pledge your fealty
rugby player!duncan x reader wc: 3.6k warnings: princess roleplay, guided masturbation, drunk dunk, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering, p in v, dunk is big
Lyonel plays an annoying game and leaves a drunk lunk at your door. You decide to play a game with him, too.
Duncan doesn’t get drunk. Not easily, at least. He’s the size of a bear, a couple of pints at the pub really don’t do much for him.
After a match, he’ll go out with the lads and you'll tag along. You usually don’t want to hang around more than one or two rounds, so you’ll whisper something dirty in his ear to get him home.
But some nights you let him stay out, and they play the game Lyonel invented when Duncan joined the team, Drunk the Dunk. They go in rounds buying the big lad drinks, and whoever gets him to start wobbling wins.
Tonight, Lyonel and Raymun are kind enough to get him home safely– in the wee hours of the night, of course– but he’s just dumped at your door.
Dunk pouts and says that he’s so sorry and he didn’t mean to get so pissed. You cross your arms and scowl, staring your big boy down. He’s cute when he can see you’re mad, deflating with his tail between his legs.
“Really din’ mean it, love,” he mumbles. “Y-You know they play tha’ game, D-Drunk the hic- the Dunk,” he whines out the last two words.
You roll your eyes and nod for him to follow you. You help him get undressed: shoes, socks, shirt– and his breath hitches when you undo his trousers. You huff as you pull them down and see that familiar outline in his underwear.
His breathing speeds up and you hear that same whimper he always does when he’s feeling needy.
“Please?” he begs before you even say anything. “Jus’ w-with your hand-”
“No, Dunk.
“Please, i-it won’ be the same if ’s not you-”
“You’re drunk,” you coo softly, squeezing his arm. “You need to get some rest.”
He makes a pathetic noise and covers his face, rubbing at his eyes.
“Wh-what if I jus’ go in th’bathroom… an’ you t-talk t’me out here?” he slurs, his voice breathy and thick with need.
His hands slide from his eyes to his temples, pushing his shaggy short hair away from his sweaty forehead.
“Please? It hurts,” he groans.
“You’re so dramatic,” you sigh.
“Pl-”
“Go on then,” you cut him off, pushing him.
He’s wobbly but he stays put. You give him a harder shove and he still doesn’t move.
“Dunk,” you huff. “Get in the bathroom!”
He blinks at you and snaps back.
“Oh, yeah. Okay.”
He stumbles to the bathroom and he’s shoving his hand under his waistband before you can even shut the door. You gasp.
“Duncan,” you start.
“Hm?” he answers.
“If we’re going to do this, you’ll do what I say, do you understand?” you tell him firmly.
“Mhm,” he hums.
You think for a second. His mates always joke about him giving you the princess treatment.
“I’m your princess, right?” you ask playfully.
“Yes, yes, c-can I-”
“So you call me that, or you’re not getting off. Now take it out.”
He obeys, shoving down his waistband and sighing. He’s rock hard and standing at attention, shivering as he waits for direction.
“Spit on your hand.”
“Okay…”
“You should be saying, yes, Princess,” you correct.
“Yes, Princess,” he breathes, giving in to your little fantasy.
You hear him spit. You cringe a little, smirking to yourself. You never do that to him, you’re just playing with him.
“Put your hand around it,” you begin cautiously. “But don’t move it.”
He grips himself tightly, eyes closed. He lets out a sigh of relief. You don’t say anything. You’re properly mad at your stupid boyfriend, especially after his phone died and his location went off. You had been ready for bed, skincare done and pyjamas on, cosy under the covers and content to find him the next morning passed out on your sofa. But instead you have this whiny drunk giant to deal with.
So you make him wait until you hear the door hinge squeak when he moves against it.
“Wh-what next?” he breathes.
“Move it up and down. Slowly,” you instruct.
“Wh- how slow?” he whines.
“Glacial.”
He makes a frustrated noise.
“Seven above. That’s very fucking slow, Duncan,” you clarify with clenched teeth.
“Very slow,” he repeats in a sad little voice.
You put your ear to the door so you can hear him. His swallow is loud but you hear the slow, slightly wet sound of him stroking himself.
Dunk moans, trying not to just buck his hips and jerk himself to an unsatisfying ending. He wants to be good for you, which he’s slurred out to you on the few other occasions where he’s been this drunk.
“Going slow?” you prod.
“Yes, s-so slow, Princess,” he stammers.
“Good.”
He reacts to that louder than he normally would, and you notice. You perk up and grin.
“Dunk,” you sing teasingly.
He just winces in reply, his hand gripping the bathroom counter so hard it could crack.
“You want to be a good boy, love, don’t you?” you coo, giggling at him.
“Yes!” he shouts back.
“Shh! It’s the middle of the night,” you warn him.
“Yes, w-wanna be y’good boy, Princess,” he whispers.
“Squeeze the base,” you command firmly.
He does, whimpering at the new sensation. You make him wait again.
“An’ th-then, P-Princess?”
“So impatient, love,” you chide. “Use your thumb over the tip, just like I do.”
“Y’do it too rough,” he pouts, looking down at himself. The tip is flushed pink and he’s leaking.
“Just like I do,” you repeat.
He nods– though you can’t see it– and rubs the head of his cock with his rough thumb. It’s so much more than your soft, small hands. He twitches in his own grasp and makes a pained noise. After a long moment, you finally speak.
“Does it hurt?” you ask. He can hear you smirking.
“Yes, Princess…” he trails off, eyes squeezed shut as he focuses all his energy on not cumming before you say.
He hears you yawn from outside the door.
“Did you yawn?” he whines.
“Yes, well, somebody made me stay up waiting for him,” you snip, crossing your arms. “Just finish yourself off, I’m tired.”
You hear him sniffle behind the door.
“But… I… I need you to…”
“Need me to what?” you snap.
“Can you… k-keep talking to me?” he murmurs, his cheeks and ears burning from the embarrassment. “C-can’t cum without your voice.”
“Say please,” you tease.
“Please?”
“Dunk.”
“Princess, please,” he cries.
You uncross your arms and press your face to the door.
“Good boy, Duncan,” you purr. “You can cum now.”
You can hear him behind the door. His breath comes out shaky and the door creaks. He jerks his hips up into his own tight grip, lightly rubbing the tip with his thumb. He gasps and squeezes tightly, his vision spotting and his balls tightening.
“Fuck, o-oh, gods!” he shouts.
“Shh!” you shush him again.
You listen to his breathing slow down.
“Wash up and come to bed.”
You get cosy once again, plugging Dunk’s phone in for him. He stumbles over and flops onto the bed– on top of the covers of course.
“Get off,” you whine.
He gets under the covers with you, his warm body raising the temperature for both of you. He scoots behind you and gives you those big blue puppy dog eyes. You glare at him over your shoulder.
“Fine,” you huff.
His arms circle around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.
“I liked that… y’are a princess… love y’so much,” he whispers. “I-if it was old times I-I think I’d be a well good knight,” he yaps on behind you. “Keep y’safe from danger…”
He trails off and soon he’s snoring against your shoulder.
You check Dunk’s location and see he’s arrived at the training facility from your house. He was terribly hungover this morning. A big breakfast sorted him out, but not as much as apologising right to your cunt until you forgave him did.
“I’m sorry,” he panted, a string of spit connecting him to your cunt.
Only Dunk could make an apology feel like a punishment. You were trapped under his strong grasp, not allowing you to jerk your hips away from his lips. Every time you seemed to be close to an orgasm, he would pop up to whine out another apology. If he wasn’t so eager you’d think he was doing it on purpose.
“I’m so stupid, I should have known better. Lyonel h-had that look on his face.”
“Don’t talk about him right now,” you gritted, your head thrown back.
He returned to sucking on your clit and you winced. Two of his thick fingers curled up and stroked your sweet spot.
“Duncan,” you gasped, fingers threaded through his hair.
You were almost there, right on the brink– and he once again came up.
“R-Raymun won the game, s-so you should be mad at him-”
“Dunk, Dunk, I forgive you! J-just make me cum!”
Your cheeks burn thinking about it. You’re free for the day and decide you need a bit of retail therapy.
You go around to a few of your usual shops until you end up in a kooky boutique lingerie store. You peek around, seeing a few things that would make Dunk drool.
You’re not mad at him anymore, you know he’s easily influenced. You can put the fear of seven gods into Lyonel and Raymun easily.
Then you see them. A pale pinky thong with dark ruffles around the waistband and legholes. On the front it says pledge your fealty.
You smirk, flipping through the stack for your size.
A week later, you wait around at training, admiring Dunk’s form. He’s so broad and so big, it’s hard to believe him sometimes. You lean over the railing at the stands, sighing.
“How was he last week?” Lyonel jokes.
“Do you mean the drunken mess you dropped off at my door in the middle of the night?” you counter. “He was fucking trashed, you cunt.”
“Did he fuck you?” he teases.
You shove him.
“Fuck off!”
“You fuck off. I got him all nice and drunk for you. He was telling us how tight you were-”
“Shut up, Lyonel,” you growl with a slight chuckle, shaking your head.“Don’t do that again. I’m serious. You get him that pissed, he sleeps on your sofa.”
“Gladly. Can’t say I won’t steal him,” he chuckles.
He eyes you.
“You’re a bit dressed up for the pub,” he notes.
“Could we go to a nightclub? I have a… surprise for your lock.”
“Oh, I’d love to see the red on his face,” he agrees with a grin.
He properly laughs and jogs back over to the men. Your eyes wander back to your man. Your skirt isn’t that short, but you’re so excited to let Dunk have a look.
You sit next to Dunk– on a sofa behind a velvet rope, thanks to Lyonel– loving how he towers over you even when you’re sitting down. His big hand rests on your knee as he talks. Over the course of an hour you’ve adjusted and subtly moved his hand until it’s almost brushing the hem of your skirt. Red notices, raising her brow from her spot on Raymun’s lap.
Dunk stares at you while you chat with her, watching the lights from the dancefloor make your lipgloss sparkle. You sit back and catch him staring, craning your neck up to give him a kiss. He grins and you definitely smudge lipgloss on his teeth.
“Gods, I was worried that would be the spicy one!” he shouts to you with that sweet smile on his face.
“The plumping one?” you shout back, giggling.
You lean in, your breath on his ear.
“Follow me when I get up,” you say to him, loud enough for the music but quiet enough that the others don’t hear.
You stand up, giving Red a look that says you need to powder your nose.
“I’m taking my bodyguard!” you joke, tugging Dunk along with you down the dark hallway. You see the green VACANT and open the door, peeking to make sure. You tug Dunk in with you and lock it.
“What’re you doing?” he asks you, brow furrowed and his big eyes blinking at you.
You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, your heels helping immensely. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer to him.
“I thought you had to-”
You cut him off with another kiss. You can feel his fingers digging in and you part your legs, letting him slip a meaty thigh between them. The pressure makes you sigh in relief.
“Get on your knees, Dunk,” you tell him softly.
“Y-you want to… here? Really?” he asks you in a hushed voice.
“Just get down.”
He keeps his eyes on you as he sinks to his knees.
“I got you something last week,” you start.
You pull on the hem of your skirt, letting it slip up your thighs and reveal the panties to him. His eyes go wide and that grin returns.
“Got these for me?” he murmurs, running his hand up your thigh.
“You said you’d be ‘a well good knight’,” you tease, doing his voice. “If you even remember saying that.”
You watch him go red and smirk.
“So why don’t you take me home…” you purr, leaning down over him, “and pledge your fealty?”
“Yes, Princess.”
Dunk whisks you away in a flash, saying goodbye to everyone at lightning speed and getting you both home as soon as he can. He’s never been so protective on the metro as he is now. You nearly drool over his flexed arm gripping the bar.
He drags you to your flat, already kissing you while you’re trying to unlock the door.
“Dunk, relax!”
You stumble in and he scoops you up like a princess. Your laughter bounces off the hallway walls and Dunk sits you on the bed.
“What do you want me to do, Princess?” he asks.
“Take my clothes off.”
He nods, helping you out of your corset top and skirt. He stares at the wet spot in the thong and takes a measured breath.
“Now you, Ser,” you say in a sultry tone.
“Ser?” he repeats with a cocky smirk.
He pulls his shirt over his head and kicks off his shoes. While he does that, you prop yourself up on the pillows, tucking your knees to the side. His trousers go down and he joins you on the bed.
“Please take your socks off,” you sigh, palm to your face.
“Oh. Right, yes. Yes, Princess,” he quickly corrects himself.
He tosses his socks to the floor and you beckon him forward. You reposition, opening your legs for him.
“Ser Duncan… you promised to take care of me,” you begin the little story you’ve been cooking up for a week.
“I do take care of you, Princess…”
“A true knight would help his princess… when she’s so lonely and achy,” you pout.
You pull him down, slotting his hips between your thighs and letting his bulge press up against your clothed cunt.
“You’re soaked,” he breathes. “Have you b-been like that all night, Princess?”
You feel Dunk start to rock into you, relieving some built up pressure from the evening.
“Duncan,” you moan, feeling the fabric becoming more damp.
“Ser,” he corrects you this time.
“Yes, Ser, please, I want y-your fingers.”
“You’ll need them if you’re gonna take me,” he tells you, kissing your temple.
He hooks a finger into the gusset of the panties, pulling them to the side. One of his fingers slips inside of you with no issue. He watches you swallowing and your eyes falling shut. You can take Dunk’s fingers easily. Though your first few times he could hardly fit in two, so you ended up letting him just fuck your thighs.
Now you’re a real pro, but she still takes some opening up.
“You’re tight. I’ll split you in half,” he brags.
You roll your eyes at his cockiness and feel his thumb rubbing your clit.
“I’ll fill you well, Princess. Make sure she gets what she needs,” he groans as you slick up his finger.
He slides another in and watches your cunt flutter around them. They shallowly pump in and out of you quicker and quicker, but each time he’s knuckle-deep he pauses to curl his rough touch to your sweet spot. When he does, you whine, your hips lifting from the bed. He pushes them back down.
“You just let me take care of you, Princess,” he husks, his lips on your cheek. “I’ll make it good, promise…”
You lay back and let your body gently move with his hand, your eyes closing. You grip his thick bicep and dig your nails in when he tries to add a third finger.
“Ser,” you whine.
“Relax,” he tells you. “Relax, love.”
You blow a breath out and steadily inhale, letting his third finger fit in snugly.
“Oh, fuck,” you hiss. “Fu-ck, it’s so much-”
“Well done,” he chirps, kissing your temple.
You can see him shifting in place, just as worked up as you are.
“Fuck, Dunk, j-just do it, please?” you huff impatiently, dropping the game.
“I need to make you cum first,” Dunk says, shaking his head.
Before you can complain further, he slips down the bed and nudges your legs further apart with his broad shoulders.
“Seven above,” you whimper.
He kisses your cunt, his other hand over your belly and keeps you pinned to the bed. His tongue finds your clit and he presses it down, licking at you roughly.
“D-Duncan!”
You shudder through the orgasm, clenching around his fingers and bucking up to his face.
“Oh gods, oh fuck, Dunk,” you babble, grabbing his hair to keep you grounded.
He moans against you and feels your slick dripping down his hand. He takes his hand away and cleans off his fingers. It’s something you hate watching Dunk do normally; he’s always licking his hands clean after eating like he’s a dog. But when it’s your pretty mess he’s cleaning up, it feels different. You like the animal way he drags his tongue over his digits.
He finally takes off his underwear, letting that heavy length free. You pass him a condom from the nightstand that he rolls onto himself.
He grips your waist– you squirm at the touch of his spit-covered fingers– and yanks you down to him. He pushes your legs up slightly so he has a better angle to start with.
He grips himself and lines up his cock.
“Another breath would do you good,” he says sheepishly.
You love how Dunk acts about his size. He knows it’s both a treat and leaves you sore the next day. The thick head presses to your hole and you jolt.
“Duncan,” you breathe weakly.
He slowly pushes in, stretching you out much more than his fingers. He lets you adjust, one hand on your thigh and the other splayed over your soft tummy, rubbing his thumb in. He can feel the slight bulge he makes, and tries not to seem cocky about it.
He gives a few experimental thrusts, small and shallow.
“Look at that,” he murmurs, eyes locked on where you connect.
He pulls out further, watching your poor cunt drool as he withdraws. He shoves in again and hears a squelch.
“She gave me a kiss,” he chuckles. “Look at how she takes me… pulling more in, greedy thing…”
You scowl and his cheeks get even more red when he catches your eye.
“I didn’t… y-you’re not greedy, I-” he stumbles over his words, eyes wide with anxiety.
“Fuck me,” you tell him, ignoring what he said.
“Yes, Princess.”
He holds your hips up and finds a good rhythm, not pounding, but not gentle by any means. His heart is sweet but his hands know roughness best, and you’re used to his harsh touch by now. He leans over you, whispering praise to your collarbones. You are like a princess, perfumed and powdered for him. Your slick is so sugary– he still doesn’t know the trick to it– and he’s always craving more.
“That’s it, Dunk, that’s it, like that,” you instruct him as he finds a good angle for you both. He winces.
“Are you close?” you ask.
“Y-yes,” he whimpers.
“Slow down,” you tell him.
He slows to a pace that makes you scratch his shoulders. As you claw at him you also manage to bite him.
“Ow!”
“That one was mostly for fun,” you giggle, seeing the bite mark turning reddish.
“I’ll bite you,” he threatens.
You offer your neck. He hesitates.
“Well?”
“Well… I-I don’t wanna hurt you,” he admits.
“Bite me, Duncan!”
He nips at your neck and you wince.
“Ow…”
“Told you.”
You feel him starting to speed up again, his big hand sliding down from your tummy to rub your clit. He gives you firm, slick circles in a tight pattern.
“Oh, gods,” you squeak.
“I’ll pledge right here,” he pants. “Right now, I’ll say any oaths you want, please… j-just say I can c-cum.”
“Wait- fuck, Duncan! Yes, you can, fuck!”
You both hold the other, twitching and moaning into each other's mouths. The condom fills with his cum inside of you and you gently push his chest.
“Enough, Dunk. Pull out.”
He does, carefully, and runs to your bathroom to clean himself off and get a wet washcloth. He returns with it, wiping down your legs and cunt. He takes the thong off of you, giving it a cheeky sniff before he throws it over with his clothes.
“That’s mine,” you pout.
“Said you bought it for me,” he says back, pulling on his underwear.
“You’re no knight. You’re just some roguish knave,” you joke.
He chuckles, snuggling up to you.
“But I’m yours,” he sighs, kissing your shoulder.
“All mine,” you whisper, grinning at him.
