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I need every single one of y'all to see this NEOW
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Why are the droids getting sexier
vampire hunter d x verlir pt.1
vergil as meier link and lir as charlotte
someone on tt requested this drawing of Leliana 😌
nightingale
Where Does The Nose Go? | part one
contents (sfw): Ser Duncan The Tall x fem!mer!reader, inspired by HCA's The Little Mermaid, switching POVs (indicated with dividers), medieval rom-com, love at first sight, witchcraft, body horror, transformation, romantic and sexual tension, mutual pining, yearning, caretaking, non-sexual nudity, there was only one bed(roll), sword of chastity, protective!Dunk, virgin!Dunk, soft!Dunk.
part two ->
synopsis: A mermaid falls in love with a knight praying on her riverbank. A witch gives her legs and three days to make him love her back.
word count: 13K
a/n: Banner is by me, dividers by @strangergraphics and @honeyluvsw! Thank you lovely humans for giving it a read before publishing (@lateknightbites and @siliceousooze). My last-minute mermay offering :') There will be two parts of this story!
The feeling of driving his sword through someone’s chest is entirely wretched. Duncan remembers the cause and what it carries, but every time he takes a life his jaw locks tight and his breath stops in a naïve surge of compassion.
trish, cavaliere angelo edition
thinking about taking care of dunk after he’s injured… if you know what i mean…
18+ (smut, praise for dunk, riding)
he sits stiffly against the tree, bare chest shuddering with laboured breaths as your hands ghost across the tender skin of his face. your fingers, soft and warm, brush the deep purple bruise around his eye and the one blooming like a magnolia on his cheek.
his muscles are rigid, jaw working as you apply the earthy-smelling salve to the wounds on his face. he lets out a pained hiss when your thumb swipes a glob of the creamy white balm across a gash above his eyebrow.
you cradle the side of his face, cooing gently as you finish applying the salve. your lean in and plant a gentle kiss to his forehead as he sighs out your name, another shudder racking through him. the muscles in his shoulders and arms shift as his hands grip your hips; vice-like despite his obvious fatigue and the pain that riddles him.
“easy, sweet boy, nice and slow,” you whisper, your free hand roaming down his chest to palm the fat of his pectoral muscles. your thumb swipes over a nipple and he sucks in a breath. you hum a chuckle as you raise your hips, lifting yourself off his length, your pussy pulling tight around the tip. “m’trying to make you feel better, so just take it nice and slow, okay?”
Hope everyone had a pleasant Devil MAY Cry...
Ser Duncan the Tall P!Links
Nsfw obvy
Taking you like this under a tree
Loves having his mouth full when you're on top
He is big and HUNGRY
Taking you against a wall while egg is out
Taking his stress out
Dunk being needy
inner desires ₊⊹⟢
ser duncan the tall x runaway!princess!reader
-18+, you and dunk encounter sex pollen unknowingly!, aphrodisiac/pollen-induced arousal, size kink, some breeding undertones, creampie!!!, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, semi-public sex, spit play!! ᥫ᭡
Fetch me a stool…or perhaps a ladder
sub!dunk x fem!prostitute reader
18+ MDNI!!
Summary: Ser Arlan takes Dunk to a brothel for the first time, insisting it’s where he’ll truly find manhood. When he falls into readers service, she decides to teach him what it means to be good
Warnings: sub!dunk, inexperienced!dunk, use of sweet/good boy, prostitution/brothel work (obviously), handjobs, oral (m!receiving), riding, begging, gentle!dom reader, fem reader, fem anatomy, typical GOT/medieval misogyny
WC: 4.5k
note: not proofread- also, sorry if this is an inaccurate depiction of a medieval brothel, idk I wasn’t there LMAO- Also, im sorry the spacing is so weird, it turned into a huge pain in the ass so I hope it’s not too weird, thx!!
“You‘ve the body of a man, but not the spine of one, aye? Bit of stubble doesn‘t make you grown.“ Ser Arlan barked into the night air, Duncan in tow. Despite his squire being the age of twenty and…something, Ser Arlan insisted he had yet to be a man. Pretty adamant on the matter, actually. Perhaps it was because he still looked upon the same hunger-ravaged lad Duncan had once been. Or maybe the youthful glimmer that lingered in his gaze.
Regardless, Duncan was at his wit‘s end. After being berated with phrases like, you‘ve a man‘s height and a child‘s wits or, you‘re green as spring wheat and twice as foolish, what Ser Arlan deemed manhood was a riddle so thorned, not even the wisest minds could make sense of it.
Beneath the weeping heavens, they journeyed side by side. One wandering, one bound with purpose. They marched beneath the moonless rain as one debated in the chamber of his thoughts, where the seven hells are we going? And the other debated if he‘d spend his coin on a ginger or a blonde.
“Well now, this is where the realm stops coddlin‘ ya. Where men are forged.“ Ser Arlan remarks the brothel before them as though it was a gilded throne, eager for him to warm it. As the matter became plain to Duncan, he found himself stricken with unease. His nerves twist, restless with dread. He had been riddled with quiet torment as his eyes widened at the shelter ahead. Never had Duncan wielded a honeyed tongue nor the gleaming riches that women tended to favor. Still, coin in this establishment could succeed where his words failed. If he had any coin…
“Ser we- I mean no disrespect but, I‘m uncertain we can afford such…service.“ Verily, Duncan was ignorant of how heavy the coin purse was. But, it‘d make a fine plea to wait outside with the horses.
“Nonsense, boy, I‘ll buy myself the lowliest of the lot. You can spend the rest on a decent lady. The grimy ones are sold cheapest, and I‘d not shame ye with ‘em.“
To Ser Arlan, that phrase was even more endearing than “I love you“.
A restless quiver stirred in Duncan‘s blood as he envisioned his own hand offering the coin. The notion sickened him, striking foully against the image he had long held of himself. It defied every principle, every virtue and every moral he had. Regardless of the coiling dread in his stomach, he was highly aware of the inevitability of it all. Duncan opened his mouth in protest then closed it, in hopes to find wiser words on his tongue. He had never laid with a woman before. And he didn‘t wish to humiliate himself before someone who does it for coin.
Without so much as another murmur, Ser Arlan advanced upon the entrance and strode toward the brightly lit dwelling. Well, it appeared bright amidst the veil of impossible nightfall. With unwilling feet did Duncan stagger after, his heart beset by mounting fear as the haze upon his mind faded.
His senses gained clarity. Beneath the shroud of eveningtide there stood the house as he approached. A house of ill renown and impropriety. Yet, it was garbed in such splendor that even a septon’s eye might linger upon it. The timbered walls were painted a deep crimson and wine-dark velvet hues, whilst lanterns of amber glass hung from iron hooks. It casted honeyed light upon the rain slick cobbles below. Silken banners stirred languidly from the upper balconies, and from within came the muffled strains of girlish squeals, soft laughter and the clink of silver goblets.
Before Duncan knew what was hell and what was his reality, Ser Arlan pushed the heavy oaken door, amplifying every sight and sound from outside. The ceilings were draped with silk, sheer as a maiden‘s sigh. The gold thread glimmered like the eyes of the temptresses watching from their alcoves. Sweet perfumes of myrrh, rose and spiced wine wafted through the chill night air, entwining themselves with all who enter.
The madame of the house was quick to greet the pair of them, yet she couldn‘t help to think it odd a father brings his son to such a place.
“Cheapest you have.“ Ser Arlan grunts, placing coin in the madame‘s palm. Before Duncan could ask how much he ought to spend, he has nowhere to be seen, already escorted to the ‘cheapest accomodation‘.
“I- sorry, M‘lady, I‘m new to these…dealings. What‘s the fee? And- where do I head?“
The madame was a mere stranger to men of gentle make and virtuous heart. At once she perceived what should be amended in him, and where he must be sent. Duncan handed her the appropriate coin with a trembling, clammy palm. The woman takes it as though it‘s life blood, nodding vaguely down the hall.
“Eighth door to your right. Don‘t stray.“ Duncan nodded at her gruff words as though they were orders in battle. With a gulp, he began his death procession down the narrow hall. His ears were met with a growing symphony of skin against skin and restless pants. With eyes widened like silver platters, he cast his gaze from the gauzy curtains, behind which lurked filth scarcely shielded.
“Three…four…five…six…“
He counted each curtain as his feet carried him closer to what he thought was his certain demise. After a rushed recounting, he found himself before the eighth curtain to the right. He needed to be certain it was the right one. He didn‘t want to end up with the “lowly lot“ Ser Arlan entertains. Without another moment to lose, he clears his throat, reluctantly ducking through the archway.
The gruff sound from his throat alerted from where you lounged on your bed, tucked behind the silken canopies that shielded the bed from the rest of the room. Like muscle memory, you adjust the jewelry that sits heavy atop your skin. You then make sure your satin garment, (only worn for the sake of being taken off), sits right. Then came your speech, which also flowed from your lips like you had rehearsed it for years.
“Right then, shed your breeches and leave your boots by th-“ Your unenthused instructions were interrupted by a sharp hitch of your breath. You finally assessed the man that stood before you, awaiting your service.
A towering man of broad shoulders and abundant frame, fashioned strong as an oak yet fair upon the eye. His strength sat plainly upon him in the swell of arm and chest, though softened somewhat by a pleasing fullness around his mid section. His countenance was comely and warm, bearing the easy humbleness of a man often admired in tavern and hall alike. Even though Duncan found that far from the truth.
“Seven‘s bones…look at the height on you. I ought to tell someone to fetch me a stool. Or perhaps a ladder.”
You remark as you giggle at your own joke. He nodded politely at your crude comment, at an utter loss for words. Any would fail him if he tried. Still, there he remained, rigid and motionless, as though wit and will alike had abandoned him.
Tense in limb and uncertain in purpose, he obeyed what you instructed prior (only the second step), by removing his boots and leaving them by the threshold.
“You're quite the timid sort aren‘t you? May I have your name, Ser?“ You stood closer, radiant doe-like eyes peering up at him. The sight only made his words feel more scarce on his tongue. He opens and closes his mouth, anticipating sound. How would anything he say compete with your melodic, sing-song voice?
“Dunk…My name is Dunk, M‘lady.“ A flattered beam finds your lips as you blush at his formality. No man had ever addressed you as such. Somedays you were fortunate to even be referred to as “woman“.
“Please, spare me your fine formalities, Dunk, I am no lady. Unless, you have a knack for pretending…“ Your words trailed as he nervously interjected you.
“No, I do not wish to pretend anythin‘, M‘lady. You are a lady, so I‘d like to speak to you as one.“ Dunk managed to nervously choke out, to which you nodded in somewhat understanding.
You stole a moment to gawk at the kindness he had already shown you, despite being in your room for nearly thirty seconds. As you beheld the man before you, he finally allowed himself to drink you in properly.
You were fair in visage, (certainly the most beautiful woman he could‘ve bought his time with), radiant in youth. Your beauty was something gentle and natural, neither overworked or vain, but softly striking in its ease. Dunk thought the embodiment of grace had taken a particular liking to your form. Eyes bared bright, attentive life to them, keen as the morning sky.
“So, Dunk, what would you have of me? Or shall I decide, since you don‘t seem forward sort?“
“Pardon my ignorance, but I am untried in these matters. Not certain what‘s…customary.“
“Well, these sorts of places don‘t demand practice. All the girls know plenty of their trade for the likes of you. So, just tell me what excites you.“
“I suppose I don’t quite know, M’lady.” He curtly replied with a chuckle on his lips. You shrug at his response, having a quiet debate in your head. What were you to do with him?
You hum, beginning to drag your nails and finger tips across his chest, spurring him on. The muscle stiffened beneath the touch, but he seemed to relish the sensation. Still, there was much more to be done.
The idea took root in your mind, slowly lowering yourself to your knees. He appeared even taller from where you kneeled, and you appeared far smaller in comparison to his stature. Something foreign stirred in the pit of Dunk‘s stomach at the sight.
A faint, knowing curve of your lips betrayed your feigned innocence, taking delight in his slow undoing. You shifted your attention to the hilt of the long sword that rested at his hip. It was an old iron thing, clearly worn with use and age. Your fist grasped the base of it as your face neared closer to the handle of his sword.
“Does this excite you, Ser?“ Your sultry voice is followed by the breath stalling in Dunk‘s lungs, faltering as you drag your tongue up the expanse of the hilt. Through half lidded vision, you watch his brows furrow in what appears to be a wounded frustration. The drag of your tongue is met with the old taste of sweat from his palm, the masculine flavour going straight to the throbbing between your thighs. As he watched the lewd act, he couldn‘t help but picture the hilt of his sword as something much more…localized.
You brought yourself back to standing, your body in closer proximity to his than before. With an audible gulp, his stare conveyed a captivated terror. As though something he had been dreaming for was coming true faster than he could make sense of it.
“Or perhaps, this?“ You sang, eyes transfixed to where his stare lingered. As you began to fiddle with the clasps of your gown, the fabric bunched at your feet in one fell swoop. Leaving you completely bare before him, aside from the lavish jewelry adorning your form.
Before he could reply, his rigid cock strained against his breeches as he practically drooled beholding you. You tilted your head in hopes of finding his gaze, but it proved to be futile. His eyes feasted upon the sight of your breasts, mind restless with image. How they‘d feel in his hands, how they‘d feel in his mouth.
You took his rough hands into your own, guiding them to caress the tender swell of your breasts. The column of his throat bobs as he kneads the flesh in his palms, a muffled groan escaping him. His thumbs run across the pebbled buds of your nipples causing you tot shudder under his touch.
As you noted his newfound pleasure, you took his hands back into yours, escorting him to your bed with an unyielding smile upon your lips. He complied, his eyes now enraptured by your own.
You pushed him back onto the bed, surprising you slightly due to his size. He was entirely powerless under your gaze, pliant putty in your hands. His eyes peered up at you as though he was witnessing divinity. As though you were to pardon him from all worldly anguish. Unlike other men, who seek haste and efficiency, Dunk would not be hurried. He would have every fragment of time, and hold it close as though it were treasure beyond reckoning.
You joined him amongst furs and silks in slow, calculated movements. What was once dread had now turned to fervent impatience, a yearning for only nearness. He would deem it a blessed passing to die with so much as your company, without having to lay a hand on you.
In one swift motion your legs bracketed his, straddling him where he laid. The position somehow made him appear more helpless beneath you, completely at your mercy. Mercy you had, as you were inclined to be gentle and slow with the blushing giant underneath you. Your nails found their rightful place a second time, mindlessly tracing lines into his tunic.
“Do you touch yourself, Ser?“ Your keen gaze flicks to him as your lip catches between your teeth. The filthy question was spoken so innocently, so softly, he began to think he had misheard you. The question was a handy way of allowing your inexperienced clients to open up. Dunk turns a crimson that matches the silks the pile of you lay on top of.
“Most men do, M‘lady.“ Dunk nervously chuckles beneath you, still unsure where to put his hands. For now, they would lay tensely beside him.
“And… that means you do as well?“ The tease brought another wave of flush to his neck and ears, only making your smile grow wider.
“Show me.“ Your order finds his ears in a silvery whisper, to which he begins to fumble with the laces of his breeches. To save him the embarrassment, you place his hand aside, shifting your attention to the tangled prison. As your fingers work the strings, his hips buck into your hand as he suppresses a whine.
“Eager are we?“ You giggle in amusement, pushing his breeches to his ankles. For a moment, you deem yourself disoriented, that your eyes have betrayed you. You gulp in astonishment, unsure what to make of his…length.
“Your knight, Ser Arlan, you‘re certain he is not your father?“
“No, M‘lady.“
“Right then.“
You deny yourself a witty remark like your cock would do a better job impaling me than that sword on your hip, or perhaps, so men can just carry lances however they please? You did not wish to subject him to further embarrassment, considering it was his first time in a brothel. You wanted to give him a reason to return, you thought.
Dunk kicks them off, instantly taking his cock in his fist. With eyes half-lidded in languor, he keeps you vigilantly in his sight, as his hand squeezed amidst his clumsy strokes. You shifted where you laid, positioning yourself to replace his hand. His breath came in sharp exhales through his nose, cheeks redder than a field stained by battle.
“Dunk,“ the name crawled off your tongue, “you‘re blushing in front of a whore.“ You remark with an amused tone, watching as he tries to shield his face from you. Gently, you grasp his wrist, pulling his hand away.
“Allow me, sweet boy.“ You purr into the shell of his ear, taking his length into your palm. His breath hitches in his throat at the feeling, head thrown back against the furrs. He‘s sensitive, you note mentally. You start working him in slow, languid movements, his mouth falling open into an ‘o‘ shape. He feels heavy in your hands, finger tips just barely touching due to his size.
“M‘not a boy.“ He grits through his teeth as you continue stroking him exactly how he showed you. To his comment, your hand hastened in speed only slightly, watching his heaving breaths grow more laborious. You remarked every twitch, every stiffening muscle. As he lost himself in the abyss of his own pleasure, he became far less mindful of his sounds. It was a pleasure to bear witness to his unraveling.
“Forgive me, Ser. It‘s a fair assumption to make, when you're so needy for me, like a good boy.“ Despite his best efforts, he seems to cherish the title, a needy groan escaping him. You buried yourself against the crook of his neck, leaving a lingering path of kisses upon his skin, as though you were marking him with the memory of your closeness. The dual sensations draw needy whines and groans deep from his chest. Your fist quickens at the sound.
“D-don‘t stop, M‘lady, mmph, feels so g…“ His words trail off as he loses himself in the sensation, pleading eyes finding your own.
“Does my hand feel better than yours, Dunk? Am I making you feel good? Such a big strong man…so handsome when he‘s begging.“
The pad of your thumb drags over his slit, his hips bucking at the feeling. He nods and agrees listlessly, so enraptured by your touch. You maneuver yourself down the bed, your hand still working Dunk through his pleasure. His eyes snapped open as he felt your breath on his tip, your face a dangerous proximity to his cock.
“You musn‘t- I‘ll s-spend too soon.“ His empty plea draws a breathy laugh from you. A lumbering giant who could surely break firewood with his palms, reduced to a writhing mess beneath your touch.
“I won‘t tell a soul.“ You whisper, swearing yourself to secrecy. To your assurement, Dunk nods vigorously, eager to feel your lips around his cock. You began by placing sloppy kisses on his reddened tip, gently licking ever so often. It was pure anguish for Dunk, growing even needier as you continued. The tip of your tongue dragged right along his slit, causing him to nearly cry out.
“Shhh, ‘gonna take such good care of you. Just relax for me, sweet boy.“ He nods again at your assurance, watching intently as your soft lips wrap around him. It was rather challenging to deny such an offer when faced with your tempting, darling eyes. His lips part as he feels the warmth of your mouth, smothering him so sweetly.
The feeling was intoxicating, a surge of bliss coursing through him. He whined at the sensation, carding his rough fingers through your hair. Not with the intent to force or push, solely to ground himself to the moment.
You peered up at him through your glossy eyes, meeting his gaze, clouded with pleasure. A wistful part of his mind wished he could be subjected to the view of you every day. His reasoning warned him that such fantasies were but folly. He thought of your sweet kindness as purchased, not something he had rightfully earned.
Through the chamber resounded the lewd strains of your mouth, rich with sinful delight, until Dunk felt his senses reel. It was wicked indulgence, yet incredibly tender.
You grew bolder in your efforts, taking him deeper into your throat. The act was followed by wet sounding gawks coming from the walls of your mouth. His cock twitched and pulsed against your tongue, signalling you he did not make his claim in falsehood. He really was about to spend too soon. You hummed against his length, a pleased purr from your throat as his breathing grew more erratic.
“I can‘t-fuck- I‘m gonna…Gods I‘m so sorry, M‘lady,” His pleas are followed by strained groans that rattled in his chest, earning him another content hum from you. The vibration of your voice, the wet eyes boring into his, the soft tousled hair tangled in his fist, was enough to send him over the edge. He came with a hoarse, whiny moan, hips involuntarily bucking further into your mouth. Dunk had never felt such invigorating bliss in all of his days.
As you swallowed each drop of his release, your eyes never dared to leave him. You watched as he convulsed with each spurt, his eyelids fluttering with a pleasure he didn‘t think achievable. His chest rose and fell with each quivering breath. There was something so enchanting about a man who has entirely surrendered. As his breathing slowed and stalled in his lungs, your bare form crawled up the furrs to run your fingers through his wayward hair.
“So good for me, Dunk. Such a good boy for me, hm?“ He nuzzled into your touch as you tenderly caressed his head. Your other hand finds his flushed cheek, stroking the feverish skin as he regains his bearings.
With one elbow propped on the mattress, you lean into his chest as you touch him. You feel the raw heat of his body as one of your bare tits press into his tunic. With a newfound courage, his palm kneads your exposed breast, groaning at the contact. A few gentle squeezes then turns into him maneuvering you on your back.
The angle grants him access to both, nuzzling his face between the swells of supple flesh. To Dunk, air was a trifling matter. He could suffocate between your tits without a single lament on the matter. Your fingers continue gently stroking his scalp as he explores the skin. Open mouth kisses and nudges with his nose sends a pleasurable hum through your veins.
“Want t‘please you, M‘lady. Wanna be so good for you.“ He murmured with a strangled voice still buried between your tits. You gently tug on his sandy hair in hopes he‘d speak clearer.
“That‘s sweet of you, Dunk, but I can fetch us wine in the meantime. It is not my intent to overwhel-“
Your words are cut off by a soft gasp as he begins to suckle on the tender peaks of your nipples. His tongue flicks and sucks the skin as you feel yourself writhing beneath him. Your fist tightens in his hair as he bathes them in wet heat, the suction of his lips sending blood straight to your throbbing clit. And to your astonishment, he‘s hard again. Hard as stale bread.
The slavering sounds of his mouth on your tits fill the room, accompanied by your gentle sighs of bliss. His mouth left your tit in a wet pop, eagerly latching to your other one. In the midst of his movement, you clasp your arms around his torso, flipping him onto his back quicker than a flea on a farm dog.
He makes a vexated, wounded sound as you find yourself straddling him again. Your tits gleamed with the slick of his mouth in candlelight, bestowing a delicious vision unto Duncan‘s eyes. You drag a finger over his lips, hushing his confused pleas.
“Y‘wanna make me feel good, Dunk? You want this brothel to hear me cry your name?“
Dunk keenly nodded at your words, partial to that last suggestion. You tugged at the hem of his tunic, implying you wished to see it on the floor. Drool pooled in your mouth as you watched him comply. His muscles bulged from his flesh with every movement.
Dunk writhes beneath you, his chest heaving as he stared at you intently. With your eyes fixed on his, you lean back slightly, your hands finding the mattress behind you. You bare your dripping cunt to his gaze, watching his pleased grin turn to a wounded pout. As he watches your slick pussy, you begin rubbing your slickness across your folds, displaying how wet he makes you.
“See what you do to me? Need you to fill me like a good boy. Need you to fuck me so good, Dunk. You can make me feel good, can‘t you, baby?“
“Uh-huh, I can please you, M‘lady. Please- let me be good for you.“
You nod, humming at his words. Your leaking pussy hovers above his eager cock, practically begging you to sink down on it. Who were you to deny it such pleasure?
In slow, deliberate movements, you lower yourself onto him, feeling your walls accommodate him in a delicious stretch. His mouth falls agape as you sink further, a low groan rattling his throat.
“Gods above…“ He loses the thought on his tongue as your bare hips meet his, feeling himself entirely buried inside you. A sweet moan leaves your throat as you feel him reach places none of your customers could. So thick and deep, you were completely full with him.
Your hands take hold of his wrists, pinning them beside his head. The act startled him, his eyes widening in sweet bewilderment. You were a hair‘s length from his face, his ragged pants fanning your cheeks. The grip on his wrists tightened as you rolled your hips, feeling his tip rub against the spot inside you that made your knees limp. Your lids fluttered shut as he bucked into, feeling deeper than you had before.
Your chamber rings with the sharp, wet slaps of skin against skin, and strangled moans. With aching knees you bounced atop him, one hand groping your tit, the other scraping its nails down the plane of Duncan‘s chest. You were pleased by the helpless groans that escaped him, hypnotized by the sight of before him. You were even more pleased by the new red marks marking his pec.
“Fuck- Dunk, it‘s so fucking big- filling me so perfect. Such a good boy for me.“ You choke out through the haze of your pleasure. Shameless moans left your lips as you bounced with a newfound vigor, taking him from tip to base every thrust. Dunk began to meet your hips each thrust, brushing your sweet spot each time. The mounting pleasure in your stomach began to coil, threatening to snap.
“Oh Dunk, I- I‘m…mm…“
You listlessly warned as your pleasure thrashed upon you, igniting every vein in your body. Your aching pussy clamped down on his length, a surge of wet slick coating his cock. You were slightly humiliated by how fast you managed to finish. The feeling lessened as you felt Dunk coat your insides with hot ropes of cum, a shudder racking his body. He came with a groan more strained than the last, surrendering to his pleasure.
Soon, the only sounds that remained were your uneven breaths and the muffled commotion from the other rooms. You gaze upon the man, so spent, yet so swallowed by pleasure.
In a rare, defiant act of your morals, you leaned down to claim his lips with your own, tenderly kissing him. His hands clasped your jaw and he clumsily reciprocated the kiss. Duncan‘s inexperience was clear, but his enthusiasm was a force of nature.
Perhaps you didn‘t need a stool or a ladder, to take such a man
another note: sorry for the rushed ending, I had a bit of a writers block at the end- hope u enjoyed !!
what if one night dunk wakes up to his pregnant wife's tossing and turning and chittering teeth from the cold but she didn't want to bother him so didn't wake him up
The cottage you lived in with your husband, Dunk, could get drafty on cold autumn nights. The fire burned low in the hearth and you didn’t have the heart to wake your husband to ask him to put more logs on the fire. He worked so hard, your Dunk, to provide for you and your growing family. And when he was exhausted like this, he slept like the dead. His low snores usually lulled you to sleep as it was the perfect white noise to quiet your mind. But you found yourself simply too cold to sleep. You cradle your swollen belly as you strain to rise out of bed, and hiss as your bare feet hit the ice-cold cottage floor. You’re just about to rise and hobble over to the fireplace, when your husband’s huge hand wraps around your wrist.
You turn to see he is blinking away the confusion of sleep, a concerned look on his face when he realizes that you are getting out of bed. “No little lady. Stay.” He quietly commands with a gravely voice.
You shiver as you pull the covers tighter around you, but feel warm inside as you watch you husband pick up logs one handed like they are twigs and arrange them. The fire roars to life now, the crackling and popping fill the otherwise silent room. “You should always wake me.” He groans as he stands up off stiff knees, and lumbers back over to bed.
“It was a silly reason to wake you. I was alright. Just a little cold.”
“No reason is too silly. The most important thing, you are” he presses a kiss to your forehead, the only part of skin not sheltered under blankets. Between the crackling fire, and the heat of your husband’s body laying next to you, the chill feels like a distant memory now.
Ich Bin Nur Ein Kleiner Friesenjunge…
(1/2)
— Ser Duncan The Tall / Fem! Reader / Ser Donnel of Duskendale
— Summary: You invite Ser Duncan the Tall to share a drink with you and your sworn shield.
— Warnings: Classism, Sexual Themes/Thoughts
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Dunk had begged Egg to let him remain in flea bottom.He could have found some modest inn with a clean enough bed and slept there for a day or two. He had more than enough coin in his purse.
If Egg filled his belly at court, as he was sure to do, Dunk would not need to spend so much as a copper on a hot meal for days.
But the boy pleaded with him, looking up with those queer purple eyes of his and it struck Dunk then that this was no common boy at all, but a prince of the dragons blood.
And a man like Dunk did not find it in him to refuse a prince, even if it was just Egg. So he sighed and said he would go.
Another argument, if truth be told, was that his aunt had a mind to meet him.
Baelor’s sister…the aunt of his sons that had perished in the spring. Dunk could not fathom why she would wish to meet him at all. The thought sat ill in his belly and he gave a small shudder before he could help himself.
He wondered too, if she was as comely and kind hearted as Egg claimed.
Dunk the lunk, thick as a castle wall…
A woman like that would have no use for him, he decided. More likely she would wish to beat him, or smother him in his sleep, or worse. No kindness would come of it, he was certain of that.
“Saddle up, Egg,” he said. “It will not take more than a day or two before we arrive.”
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“My lady…princess, I mean…”
Egg shook his head and sighed, still clutching at you as if you might vanish the moment he let go.
The prince looked at Dunk expectantly. They had practiced the greeting a dozen times on the road.
Dunk gulped and looked back at you. Your expression did not look promising. Even so, you extended your hand to him.
He bent and brushed his chapped lips against your fingers as quickly as he could.
Your hand was very soft, he thought, blushing.
Egg had told him to pay you a compliment. You were said to have a fondness for pretty words.
Pretty words had never sat comfortably on his tongue. He had tried them once with lady webber and made such a muddle of it that she laughed at him besides. No doubt you would do the same.
Dunk tried to draw his hand away, but you held it fast in your own.
“Do you have good use of this hand, ser?” you asked, tapping his foot with the toe of your slipper. “ And your foot as well? Do they serve you faithfully, See Duncan the tall?” You all but sang his title.
“Please, lady aunt-” Egg began, eager to smooth things over.
“Never mind the princess, ser. She is only making sport of you. Think nothing of it…” came the voice of Ser Donnel from behind them.
You shot your sworn shield a sharp look, one brow arching in rebuke. How dare he cut your interrogation short?
Then you turned back to the man who towered over you. Looking up at him was tiresome. For half a heartbeat you considered commanding him to kneel, if only so the world might be set aright and he would be forced to look up at you for once.
“He is right, ser. You must not mind my tongue. It has a mind of its own from time to time, spilling the filthiest of things….” you said, laying a hand lightly against your throat.
Dunk gulped, feeling as if he had turned to stone. He did not know whether to laugh or fall to his knees in apology. She had every right to be angry, he thought. He did not mistake your jest for kindness.
“…Yer-your eyes go well with your dress! I mean your gown-” he stammered.
Ser Donnel clapped the giant on the shoulder. “Aye, aye, ser. Off you go now…” he chortled.
You waved the boys out of the hall, pausing only to kiss Egg on the cheek. Then you glanced back at Dunk and gave him a small wink.
Dunk turned red all the way to his ears.
“Did you have to make a fool of him?” your sworn shield squinted at you.
You smiled at him, clasping your hands behind your back, acting coy.
“ I have not the faintest clue what you are speaking of!”
“I know that look,” he murmured, stepping closer. “It is the same one I was given when they changed my post to run after the likes of you..”
A pout graced your lips. “And hasn’t life changed for the better ever since?”
He grunted. “Aye, but not without a grey hair or two…”
“Oh,come off it. Your hair is as red as the day you became a sworn brother of the kingsguard…” you said, nose in the air.
He gave a rough huff at your response.
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“Tell me,ser…where is it that you hail from?” you asked, sipping your arbor gold and swirling it in your mouth before swallowing.
You had seated yourself beside him and your nephew for a quaint supper. Most things were quaint these days, with Aerys as king.
The other lords and ladies were occupied with their own conversations and little egg had long since been sent to bed.
Now it was only you and Dunk.
“Kings landing, your grace…” he replied, swallowing a thick bite of roast.
You set down your goblet. “King’s landing? You will have to be more specific, ser.”
He drew his brows together. “Flea bottom.”
Dunk the lunk was not so thick as to miss that you were making sport of him once more.
“That is more like it, ser. For a moment I thought you meant you had grown up here in the red keep, which is also in king’s landing. A rather foolish thought, was it not?”
“Aye, your grace. ” he muttered.
Dunk had a mind to haul you across his knee and spank your arse raw. He thought better of it. Had you not been a princess, he might have done just that.
You stood up abruptly and dunk did the same.
“Well then, ser, you must show me around sometime….”
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The bed Dunk lay in was near as large as he was. For the first time in his life, he did not need to draw up his legs to sleep comfortably.
His wakefulness was not the bed’s fault, though the feather mattress was so soft he felt half swallowed by it.
Nay, it was not the bed that kept him from sleep.
Dunk’s thoughts were on you.
He thought of your voice, rich and sure and how you never faltered nor stumbled over your words. You knew exactly who you were and what you were worth.
Dunk was not like that. He had no store of fine words to match yours.
He shook his head.
It had been some time since Dunk had felt so small. Not when Egg made one of his clever remarks, nor even when the boy had to read for him.
Dunk thought of your scent as well. You smelled like some fine pastry, cream and cherries. He remembered the softness of your hand, smooth and delicate, without a single callus.
He smiled despite himself.
“Never done a day’s work in her life…” he whispered to the darkness.
Your face came to him next and your neck and the soft skin above your gown. No scars on you, no sign of pox or hurt. Unlike your elder brother.
And then there was your bosom. The stiff bodice had pushed your breasts up high, covered in jewels. He had wanted to slip a finger between them, just to see if they were as soft as they looked. Dunk blushed at the thought.
A knock at the door disturbed his lewd fancies.
Dunk sat up at once. Who would be calling at such an hour? Egg, perhaps, though he doubted it. The boy had spoken often enough of sleeping in his own bed again and seemed far too pleased with the notion to leave it now and come bothering him in the middle of the night.
The door opened a little and Dunk caught sight of red hair in the gap.
He sat upright and tumbled from the bed. “Who is it?”
“It is only me, ser. Do not look so frightened.”
The man slipped inside and shut the door behind him. He wore no white cloak, nor any armor, but plain clothes such as any common man like himself might wear.
“Ser Donnel?” Dunk said, gaping at him.
“Precisely,” the knight said with a sigh. “I am sorry for this, serand do not think it was my doing. Dress yourself and come with us for a drink.”
“A-a drink?” Dunk stammered.
“Aye, a drink with a certain haughty princess” he said with a chuckle, his eyes dropping to the front of Dunk’s breeches, where his arousal was plain enough.
Dunk spun around at once. “The princess!”
He could have torn the damn thing off for betraying him so. He had not even noticed.
“I know the effects of her-”
“No! This has nothing to do with-” Dunk cut in.
Ser Donnel spoke over him just the same. “Oh, I would not say that in front of her, ser. She would be so disappointed.”
“What?”
“Off we go, ser. We cannot keep her waiting too long or she will have none of us.”
“Have?” Dunk turned, his face as red as the kingsguard’s hair.
“Dress yourself!”
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You took some pleasure in seeing how red he’d grown, though none of you had even touched your cups.
When Dunk caught you staring, you did not look away.
Had he been any other man, you might have lowered your eyes and played the coy maid with a new suitor. But you found you did not care if he thought you too bold or even unseemly.
It had helped you snare another certain someone once. A commoner to boot, even if he was well off.
You had acquired a taste for the less fine things in life…
For men who did not stink of the same perfume you wore. Men with healthy appetites and broad backs marked by scars and bruises from a brawl. Men who did not cower before you on account of your station. Men who told you off…with plain speech and no courtly polish.
“I want to dance!” you said, looking him straight in the eyes.
Before he could answer, you took his hand in yours and dragged the great oaf to the middle of the lively tavern.
“I’ll order some ale,” Ser Donnel muttered to himself with a smile. “…And most like pay for it too.”
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Ich bin Berliner Kindl, bin kein Friesenjunge!
Hear me outttt: Older!Dunk with young!reader who loves all of his scares even if he thinks they look ugly. I just wanted to lick that man’s scars SO DAMN BAD (especially the ones on his big, thick, veiny arms) while he’s talking😔✌🏼
KISS YOUR SCARS—Duncan the Tall
Ser Duncan the Tall x fem!reader
content: In the early morning you take the time to admire Ser Duncan's scarred skin.
cw: MDNI 18+ allusions to smut at the end, lmk if I missed any
a/n: I feel like I am in such a writing slump 🫠 please feel free to send in any requests/drabble ideas you may have :)
The morning light had slowly started to flow in through the windows, as nothing but the sound of quiet breaths filled the room. Duncan held a tight grip around your waist, holding you tightly even in sleep as if he was afraid of something daring to rip the pair of you apart.
❀˖° — SWEET FRICTION.
onlyfans!dunk x reader.
continuation from here, but not necessary to read.
reader is a good friend and offers to help dunk film another video for his onlyfans, still no sex but this time with heavy petting. reader can handle that, right? wrong you end up humping his thigh until you both cum.
2.8k+ words
cw: fem!reader, no y/n, onlyfans au, dry humping, dunk buys reader lingerie but is too shy to look at her wearing it (but can touch her tits? dunk make it make sense), dirty talk, size kink, good girl/sweet girl, honestly they're just kinda horny and dumb and sweet
anyway i want the whole bed to shake with every thrust and i want him to sound more helpless than i do