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to be alone with you

pairing: perv!ser duncan the tall x former brothel worker!reader

masterlist | part 2 (tba)

synopsis: traveling with ser duncan and egg, you make sure that you never allow your presence to become one of burden unto them. you help where you can, when you can... and with time, dunk grows to be rather fond of you. one day a game that you play – something that you'd started as a means to an end and eventually turned into fun way to work duncan up – takes a turn for the worst when you accidentally chat up the worst type of man for the job.

Trigger Warning, for a scene that contains allusions to almost being SA'd (not by dunk), as well as general conversation about SA. you have been warned, proceed with caution.

word count: 3,600~ content warning(s): 18+ mdni, guilt, jealousy, mentions of sex work (f!participating), mentions of oral (f!receiving), mentions of p in v, m!jerking off, orgasms (m!only), reader being mischievous and participating in shenanigans, biblically accurate: men being pigs in the ASOIAF universe, mentions and depictions of assault, mentions of violence (dunk beats their asses), possible death (one of them may or may not be dead), angst, disassociating, hurt with comfort, tenderness, sub!dunk but he daydreams of dicking you down, one(1) hand job, cum eating, and kissing the tip of his cock... is that weird? basically, dunk saves you and you give him a handjob. (it's sweeter than it sounds)

notes: originally written as a quick ficlet, but evolved into its own thing and is more of a true fic now... may possibly get a second part.

I realized about midway through writing this that the scene of dunk saving you was very reminiscent of when aerion broke tanselle's finger. 😔 I just like the idea of this man coming to our rescue, please do not flame me for the similarities LMAO

I subscribe to the "submissive service top" dunk agenda!!

divider visuals made by @cafekitsune

dunk feels incredibly guilty for thinking of you in the way that he does.

oh, how you've been so good to him and so sweet to egg...

you wash and patch their clothes, dress and mend their wounds, help prepare their meals, play the voice of reason. you even go as far – as much as dunk has rather grown to hate it – to offer your body to men to cover your own room fees.

never once have you been a burden unto him. you'd made certain of such.

then he repays you by... thinking about what it would be like to have his face buried between your thighs? imagining what your moans would sound like when he'd sink into your sweet, gummy, cunt?

what kind of knight does he think he is? dishonoring you like that.

and of course, he would never act on these impulses. he could not...

not unless you'd show an interest in him yourself. which dunk thoroughly doubted that you'd ever deign to look at him the same as how he looks at you.

even still, the guilt that he carries could not stop him from mercilessly jerking his cock raw as a means of release and punishment for himself.

squeezing his balls as he cums into his hand, guilty and groaning from the mixture of pain and pleasure.

filthy, disgusting, guilty.

yes. dunk wagers that the gods ought to strike him down where he stands.

there's a special place in the hells for men like him. cold and barren. where the only thing left to warm him is your name, hushed and whimpered on his tongue.

—

you'd already figured that dunk was pining after you by the second time that he'd insisted you needn't house yourself in a separate room from himself or egg.

between his sad puppy-dog eyes and the way that he'd get huffy after you return from your most recent 'escapade...' it really was like he was walking around with a big red arrow that pointed to him and had text above it that said 'I AM IN LOVE WITH YOU.'

he certainly didn't make his feelings difficult to miss.

you thought it to be rather sweet.

but the truth of it was... you hadn't used your body as payment since the second moon after you'd met dunk. which was many months ago and long before you'd gotten confirmation of his affections for you.

you actually were rather well off from your time spent in the brothels of king's landing– before you'd met dunk and egg.

so there really was no reason for you to offer yourself up as collateral for accommodations... it was only something that you had done a handful of times to hide just how much coin you truly had to your name, and once you'd deemed dunk as someone you could trust, you'd stopped.

dunk just hadn't properly taken the time to consider why you'd always supposedly had the coin to pay for his and egg's rooms, but not your own.

if he did, he'd find that – in reality – you actually had been giving the innkeep or the odd man that you'd talked up some extra coin to keep simply to act particularly winded after you'd both return to the inn. further instructing them to use the other coin you'd given them to pay for your room.

... which was something you began to do just to work dunk up, of course.

oh, dunk, the sweet man that he is... you just loved to have him doting and worrying over you.

egg, observant as he is, had caught on to your mischief months ago and decided himself to play along. he lived for the dramatics of it all, and the both of you often giggled amongst yourselves about how long this had been going on for.

at this point, you really were just waiting for dunk to either figure out what you have been doing or to finally reach a breaking point and confess his love to you.

truly, it really was just some harmless fun!

until one day... it wasn't.

—

exhausted from a long three weeks on the road, you feel you might cry tears of joy at the sight of an inn sitting quaintly beyond the tree line that you and your merry band emerge from.

thoughts of a roof over your heads and real beds – albeit, likely shitty ones – being welcomed warmly in the minds of at least two of you.

dunk, however, is already dreading what he knows is coming.

your hand – soft and warm – just like everything else about you, finding it's place reassuringly on his forearm as you nod in the direction of a particularly drunk man. "gonna go do my thing, yeah? I'll be back in a few."

already being halfway across the dinning space, you don't give dunk much room to protest.

with his frown and furrowed brow more prominent than ever, dunk watches as the man in question gives you an especially sleezy grin when you approach. he can't help but grit his teeth while the man escorts you outside with his hand, dirty and undeserving, placed far too low on your back.

"well?' a bald head glints at the edge of dunk's sightline in the dimly lit tavern space. he knows that egg watches him now his own brow downturned and furrowed – but more out of exasperation than anything else. "ser, are you not going to do something?"

scoffing, dunk looks to the boy, disapproving. "that is none of your concern," and then he shakes his head, speaking in a lower voice now. seemingly discouraged. "...'sides, it's not like I haven't tried."

incredulous and rather peeved now, egg groans.

bristling in response to the lad's reaction, dunk goes to speak once more... but then he freezes.

"what-" egg flinches backwards when dunk's hand shoots out in front of him as he shushes him.

from across the bar, the gaggle of drunkards who had been in the company of the man you'd escorted out are cheering and grinning amongst themselves. jostling each other like most men do when they celebrate a friend's escapades.

the rest of them laughing when one of them says something that puts both dunk and egg on edge.

"aye," the bearded man slurs, sloshing is tankard as he sways, "good on 'im- catchin' himself a proper king's landing whore!"

they knew you.

he's on his feet in an instant, the bench he'd been sitting on screeching and rocking against the wooden floors. briefly pointing at egg firmly and commanding him to, "stay."

then dunk is running out the inn like a rat out of flea bottom.

you should have known something was amiss when you felt that tell-tale feeling of disgust settle in the pit of your stomach just from how the guy stares at you...

but you merely wrote it off as being weary and exhausted from several weeks spent on the road. this guy was nearly black-out wasted – what harm could he really do?

outside, the skies had darkened and grown overcast since your arrival. the pressure of an incoming storm hangs heavy in the evening air.

it puts dunk on edge.

his sense of urgency tunneling his vision when he hears your distressed voice cry out from the cover of the woods. sounding something close to a yelp and a frustrated: "get- OFF!"

he's charging then.

his worn-in boots – so lovingly mended by your hand – thudding heavy on gravel path until he forks from the road into the forest. crunching dead leaves and sticks beneath his soles when he breaks through the undergrowth.

dunk doesn't have much time to process the sight in front of him from then on.

all he knows is that you're crying and this... this waste of air – this scum made man – is on top of you.

gods, you're crying. he'd made you cry.

dunk had never seen you crying before.

. . .

those next few minutes are all a blur to him. he really can't recall all that happened.

both yourself and egg would later tell him that he'd beaten the man till his was bloodied and (you think) unconscious – but egg is certain that he'd been dead.

then following that, when they came outside to see what all the commotion was for, dunk had done the same to his buddies, too.

—

with all pretenses dropped, you get only two rooms that night. one for egg, and the other for yourself and dunk.

you insist, despite his (weak) protests, that you'll share the room and take care of the cuts that he accrued in the heat of the scuffle... and for a moment, you worry still that he'll stand firm on his decision.

but dunk caves quick because he is weak to you.

always you, of course. but especially now.

all because, given the circumstances, he finds himself unable to object any further when your gentle hands come up to cradle his face, your eyes watery and pleading.

plus, if he had remained steadfast in his resolve, something told him you'd have found each other in the night either way.

so, sharing a room really is the easier of your options.

what isn't so easy, however, is getting dunk up the stairs to said room.

he's stiff and hissing in pain with each step you ascend. the adrenaline in him having long since faded, allowing for a dull and heavy ache to settle in on him.

but you get there with time and patience, and you shoo egg off to his own room despite his own protests. reassuring and reminding him that dunk is in good hands – your hands – and that you'll have him patched up quicker if you have the room to yourselves.

so then it's just you and dunk.

duncan and you.

silence, heavy and sharp, thrives in the space between the both of you.

then... blunt and commanding, you speak. "strip, ser duncan. then sit on the bed."

like a deer spooked by lamplight, his eyes widen and he freezes. face growing hotter the longer he stares and stands there – stiff as a board, and stunned.

"not like that," you nearly roll your eyes, but refrain from doing so as to prevent him from feeling too guilty for where his mind first went. "I need to see where you've been hurt."

it's not like you could blame him.

"oh..." nodding, he sputters into lethargic action, shucking off both his shirt and trousers, and doing his best to remain mindful of his injuries.

as he strips you start to prepare some things. the methodical nature of grinding up herbs keeps your hands and mind busy for a moment in time that feels much longer to you than it truly is.

when you turn back to him, you find him with his thumbs hooked beneath the hem of his briefs... and you just barely can stop him with a raised palm and blank stare.

"unless you've been stabbed in the ass... those can stay on, ser duncan." with that, you seat yourself on the bed.

meekly, duncan murmurs a bashful apology and joins you. careful not to jostle the various salves and bandages you've laid out meticulously on the blanketed surface when he sits himself beside you.

without a word, you set to work.

cleaning first. if you find anything while rinsing with a dampened cloth, you debris the wound of any foreign objects – gravel, thorns, and dirt, all plucked and washed.

assess the damage. if the wound is deep, you note that it will need to be salved and wrapped – if not, you just salve it and move on.

rinse, repeat.

you hear your heartbeat and the rushing of blood in your ears.

rinse, repeat.

each shaky breath you take, each movement you make.

rinse, repeat.

your fingers feel numb, they tremble before each touch.

rinse-

"are you okay?" duncan's voice.

you flinch... and your gaze flickers up to meet duncan's. those damning puppy-dog eyes. pretty and blue as the sky.

too quick, too sharp, you answer. "yes. I'm fine."

so, murmuring your name, he shakes his head. "no... I don't think that's true."

he doesn't miss how you pointedly turn your eyes back to his injuries, fingers prodding rougher now. less careful.

duncan winces, but says nothing of it.

you seem to be in thought.

so he lets you think... and with your attention fixed to your hands while you continue to tend to his wounds, you eventually murmur. "it's a tale as old as time, ser duncan-"

"...dunk." he corrects, tense beneath your clinical touch. so familiar yet alien – starkly different from how gently you'd always tended to him in the past.

he hadn't noticed until you called him by his title again that you'd put a distance between yourself and him. not physically, of course... but emotionally - with a dazed sort of air to you.

you look him in the eyes, softening. now realizing what you had been doing, as well. "dunk..."

he lets himself breathe then, nodding shakily.

"selfish an' powerful men... they beat, rape, kill, an' conquer..." you continue to speak on the thought that he had interrupted, "it's the weaker, kinder, and smaller folk who have to suffer at their hands."

this is something dunk knows well. he's seen and experienced it many a time before in his own lifetime.

but just because it's the norm, "doesn't mean it's right..."

you smile, and it strikes him then that it's the first one that you've given him since you came into this room with him.

it made sense, of course. you didn't have much to smile about right now...but dunk finds himself feeling glad that he can be a reason for you.

nodding, you finish up with cleaning and dressing the most concerning of his wounds and begin to bandage them. "yes, dunk... that doesn't mean it's right."

after that, the both of you fall into a comfortable silence while you work, with dunk watching you as you do.

this lull in conversation feels significantly different from the one before. calmer.

rain, pitter-pattering and whispering against the roof over your heads, subtly closes the space between you. a sound that somehow feels both soothing to the soul and wordlessly intimate.

to dunk, even now, as your eyes are heavy and tired – and you've been worn down to nothing more than your basest self, you're as beautiful as ever.

bathed in dim and warm candlelight, he takes you in wholly as you are.

yellow light, faint and flickering, highlights each curve, slope, and arch of your face – your lashes fluttering while your eyes dart between his injuries and the care that you offer in each featherlight touch.

when you inhale, ready to speak again, dunk is on the edge of his seat.

"you're hard," another pregnant pause follows your observation. "...by the way."

he blinks, confusion twisting his mouth into a puzzled frown.

you meet his stare, blinking back at him... then look down to his lap.

following your gaze, dunk realizes what you meant... and startles away from you. his sudden and jerky movement tears his arm from your grasp.

which is fine. totally fine.

you were basically done bandaging his wounds anyways... really, you were just groping his gloriously beefy forearms for the hell of it when he pulled away.

so you tell yourself that it's fine that he pulls away. not that you wished he would have stayed close.

"fuck-" he chokes, "gods, sorry- 'm so sorry, milady-" mortified, dunk cringes further away from you and hides his face in his hands. almost trembling now as a deep crimson dusts over his cheeks while he avoids eye contact with you.

expecting to be scolded, he stiffens when he's met with your laughter instead.

"dunk, it's quite alright-" you attempt to soothe him, but he shakes his head furiously.

"it's not, though," clenching his eyes shut, his hands fall to his lap in fists. refusing to meet your gaze, still. "it's wrong. I shouldn't– I can't be thinking of you like this."

when dunk feels one of your warm hands pressing over the top of his own, he quivers at the way butterflies fill his stomach.

then you speak, your voice reassuring. "it's a natural reaction, dunk."

your palm moves from his hand and he briefly mourns the loss of contact... until he feels it cradling his face instead, your soft fingertips brushing over the apple of his cheek.

"you are alone... in a room with a pretty woman mending your wounds," his eyes finally flutter back open at that, meeting your own while you smile at him. "and you're nearly naked, sitting on a bed with said woman... you cannot blame your body for responding accordingly, dunk."

you crowd closer to him and with a shaky inhale, he suddenly feels like he's drowning in the sweet scent of you.

gods, how did you do that? smell so good that he felt like he could happily live and die in it.

he feels like he grows impossibly harder then, and it prompts him to look away from you again. horrified as he actively watches the spot damped with his pre at the front of his briefs grow in size.

why must his body betray him so?

with shame weighing heavy on his conscious, dunk shakes his head again, groaning this time. "no-" yet he still sucks in another lung-full of your scent and finds himself nearly choking on it, "no... 's not okay..."

you deadpan as your advances go in one ear and out the other, clicking your tongue disapprovingly at his insistence to beat himself down.

yet he continues. "you don't... you don't deserve to be thought of like that-"

of course, you know dunk doesn't mean that in the way that his words sound. but regardless, you raise an eyebrow. "huh, interesting. so you're saying... I don't deserve to be thought of in that way? like... ever?"

registering only then how his words had sounded, dunk jolts and looks you in the eyes. "GODS, NO-" he stammers, "w-well, yes. you should- but not by the likes of someone like me- or... well..."

suddenly losing himself in the tender way that you stare at him when he rambles, his voice tapers off into a poignant silence.

it's then, as your thumb races over the stubbled skin of his cheek, that he is reminded that you are touching him still... and when your stare turns downwards to his lips, his uncomfortable tension melts away and is replaced with something warmer.

"I'd much rather have you think of me, than men like... well..." you shrug, and the message is clear.

men like that one.

the one who was either off with his friends, licking his wounds... or still on side of the road, cold and dead.

you lean closer, and his breath catches in his throat. "dunk... I find it tremendously flattering that someone like you thinks of me like that. I think it's rather nice, really..."

he looks to your lips, then, and lingers there for only a second... but not a second longer, because any more than that was more than what dunk felt he was deserving of.

then his attention is back to your eyes... where he stalls when he finds that yours have returned his own as well.

"y' don't haveta say that... don't haveta try 'n make me feel better." he exhales shakily. subconsciously leaning closer till your face is a mere two or so inches from his own.

"that's good, I'm glad," hushed and smiling, your hand moves from his face to the back of his neck – playing with the soft fawn-colored curls there. "because that's not what I'm doing, dunk..."

so dunk kisses you.

his lips soft and hungry on your own.

starving for your touch. your hands and lips and everything on him.

but when he tries to pull you to his lap, arms looping around your waist, it hurts.

his wounds sting, his bruises ache, and dunk groans. pulling away from the kiss to catch his breath and look you in the eyes.

hungry still.

petting his hair down, you smile so sweetly.

in the same way that is always so utterly and breathtakingly you.

dunk could fall to his knees then, miserable and resigned to his fate of being unable to go any further without the risk of hurting himself.

"'m sorry." he whines, frustrated.

but instead of responding to his woe, you gently push him to lay fully on the bed – and he allows you. watching as your smaller hand makes quick work to pull away his last piece of clothing. freeing his cock.

"it's okay," propped beside him, you lean over and give him a reassuring peck on the lips. your voice oh so tender and low. "let me take care of you..."

so he does. just like he always has done.

dunk gasps when your fingers wrap around the width of his cock. arching into, yet equally shying away from, your touch.

hissing as if it burns him – like his skin is lit ablaze under the press of your skin into his own. but at the same time, he's gasping and begging for more. "gods, please-!"

his eyes meet your own, and he groans at the way that you smile down at him. your lips curling upwards in an almost fae-like sort of way. ethereal and mischievous.

an image he only ever dared to imagine – to dream of – brought straight into reality while you stroke his cock languidly. cooing encouragement in his ear.

"that's it..." you murmur, "my loyal knight. so good for me..."

he pants, arching into your touch and trembling when your face strays from his own to lay a kiss upon his collarbone.

when you return to him, your eyes shimmering and warm, dunk stammers your name. moaning it. "I- gods be good, I lo-"

yet you stop him, shushing and laying your freehand over his mouth – which he instinctively licks?

hello?

best not focus on that for now. that is an entirely separate bottle of worms to analyze at a later time.

pressing a tender kiss to the side of his sweat sheened forehead, you hum. "you can tell me that later, pretty boy."

dunk's brow furrows at this, his attention torn between your sweet hand – deliciously pumping his cock – and your words. confusing as they are.

"wuh-"

he loses that internal battle of attention fast when you palm his tip, further slicking your hand with the copious pre that has been drooling down his length before you fist the length of him on a downward stroke.

you know he's already too far gone to listen, but you explain, still.

"I've had too many men confess their love for me in the throes of passion," your breath is hot and bated against his ear as you side-eye the way your hand fists him. "and I have never believed them, my knight..."

dunk shakes his head 'no' his eyes clenching shut as a whimper threatens to spill from his lips.

he wasn't like them – never.

gods, dunk loved you. no, that's wrong – dunk loves you.

present tense. then, now, and always.

huffing at that, mouthing the words but not quite saying them, he microscopically thrusts up into your hand.

"so... tell me later, dunk." your grip on him tightens and he groans in a way that lets you know he is close to finishing.

dunk sees stars behind his eyelids. glimmering and bright.

while you see him. fully and entirely as he is. your knight – ser duncan the tall – your dunk.

continuing to stroke him, you sit up and shift closer to his midsection. if dunk notices, he does not say.

here, you watch intently as dunk's cock twitches and drools more pre-cum for you. pearly and sticky on your fingers as you spread it down his twitching length.

he certainly has a pretty dick.

that is, it is as pretty as they can be.

paving the way to the base of his length is a speckled happy trail in the form of whispy darker blond hair. leading to a messier nest of thicker curls that he clearly had never put much thought into.

you wonder briefly if he would ever let you trim him up and make him all pretty and presentable for you.

... you continue your investigation. deciding that you would get around to asking about that passing thought at a later date, perhaps.

the rest of him is as proportional as you expected he'd be. thick and long, but not in an unimaginable to take sort of way... and a heavy set of balls to match that you momentarily think about sucking on.

you give a hum of approval. satisfied with your assessment of him, and draw even closer now.

breathing in the musky smell of him.

when your hot breath hits his cock, dunk knows he is done for... he could cum any second now.

but what he doesn't expect then, as he tenses, is to feel something softer.

his eyes shoot open as his orgasm just about takes him, just barely catching the tail-end sight of your lips pressed to the tip of his cock in a gentle kiss. before you pull away with a giggle.

"fuck fuck-" he cums then, some of his seed spilling into your hand while the rest splatters across his soft stomach. he babbles breathlessly. "thank you- fuck, gods, thank you. thank you."

you stroke him through it, cooing softly at him and returning close to his upper body to run your unsoiled hand through his damp hair.

he keens you work him through his climax in a far gentler way than he had ever afforded himself. encouraging and praising him throughout it all. "that's it, there's a good boy."

dunk groans at that, jerking his hips into your touch while wincing at the hints of overstimulation that begin to settle in. a few strokes later and dunk whimpers your name, brow furrowing in a way that lets you know he needs to be done with it now.

so you release him, satisfied, and bring your fingers to your lips instead – sucking and licking his salty spend from them while dunk watches on in stunned silence.

his eyes so empty of thought and blown out with so much love for you... yet tired, too.

smiling, you reach for one of the rags you had brought over earlier when you'd been tending to his wounds... a clean rag that you then wet in a bowl of equally clean water that rests on the bedside table. then you get to wiping him again but this time, in a different way.

with far less concern and sharp anxiety surrounding the both of you.

you shush and hum him a soothing melody while his eyes drift shut. contentment and exhaustion mixing and settling heavy on dunk's mind and body, dragging him into a sleepless daze.

when you finish, you nudge him into action and he all but grumbles instead. he'd be content with just laying and falling asleep then and there. "no..."

"let me tuck us in, my dear," while you pet his hair, you admire his pretty face up close – taking in every eyelash and freckle. storing them away in a special corner of your mind and heart where you would always remember them.

then dunk stirs... groggily moving to get himself under the blankets and pulling you with him when you join him.

craddled safely in his arms, you find yourself beginning to settle as well.

then dunk murmurs something – something you can't quite understand, but know what it is regardless.

kissing him on the cheek as he falls asleep, you smile. whispering those words back to him in a hushed voice. "I love you too, dunk..."

then, your eyes close. slumber taking you quickly while you rest in the safety of your knight's arms.