I’m not going anywhere near Aerion if you're not here.” You took the shield from him, moving it to where you had set your art supplies.
Your father sighed, “Just try not to hide in your room the entire time I’m gone,” you hummed, you’d doubt anyone would tell him if you did.
“Fine,” you agreed, hoping you could spend the rest of the tourney with the hedge knight. He looked at you for you, not some princess. Just you.
He nodded his head, walking towards you and kissing your cheek once more, his hand roughing your hair as he left.
For a man so hard that he was named the anvil, he always had a soft spot for his daughters.
“And stay away from the hedge knight, I saw how he looked at you.” Your head snapped to his.
“What do you mean?” You asked.
“He looked at you as if he-“ he cleared his throat awkwardly “just stay away from him!” He ordered and turned to leave. Your mind wandered to the knight, hoping he looked at you the same way you looked at him.
Dunk never fancied himself the type he fall in love at first sight. Especially to a princess. And yet here you stood, if Ser Arlan were alive, he was sure he would be ridiculed, and a bucket of piss would be poured over his head for how he was acting.
Princesses don’t marry knights, they don’t marry hedge knights or common folk. They wed lords and lived in a castle, not under trees. He was a fool for thinking you’d happily join him under his pavilion, live on the roads and the land. He was a blushing fool, a fool whose eyes were drawn to yours whenever you were near, he could sense you the second you walked out into the stands and sat, his gaze never leaving yours.
Egg, who sat on his shoulders, rambled on, pointing out the royal family, somehow knowing everything about them.
He spoke your name in a rather happy tone, “she’s the eldest daughter of Maekar.” Dunk begged that you would look their way, notice him, and his large frame stood in the crowd.
He coughed awkwardly as Egg rambled on about the rest of the lords and ladies in the crowd, “What about the princess? What lord is she wed to?” He cleared his throat, his eyes locked on you as you slumped in your chair, reaching for a book, only for Baelor to snatch it from your hand the second you opened it.
“She’s not married, Maekar refuses to wed her off yet,” Egg said dismissively before urging Dunk to put him down.
This was the first tourney Dunk had seen, and yet his eyes never left you once. Never left the pout on your lips. The way you slumped against your chair, playing with the rings of your fingers. Only when you gasped and stood up, a cry falling from your lips, did he look away, his eyes following yours to where Aerion had plunged his lance directly into a horse.
Dunk pushed through the crowd, his hand grasping the fence as he moved to look. You had moved from the pavilion and seemed to be shouting at guards who stood in your way. He couldn’t imagine you shouting, not when you’d been so kind before.
His eyes stayed on you as you dragged Aerion away, the crowd laughing at the look on the prince's face. But like always, his eyes never left yours. Only when you were out of sight did he look elsewhere. But his mind circled back to you until he saw you again.
“Princess,” Dunk called your name as you wandered through the camp, a lost look on your face. Egg trailed after him, goose eggs in hand. He called your name, your eyes searching in every direction until you finally faced where he stood. A large smile filled your face once you saw him. Egg moved to stand behind him, hiding for some strange reason.
“Hello, Dunk,” you greeted, “Are you enjoying the tourney?”
He nodded, his arm reaching to pull Egg from where he seemed burried in to his back. “Aye, I am. Oh, uh, this is my squire, Egg,” he said, pulling the child to stand in front of him.
“Egg? I have a brother named Egg, or well, Aegon!” You mused, looking at the back of the child’s head as he turned away from you, “Is he a bit shy?” You whispered to Dunk as Egg ran off towards the puppet show.
“Uh, no, if anything, the boy is uh…very confident?” You nodded thoughtfully, “Oi! Don’t run too far!” He shouted at the boy who put his thumb up as he continued running off.
You moved to step beside him, your arm threading through his as you lead him to a quieter part of camp. Dunk noticed how small you were compared to him, he could toss you over his shoulder no problem, carry you with one arm, he doubted he’d even need to grip onto you when he - he shook off the thought, his mind focusing back on you as you spoke. You spoke of your own day at the tourney, you rambled to the point where anyone else would be annoyed, but not Dunk. He was fascinated with every word you said, answering your questions easily as you sat on the bank watching over the camp.
“Have you travelled all over the seven kingdoms?” You asked, you had both moved to sit, Dunk using his makeshift cape as a blanket for you to sit on, and he sat opposite you in the grass, watching as you pulled at the flowers and made a crown of daisies.
“A lot of it, though I’ve never been to Dorne,” he smiled, wagging your fingers asyour tied the last daisy to the crown.
“I love Dorne, my mother was from Starfall,” you began, moving to kneel as you brought the crown and placed it on Dunk's head, your hand lingering on his face long after you had placed it. “We used to visit often, but we haven’t been in a while” Your voice was tinged in sadness, your lip quivering as you thought of your mother, of the woman whose death turned your already tough father more stern and cold.
Dunk took your hand, squeezing it in comfort. “I lost my mother too,” he started, “ I was young, don’t remember her much, but I refused to leave flea bottom for a while, thinking she’d one day comeback”
You moved to sit next to him, your legs locking with his as he talked about his mother and as you talked of yours. It was so strange how different your lives were, but the love of a mother and the grief off loosing her was the same no matter where you came from.
You both had talked for hours, lying in the grass away from the tourney, your hand never leaving his as you spoke, “most people find my ramblings annoying”, you hummed as you settled into comfortable silence.
“You're not annoying, I love your ramblings”, he spoke honestly, in his usual blunt tone. You laughed softly, “The rest of the realm would disagree,” you sighed, turning on your side to face him.
He scoffed as it was the most pathetic thing he had ever heard “I’d happily listen to you talk for hours”, he confessed, and in truth, he had. It was midday when Dunk had found her, and now the sun was setting. Hours trickled by, and neither of them even noticed.
“You would? Even if I ramble on about absolute nonsense?” You whispered, dunk turned to face you. He scooted down until his face was side by sid switch yours. Your faces so close you could feel his breath on your skin.
“Nothing you say is nonsense,” it was your turn to scoff now, all your life you had been told you rambled on and on, everyone lost focus eventually, finding you annoying. Your interests had always differed from everyone else, they found you boring, and after a while, you had figured that prehahs they were right. “All I say is nonsense”, you said, bringing Dunk's hand close to your face, separating your fingers to see what his own would do.
“No, it’s true, your umm-“ he tried to think of a smarter word for interesting, you were more than interesting, you were everything. “Very interesting, uh, I like, I’ve never heard someone know so much as you do”
“You really think I’m interesting?” You smiled, or more gushed, “I think you're interesting,” your hand reached to touch his hair, making sure the daisy crown was still holding on, you had lingered in this side of his face speaking your thoughts outside “, and handsome,” you turned bright red at your words, not meaning to say them out loud.
“Yeah, do you, pretty girl?” He smiled, speaking kindly and not at all teasing, “What else do you think?”
Your breath stopped short, you hadn’t expected the compliment, hadn’t expected those words to do so much to you, or the shiver to go through your body. You stuttered, unsure of what to say.
“Go on,” he urged “, Be a good girl and tell me what you think.”
Oh gods, you could have moaned, you weren’t entirely sure you hadn’t moaned. “You're so tall” Your mind was blank, but it was all you could think about, how tall he was, how he towered over you.
“Yeah? Do you like that?” He normally hated it when people called him tall, but with you, gods, he loved how tall he was compared to you. How, when he reached to cradle your head in his hand, engulfed the entire back of your head. The hand holding yours dropping to your hip.
You nodded shyly, your tongue reaching out to wet your lips. Noting how Dunk's eyes watched your tongue move. His own tongue copying yours.
“Use your words,” he whispered, his hand pulling you closer, your legs overlapping his, your faces so close you feel his breath mixing with yours.
“Yes,” you nodded, as you felt Dunk rub small circles on your hip. “I like how tall you are,” your nose rubbed against his, “how kind and handsome.
“Good girl,” he praised, “my beautiful, pretty and smart girl.” his mouth dipped to yours, not kissing you, not yet. “Can I kiss you, pretty girl?”
“Yes, please”
“So polite,” he hummed, his hand on your hip pulling you closer, as his mouth finally dipped and took your lips in a soft kiss. He cradled your face to him, his lips moving carefully against yours, his tongue probing at your mouth, begging for entrance. You gasped softly at the touch, allowing Dunk entrance. His tongue dominated your mouth, soft gasps spilling from your lips as the kiss grew heated. You moaned softly as Dunk rolled onto his back, pulling you with him. His hands falling to wrap against you as you fell flat against his chest, you grew breathless against his mouth, his kiss lighting every nerve in your body.
A loud cough was heard behind you. Both choosing to ignore it, has Dunks hands moved to your hips, reaching to grab your arse. The cough was heard again, you both groaned as the kiss broke, Dunk moving his head to look behind you. “What are you doing here?” Dunk Groaned, his hands settling on your hips as you sat up, your head looking over your shoulder, “Egg?” you asked, looking at your newly bald brother. “Aye, my squire., Dunk confirmed, not realised his so-called squire was the same Egg as your brother. “Oh?” You tilted your head to look at Aegon, a silent conversation going on between you. If you don't tell i won’t.
You smiled at Dunk, you couldn’t lie to him, nor could you tell him who Egg was. You went to get off Dunk’s lap, his hands held you to him tighter, “don’t go,” he pleaded. You smiled softly, wanting to stay, but the sun had fully set now, even if no one noticed you had gone, you should still head back. “I have too, I’ll come see you tomorrow?” he nodded, his eyes flickering back to Egg, who seemed to be entirely confused about the entire thing.
You got off Dunk slowly, placing a soft peck on his lips, as you did. Standing up,p you brushed the grass off your dress.
“Allow me to walk you back to the castle,” he insisted, standing up behind you.
“But I wanted to see the puppet show!” Egg protested as he trailed after you both, scowling as your head leaned against Dunk's arm, as you looped your arm through his.
“You’ve had the whole day to watch the puppet show, boy”, he rolled his eyes as he trailed after them, his eyes flickering over to the puppet show tent as they walked past.
Your eyes flickered to where Egg stood, “I suppose we could watch the show before you walk me back,” you offered, smiling softly at your brother.
He ran ahead without responding. Dunk shook his head, “Say thank you!” he shouted.
“Thank you!” Egg waved, running to join the crowd.
You stood at the back of the tent, standing on your tiptoes as you tried to watch the show. Dunk, noticing your frustration, pushed his way through the crowd, shielding you from them as he walked you to the front.
You stopped cold at the front, not from the show but from who sat there. Aerion. “Maybe, maybe I should walk back alone,” you smiled nervously, turning to face away from the show.
“What? Why?” Dunk asked, his hands moving to your shoulders, looking at your nervous face.
Then he saw why Aerion had spotted you before you even had the chance to leave, a cruel smile on his lips as he saw you.
He prowled towards you with a sneer on his face, “What's this?” he asked. You flinched into Dunk, Aerion grabbed your shoulder, turning you to face him, “You know, when you weren't at dinner i had assumed you were cowering in your room” he clicked his tongue, “not being a whore” his hands threaded through your hair, pulling the grass out of it. You flinched at the touch.
Dunk reached for you, pulling you behind him, “Don’t speak to her that way.”
Aerion scoffed, “And who are you?” Aerion clicked his tongue, eyeing Dunk up and down.
“He’s a knight, and leave him out of this,” you gritted your teeth.
Aerion laughed, “You really are a whore,” he reached to grab your hair, but before he could, Dunk punched him square in the jaw.
The guards were on him before you could even blink, pushing him against a table. Aerion reached for your hair again, dragging you over to Dunk.
“Why did you throw your life away for this stable hand?” he questioned you, his eyes looking over at Dunk as if he was pure filth. “he’s scarcely worth it.”
“Leave him, guards, let him go!” you tried to order, only for Aerion to slap you clean across the face, causing you to fall to the floor. He kicked your stomach, “whore”, he murmured before moving his wrath to Dunk.
“You’ve loosened one of my teeth. So, we’ll start by breaking out all of yours.”
“No! Don’t touch him!” you heard a voice shout.
“You stupid boy! Hold your tongue, or they’ll hurt you.” Dunk yelled, his eyes moving from
You to Egg, who easily pushed his way through the crowd, guards and maesters at his side.
“No, they won’t.” Egg moaned, standing with confidence, his eyes locked on Aerion. “If they do, they’ll answer to my father. Let go of him! Wate, Yorkel, do as I say.”
“You impudent little rat. What’s happened to your hair?” Aerion scowled.
“I cut it off, brother. I didn’t want to look like you.” Egg scowled.
Everything went black after that as Aerion kicked you one more time in the stomach.
You awoke in the warmth of your bed, and to the sounds of soft murmurs in the corner of the room. Your vision struggled to focus as you opened your eyes. Your father stood, talking to a maester. The conversation heated up.
You coughed as you moved to sit up in the bed, pain searing through you. Your father rushed to your side, dismissing the maester, “Easy,” he warned, his hand moving to help guide you up.
“What happened?” you asked, as your father handed you a cup of water.
“I should be asking you that,” he scowled, but softened when he saw you flinch. “What I mean is…why did Aerion find the need to defend your honour?”
“What? Defend my…my honour? He attacked me, how is that defending me?” you scowled, flinching from his touch as he reached to comfort you. “No, no.” You scooted back, ignoring the pain in your stomach, “Aerion attacked an innocent man who defended my honour when Aerion called me a whore, then he slapped and kicked me and pulled my hair” Tears welled in your eyes, from both the pain and the unmoving look on your father's face.
“Aerion claims that man…sullied you.” Maekar tried to reason.
“He did no such thing! He is my friend, and he was looking after Egg,” you argued.
“Oh, don’t even get me started on Egg,” your father dismissed, his hand trying to reach for yours. You flinched away from him again, and your ather sighed as you did.
“Dunk, he did nothing wrong. I did nothing wrong!”
“Well, I-” you cut him off, pressing a finger in his face to shush him.
“Don't try to defend him, don't try to excuse Aerion's actions again,” you wiped the tears from your eyes, “did…did you believe him, what he said about me?”
The shame in your father's eyes told you all you needed to know, “get out,” you sighed, your voice faltering as you spoke, “how could you?”
Your hand gripped your stomach in pain, and your father sighed as he reached for a draught the maester left.
You took it gratefully, enjoying the relief it began to give you, noticing your father wasn’t getting out, you sighed, “What's going to become of Ser Duncan?” you asked, tears welling in your eyes once more as you assumed the worst.
“Aerion called for a trial of the seven,”
“A what?” you asked, “There hasn’t been one of those in over 100 years.” you grimaced in pain as you settled back into the bed.
“Aerion demanded it after Ser Duncan demanded a trial by combat.”
You sighed, rolling your eyes. Of course, he would. Any excuse to avoid facing real combat. “Well, you're not going to take Aerion's side? Are you? Dunk is innocent.”
Your father couldn't even look at you. “Oh,” you said in realisation, you swallowed roughly. You reached for the rest of your cup before throwing it at the door, “get out,” you said, your voice hard as you looked away from him. “Please, get out”, your voice still hard.
Your father sighed, getting up slowly to leave, making sure he got another cup, filling it with water and placing it on your bedside, before he left.
You shouldn’t be out of bed, you regretted even thinking about it, let alone summoning your maid to dress you.
Your head was far too tender to do anything with it, you had flinched with every stroke of the brush. Your face had a large bruise on it front he slap, and your abdomen hurt far too much for a corset.
Yet looking half presentable, you grabbed the shield you had painted and trudged down to meet Dunk.
He was sitting on his horse, a brown stallion named Thunder, if you remembered correctly. Your uncle Baelor sat beside him, alongside five other knights, only two of whom you recognised.
“Ser Duncan,” you called as you approached them, startling him slightly. He and the crowd.
They all watched with rapt attention as you, the person the accusers were apparently defending, approached the man they accused.
“Your grace,” he greeted, riding up to you, a relieved smile on his face. Though it hardened slightly at the sight of the mark on your face.
You presented his shield to him, “Here, a knight needs his shield.” You presented it to him, and he took it with a grateful smile on his face. “I'm glad you're okay”, you whispered as he led down, “don’t die, please”, you begged. His eyes looked over the shield, noting your artwork and the small ffavouryou had tied into the inside of it.
“I don’t plan to,” you could see the nerves in his eyes. You could only pray that the gods were watching and would prove his innocence.
You nodded, sending him a smile as you walked to the stands, your head bowed as you prayed to the seven to show that Dunk was innocent.
“He won,” you breathed, finally letting go of the breath you held. “Egg, he’s alive, he won?” You turned to face your brother, who seemed as equally glad as you did. You grabbed Eggs' hand as you led him towards Dunk, a gasp leaving you as you took in his swollen face. “Fetch a maester,” you ordered to Egg, rushing to Dunk, kneeling between his legs as you lifted his chain mail armour to get a look at his wounds.
“One moment, I felt drunk. The next, like I’m dying.” Dunk groaned as you wripped of a part of your dress, using it to cover the wound.
“Hold still, I need wine,”
“You can get drunk later, lady,” the knight, Raymun, you believed, spoke.
“No, not for me, for the wounds,” you shook your head, your gaze flittering over to Egg, “Egg, go fetch a maester,” you ordered, as you watched his gaze flit to Baelor as he stumbled into the alcove.
“You heard your sister, Aegon, go fetch Maester Yormwell, he’s looking at your father as we speak”
Dunk groaned as he tried to move forward and kneel at Baelor's feet. “No, Dunk, don’t move,” you tried to protest.
“Your Grace,” he grunted, “I am your man. Please. Your man.” he pleaded, kneeling forward as you tried to get him to stand up.
“I need good men, Ser Duncan. The realm.” Baelor grunted, his voice strained. You stepped away from Dunk, moving towards Baleor.
“Uncle?” you approached, slowly, eyeing him for injuries.
“My helm, if you would be so kind.” You stepped forward, noticing how the helm had caved in, a gasp falling from your lips, “Visor’s… visor’s cracked.” he wasn’t wearing a visor. You pulled the helm slowly from his head, “My fingers feel… fingers feel like wood.” Baelor spoke, his hand reaching to touch the back of his head.
“Oh, gods, uncle your bleeding”
Baelor hummed in pain, “My brother’s mace, most likely. He’s strong,” he siad turing to where Raymen had come to help you. He was proud.
“Uncle, “ he stumbled forward, collapsing to where Dunk still kneeled, falling into his arms.
“No, no! No. No, no, Your Grace. Your Grace. Your Grace, get up, ser. Get up, ser! No! No! Please! I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Get up! I’m sorry.” Dunk pleaded, sobbing.
You collapsed in front of them, holding Baelor as he lost consciousness, “No, Baelor, uncle, please.” Sobs tore from your throat as Dunk held Baelor to him.
You didn't remember when your father showed up, or when he dragged you away from your uncle, all you remember was begging to stay with Dunk, pleading for Maester Yormwell to see to him as soon as possible.
Dunk saw you next at the funeral, he felt your gaze on him as he spoke to Valarr. He wanted desperately to speak to you, and he could tell you wanted to speak to him. But your father held on firm to you, Maekars gave hard and firm whenever Dunk so much as looked in your direction.
He tried to distract himself away from you. He was a fool to think anything could come of knowing you. He never should have kissed you or talked to you. And yet he regretted nothing. Even if this were to be a mere memory in a matter of days. You would forget about him, and he would never see you again. And yet no matter how much he tried to distract himself, he could only think of you.
Even when Maekar summoned him, the entire time he spoke, he begged that you would walk in.
“My youngest son seems to have grown fond of you, ser. It is time he was a squire. But he tells me he will serve no knight but you. He is an unruly boy, as you will have noticed.” Makear sighed, and though Egg had grown to care for Egg, he had hoped the conversation would turn to you.
“He’s a good lad. Just needs a stern hand, that’s all.”
Makar nodded at Dunk's words, a kind of relieved sigh leaving his lips “Will you have him?”
“Me?”
“There is a place for you at Summerhall. You’ll swear your sword to me, and Aegon can squire for you. While you train him, my master-at-arms will finish your own training. Your Ser Arlan did all he could for you, I have no doubt. But you still have much to learn.” Maekar offered.
“I beg your pardon, m’lord,” Dunk cleared his throat, “but what about your daughter, I thought-”
“You thought nothing, she is to be wed soon. A match has been arranged between her and House Tyrell. You will never see her again, and if you do, you will not talk to her,” Maekar’s voice was stern, hard and unflinching as he waitied Dunk's response.
Dunk felt his heart collapse. As much as he cared for the boy, he was done, done if he couldn't see you everyday “I beg your pardon, m’lord, I do. But I think I’m done with princes.” he coughed awkwardly, as he bowed his head and left.
Egg had been spying on him; the boy was rather obvious as he hovered outside the door. “Were you spying?” he spoke, sitting down with a huff.
“No. Are you in a lot of pain? Ser?” Egg asked.
“I can’t, Egg. I’m sorry.” and he was, he really was.
He wobbled throughout the halls, his eyes lingering in everydoor way, waiting for you to appear. But he didn’t see you not once. And when he came back, his mind changed and eager to take Egg to squire. He didn't see you then either. Just your endless trunks as he walked the halls.
No, the next time he saw you was as you rode, hard and fast, three bags strapped to your horse, with Egg sitting in front of you, his name on your lips. “Dunk, “ you called, pulling your horse to stop.
Egg jumped from your horse, running towards Dunk, “Ser Duncan! My lord father says I am to serve you.”
“Serve you, ser.” Dunk corrected, his gaze flittering over to you, “and you, princess?”
“My father has commanded nothing of me but a marriage against my will, a marriage I have no plans on seeing through,” you gave, locked with his, “will you have me?” you swallowed thickly. You wanted him to have and to hold, in sickness and in health. For better or worse. You only hoped he did not care for the wrath of your father when he learns you have left. You cared not if your home should be the hedges of the kingdom, as long as you had Dunk.
“Of course,” he smiled, his gaze turning to Aegon, “Chestnut’s yours. Treat her kindly. And I don’t want to find you on Thunder unless I put you there,” he ordered. You rode to join Dunk, as egg mounted chestnut.
“So, where to?” you asked, riding as close as you could to dunk, your hand could easily reach and hold it if you wanted.
“Don’t know. I suppose we could go anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms, though I’ve never been to D–” Dunk began, only for Egg to interrupt snidely.
“Nine”
“What?”
“There are nine kingdoms, ser.” Egg clarified.
Dunk looked to you “Egg, there are seven kingdoms,” you shook your head dismissively.
”Crownlands, Westerlands, Stormlands, Riverlands, the Iron Islands, the North, the Reach, the Vale of Arryn, and Dorne,” he said, rolling his eyes, and he listed them all.
“You're wrong, Egg”, you shook your head, “there are only seven kingdoms, Egg, as there are only seven great houses.” You shook your head, “Father should have a word with Maester Glennis if that's what he’s been teaching you
Egg huffed, turning the conversation elsewhere, refusing to fully admit defeat. “I’ve never been over the Red Mountains before. I hear they have good puppet shows in Dorne.
You looked over at Dunk, sharing a smile, as you travelled the road to Dorne.
Summary: You sneak out to have some fun, finding yourself in Lyonel Baratheon's tent. Only, you're not as sneaky as you thought you were.
Pairing: Baelor Targaryen x daughter!reader, some Lyonel Baratheon x reader at the beginning
Word Count: 2,488 words
Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, fingering, targcest, father/daughter incest, drinking, could be seen as dubcon, spanking (it's like once), language
A/N: Yep, I've fallen down the rabbit hole again, and I'm here to deliver some targcest purely out of spite. Yeah, just heed the warnings.
MASTERLIST
The air in the tent is stifling, sweat beading on your skin. Music fills the air, along with the sound of laughter and merrymaking. You stand near one of the support posts, eyes watching the bodies dancing in the center of the pavilion. An arm lays heave across your shoulders, a body pressed close against yours.
“I am truly honored by your presence here tonight, Princess.” Lord Lyonel Baratheon murmurs in your ear. He’s so close you can feel his breath against your skin. He smells like wine and metal and sweat and something richer, deeper.
“I am never one to miss a party.” You say, his nose brushing the side of your head. “But I think I need more wine.”
He holds his cup up to your lips, tilting it as you drink from it. A few droplets slip out of the corners, his eyes following one as it slides down your throat to your chest where it disappears under the scandalously low neckline of your dress. His tongue darts out, licking his lips as he pulls the now empty goblet from your lips. His eyes are dark as he stares down at you, your own tongue darting out to lick the wine from your bottom lip.
His arm slips from your shoulders down to your waist, tugging you forward. “Come dance with me before I do something untoward.”
You wouldn’t mind if he was a bit untoward.
He pulls you to the center of the crowd, spinning you before pulling you close against his body. He’s warm and solid, and you can feel the strength behind his grasp around you. You move with him, letting the music take over, the wine warming your body and easing your mind. It’s making you careless and carefree, but you feel safe in the arms of Lord Baratheon. There’s no threats, no eyes lingering, just a party and a handsome lord giving you his attention.
It’s exactly what you need.
Lyonel’s hands grip your waist before he lifts you, spinning in a circle before lowering you back down. His arms wrap tight around you, holding you close against his chest. You’re so close you can feel his breath against your lips, his nose bumping yours before you pull back.
“I think I need more wine.” You say, nearly shouting over the music and the crowd.
Lyonel throws his head back in a laugh, his grip tightening around you. “Then more wine you shall have.”
That’s how you wind up at the head table with him, his arm around your waist as he regales you with tales of hunting, jousting, and merrymaking. You’re properly drunk now, a flagon nearly empty between the two of you. It’s enough to have you ignoring the way his hand keeps sliding higher on your waist, fingers dangerously close to brushing your breast. It has warmth pooling between your thighs, your body shifting on the bench just slightly to ease the ache starting to grow there.
But you have enough sense to know it’s growing late, the crowd in the tent starting to thin. The prospect of getting caught is slim, but if you stay much longer, you may not want to leave at all.
“It is growing late.” You say, leaning in close despite how quiet the tent has grown. “I must get back before someone notices.”
Lyonel grunts, his hand sliding from your waist to your back. “Then I suppose I must let you go. Thank you for gracing my party with your presence, Princess.”
You grin, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. “It was a wonderful party.”
“I shall see you tomorrow from the field.” He says, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
“I look forward to a grand show.” You grin.
“I shall try not to disappoint.” He presses a final kiss to your hand before you pull away, making your way from the tent.
Your head is swimming as you make your way back towards the castle, the wine still warming your body. You hum a quiet tune, nearly slipping in the mud, but you manage to catch yourself. The bottom of your dress is properly filthy, coated in mud and dirt. Your handmaidens are going to enjoy trying to get that out later.
In your drunken state you miss the sound of footsteps rapidly approaching, only noticing once a hand wraps around your arm. You whirl around, startled by the boldness of someone to grab you so openly, tugging against their hold.
“Unhand me this instant-” Your eyes widen as you catch the glint of white armor in the torchlight. “Ser Willem.” You gulp, all fight leaving you as a pit grows in your stomach.
“Princess.” He says, sounding very unamused. The drunken bliss is starting to fade, instead soberness settling over you like a cold blanket. “Your father is waiting.”
That pit in your stomach only grows deeper as Ser Willem leads you back towards the castle. You’ve been caught red-handed.
Ser Willem leads you to your temporary quarters, any excuse you’ve thought up leaving your mind as you find your father there waiting for you. He leans against the table in the corner, his mismatched eyes locked onto you as soon as you enter. The great Baelor Targaryen looking unamused, and dare you say angry.
“Thank you, Ser Willem, that is all.” He says, dismissing the Kingsguard.
He’s silent until the door clicks shut, and then for a few moments after, regarding you with a stern look on his face. Your hands clutch your skirt, that drunken confidence suddenly escaping under the piercing gaze of your father.
“Is it your intent to make a fool out of me?” He finally speaks, his voice quiet. “Because if it is, you have succeeded.”
You straighten your back, holding your head high. “I fail to see how attending a party would make a fool out of you.”
“You snuck out in the dead of night to ravel with commoners. You have an image to keep as a princess and you’ve thrown that in the mud.” He snaps.
“It was just some drinking and dancing,” you say, unwilling to back down against him.
He straightens up to his full height, staring down his nose at you. “Your mother and I did not raise you to sneak out and go dancing with lords who would besmirch your honor.”
“Nothing happened, father.” You steel yourself despite the wine-driven confidence slowly draining. “My honor is still intact. You can check it yourself if you like.”
He surges toward you, his hand gripping the back of your neck. His eyes are burning as they stare down at you, his hand hot against your skin. “I will not tolerate insolence after the stunt you’ve pulled. It’s bad enough your cousins are missing, and now my daughter is out acting like a whore.”
“I’m not a whore.” You whisper, your gaze turning steely to match his.
“Then stop acting like one.” He hisses, releasing you. He turns his back on you, moving back to the table. “I should have married you to your brother. Perhaps he could have made you into a proper lady.”
“Then maybe you’ll have to do it yourself.” You retort.
His back stiffens as he pauses in pouring water into a cup. He’s silent as he goes back to pouring, filling it before turning back to you. His steps are slow as he approaches you, his face blank and unreadable. He passes the cup to you before slowly circling behind you. You take a sip, easing the sudden dryness of your throat.
“You like it, don’t you.” He says quietly, leaning down until his breath fans your ear. “The attention they give you.” His hands grip your waist, tugging you back against his chest. Water sloshes from the cup, splatting onto the floor at the sudden movement. “Tell me, how close did you let Lord Baratheon?” His hand slides from your waist to your stomach, pressing against your belly. “How much did you let him touch you.”
“I-I didn’t.” You stutter, your mind starting to go hazy at your father’s proximity.
“No?” He hums, pulling away from you. “But you wanted him to, didn’t you?”
He takes the half drunk cup of water from your hand, the other sliding around the back of your neck. He pushes you forward to the table, bending you over it as he sets the cup next to your face.
“You would have let him too, wouldn’t you?” He says, his hand keeping you pinned to the table.
“N-No,” you breathe, hands pressing against the wood.
He tugs at your skirts, the cool air of the room hitting your legs as he bunches them up over your back, revealing you to the room. A gasp leaves your lips as his hand cups you over your smallclothes, feeling the dampness that’s soaked the thin fabric.
“You did like it,” he muses, sounding almost amused.
“Father,” you gasp as he drags his fingers along the fabric.
“You told me I could check if you have any honor left myself.” He says, tugging your smallclothes to the side. “So that’s what I intend to do.”
You let out a whimper as his fingers drag through your folds, your hips bucking as he brushes your clit. You can imagine the smirk on his face, even though you can’t see him.
His fingers prod at your entrance before his middle finger presses into you, a shuddering breath leaving your lips. His finger pushes past your maidenhead, reaching into you deep.
“So you do tell the truth after all.” He says, ignoring the way you clamp around his finger. “But tell me, how many times have you touched yourself, thinking about these lords?”
“None,” you gasp, your chest starting to hurt from being presses against the table so harshly.
“And how many times have you touched yourself thinking about me?”
You whimper, your cunt clamping around his finger. Shame burns through you as a jolt of arousal shoots straight between your legs, only making you wetter. Your father pulls his finger from you, bringing his hand down on your rear with a smack. It has your body jolting, knees buckling.
“I asked you a question.” He says sternly.
“I-I’ve lost count.” You breathe, going lax against the table in defeat.
“Is that why you seek out the attention of these lords?” He asks, cupping you again, his fingers pressing against your clit. “Because you’re too afraid to ask for my attention? Is that it?”
You gulp, pressing your hips into his hand in a desperate search for some friction. “You’re always so busy…”
“You think I wouldn’t make time for my own daughter?” He asks softly, the hand on the back of your neck keeping you pinned to the table as he starts to rub your clit.
“I-It wouldn’t be proper.” You breathe, hips jerking as he presses his finger back into you.
He snorts. “Now you care about propriety?” He presses a second finger into you, your body burning a bit at the stretch. “Not so bold now that you’re getting a taste of it, are you, princess?”
You whimper as the cold metal of his ring touches your sensitive opening, his fingers reaching deep inside of you, far deeper than your own. The nights you’ve spent imaging this, your father’s fingers buried inside of you, touching you, bringing you pleasure…nothing compares to actually feeling it.
“I should take you for myself,” he says, starting to move his fingers, thrusting them into you. “Claim your maidenhood for my own. I’d marry you to Matarys, once he’s old enough. He’d take you as you are, without question, even with your reputation.”
“F-Father!” You gasp, squirming under him as pleasure courses through you.
“You’d never be far from me,” He murmurs, thrusting his fingers into you harder. “My sweet princess. No one would know that you spend the night with me, my fingers buried in your sweet cunt, not some lord unworthy of you.”
Your nails dig into the wood, fingers clawing for purchase as your legs start to shake. You’re soaked, the wet squelch of his fingers audible over the crackling of the fire. Maybe it’s the lingering wine or perhaps it’s just the press of your father’s fingers inside you that has your head spinning. Perhaps it’s both.
“Please, please-” you beg, clamping down around his fingers as the pleasure starts to grow more and more intense.
“You think I should let you cum after the stunt you pulled tonight?” He asks, slowing his fingers just slightly.
“Please, father-” You gasp, thighs squeezing around his hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”
“Yes, you will.” He says, and he’s not wrong.
Not if this is your punishment.
Your nails sink into the wood of the table, leaving marks as his fingers pick up speed once more, thrusting into you hard.
“I’m feeling generous tonight.” He says, his thumb stroking the back of your neck. “Cum for me.”
You let out a keening moan, thighs clamping around his hand as he drives you closer and closer to the edge, your legs nearly giving out from under you. It doesn’t take long, your eyes rolling back as pleasure washes over you, your father’s fingers bringing you to your peak and over the edge.
He slows his thrusts as you spasm around him, your body trembling where he has you pinned against the table. His thumb still strokes the back of your neck, the tender touch sending shivers down your spine.
He keeps his fingers inside of you until you calm, until your body has ridden out its high. You feel empty when he pulls them free, your body clamping down around nothing. He finally releases you, letting you roll over. You watch as he brings his fingers to his lips, taking them into his mouth to lick them clean. He groans contently, his eyes closing for a moment.
Your own lips part as you watch him, your cunt fluttering again. He pulls his fingers from his lips, opening his eyes to stare at you again. He steps closer to you where you lean against the table, his hand coming to rest on the side of your neck. His thumb traces your throat, his eyes flicking to your lips then back up.
“Get some sleep.” He says, releasing you. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”
He turns on his heel, making for the door.
“Father?” You call, and he turns back to face you. “How did you know I was gone?” You ask.
“Ser Willem saw you leave.” He smirks. “I told him to let you have your fun before bringing you back.”
You stare at the door with an open mouth as it clicks closed behind him, body still tingling with the aftershocks of your orgasm.
i will be writing targcest and if i see one person comment on it being GROSS, just know that i do NOTTTTT care & your comment will be useless :)))) read what you want, im gonna write nasty shit because it’s FUN. anyways i hate aerion, but he’s SOOOOO sexy & i think i could fix him.
i am going to write some NASTYYYY smut with him x cousin!reader or sister!reader
you need to understand that i have two sets of headcanons. there's the set of realistic headcanons based on my genuine reading of the show, and then there's me playing pretend with my dolls.
Warnings: none really, a bit of swearing, banter, reader is lyonels wife, flirting with other people?? idk what to put here lol. I saw the 'current husband' trend 10000 times and knew I needed one with our stag
lyonel baratheon x wife reader x dunk (kind of)
You’re both madly in love with one another. In love with life, in love with good wine, dancing, and the thrill of the hunt. Oh, how you adored when he would take you hunting, the feeling of his back pressed against yours as he helped you pull back the bowstring. There was a moment, just last spring, when a wildflower caught in his hair and you laughed so hard you nearly dropped your bow. Sometimes, when you lie awake at night with him tangled around you, you wonder if anyone else in the world has ever felt a happiness like this—so full and bright it almost aches. You matched each other’s particular style of whimsy.
And you both loved to flirt.
You never involved others, but you both teased—light touches, taunting words, with lords and ladies alike. Watching each other flirt made you ravenous for each other, making the sex even better.
You would watch with hungry eyes as he danced with other women, his lips lingering close as he whispered in their ears, his hands roaming their bodies. He would do the same as whispered in men’s ears, pulling them along because ‘your husband wouldn’t dance with you’ and they were oh so eager to make you happy.
Oh, but tonight, candlelight flickered over long wooden tables laden with trenchers and goblets, the air thick with the scents of roast boar and honeycakes. The banners of noble houses swayed gently in the evening breeze sneaking in beneath the striped pavilion. And there he was: this big, big man, clumsy, blue-eyed, and following some Fossoway fellow around like a lost puppy. Oh gods, he looked like you could climb him. He was so dreamy. His piercing blue eyes were shining even from where you sat at the main table.
“Oh darling.. I must go dance with him.” You mutter, standing up. Your husband grins, taking your hand, the one that adorned his ring, and kisses your knuckles. “Have fun, my love! I will be enjoying the show!” He grins, returning to his boisterous conversation with some men he had not seen in some time.
You turn your attention back to the man, grinning as you see him finding the pastries. You grab a cup of wine for the two of you, bringing it over and leaning against the table.
“Might I offer you some wine to take down those tarts with?” You offer a charming smile, grinning as he stumbles over himself to take the wine and thank you.
“I-yes, my-my lady, thank you.” His big hands take the cup, dwarfing its size.
After much flirting, sharing wine, and eating many sweets, you convince the tall, giant of a man to go dance with you. The air inside the Baratheon tent thrums with music, lively and loud, the beat pounding in your eyes. Rich scents of spiced wine and roasted meat cling to the air, nearly overwhelming, while bodies crowd the space around you with laughter and sudden bursts of song. He’s clumsy, but he’s drunk, and he’s excited. You dance like anyone else in the Baratheon tent—like wild animals, lost in the heat and swirl of movement. Eventually, you take his hand, laughing and smiling as you lead the way to your dear husband.
“Ah! Ser Duncan! Have you met my current husband, Lyonel!” I yell over the music, laughing as his eyes widen.
He starts to stutter over his words, the beginnings of an apology- but Lyonel stands- cutting off his words.
“Current husband?” He pulls you to him with a flourish, his mouth hovering close to your ear. His eyes are bright, a playful glint shining through as he squeezes your waist. “Wife, do you plan for me to die soon?” His words come with a crooked grin and a teasing rumble, letting you know he’s more amused than truly jealous, though a note of possessiveness curls beneath his playful banter.
“Oh darling, I am just jesting…” You say joyfully, leaning into his embrace.
“Though I was thinking... surely a wife deserves to be fucked properly. Ser Duncan! Would you consider being my next husband-“ before the words have fully escaped your lips, Lyonel is swiftly picking you up, throwing you over his shoulder.
“Excuse us, Ser, I have to remind my wife that I will be her only husband. Because not even in death would I give you peace, my dear.” He grumbles, smacking your bum as he whisks you out of the tent.
Your laughter spills into the night as the tent flap snaps shut behind you, music fading into the hush of dark grass and starlight.
