Hello, I'm Love. I write fics when I'm off work, or whenever I see a piece of media that alters my brain chemistry. My blog is 18+ and I reblog/ create content that is not suitable for minors.
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
You’re shocked when you look in your bank account and see the money transfer from Dunk. You immediately text him.
You: ??
Dunk: ??
You screenshot the transfer and send it.
Dunk: Figured 50/50 was alright?
Seven hells. That was the money from the OnlyFans video you'd made with Dunk? You feel heat rise up your neck and you squirm at the thought of how many people must have watched Dunk spanking you. You'd definitely rewatched it a few times, hardly believing that was you, that was Dunk, it was so fucking hot.
Dunk’s typing.
Dunk: Or should it be 60/40?
Dunk: You were doing most of the work
Dunk: I’ll send now
You quickly text back that 50/50 is fine.
Honestly….you’d forgotten about the money. You’d been so nervous and excited before, and after, well, all you could think about was him. How easily he’d been able to manhandle you into place, but how gentle and sweet he was throughout and how he took such good care of you after. It wasn’t sex, and you weren’t together, but he still wanted to look after you and had kept asking to be sure he hadn’t hurt you. You’d had to resist the urge to confess you could have taken a lot more and a lot harder. As it was, the marks he’d left on your ass had faded all too fast, and you miss them.
So maybe you’d had a tiny crush on Dunk before filming that video, which is maybe just a little worse after being bent over his knee.
You feel hot all over and that heat gives you the confidence to text back.
You: would u want to do another video?
You feel your stomach flip waiting for Dunk to finish typing. He stops and starts several times before sending the message.
Dunk: what would you want to do?
You swallow hard. Oh, so many things you want that man to do to you. But you hold back and try to think of what to say.
You: not sex but sex-ish
It takes him five agonizing minutes to finish typing, stopping, and typing, only to send:
Dunk: ok
Dunk: sounds good
You chew your lip, hesitant, but decide fuck it and text him.
You: I can buy something nice to wear for it
Again you’re stuck watching the ‘Dunk is typing…’ message flicker in and out.
Dunk: ok let me know how much
You: ??
Dunk: what?
You: why
Dunk: I’ll pay you back
You: you don’t have to do that!
Dunk: I want to
Why does he have to be such a gentleman? It’s so sexy. You resist the urge to ask him what he’d like to see you in, or to tease him, or to outright beg him to come over and fuck you with or without a camera.
You: thank you!!
***
“What do you think?” you ask, standing in the lingerie he’d bought you and trying not to feel nervous.
You’d bought a pretty lacy set in the exact same shade of blue as his eyes. If he makes the connection, he doesn’t remark on it; but then he’s hardly even looked at you before his head is ducking down and eyes avert. You’ve never known anyone as bashful as him.
“‘s pretty,” he mumbles.
You pout. You’d have liked more of a reaction than that, but it’s a good reminder of why you’re here. Business, not pleasure.
You found last time you filmed that Dunk seemed to prefer you being in charge of establishing how things would go, so you again take the initiative.
“So just to recap”, you start, in reference to what you’d already discussed for this video through texting. “Just, uh, heavy touching over clothes. Nothing being taken off. You can touch my tits, thighs, ass, just not, um-“
Not your pussy.
Dunk nods his understanding but doesn’t look at you. A red flush creeps across his nose and cheeks that makes you want to kiss his face over and over.
“Kissing is fine, but not on the mouth.”
That just feels too intimate. You don’t trust yourself to remember this is all for show if Dunk kisses you. He’s your friend, a good friend, and you don’t want to ruin things with him.
“And you should talk a lot-“
“Talk?” Dunk interrupts, looking at you for the first time.
“Yeah. I think you’ll want to for this to work. Since we’re not actually showing or doing much. As in, not full sex. But I think that can work, because most of your audience is women, and for women it’s more of a build, and it’s nice to have a …guided fantasy. So I’m really just the stand-in for female viewers to pretend I’m them.”
“Pretend they’re with me?” Dunk asks, and his voice is so genuinely surprised you have to resist teasing him.
“Of course,” you answer.
His hands fidget and he looks away again. He rubs the back of his neck.
“‘m just not used to thinkin’ of myself that way. I mean you…you’re….”
You wait for him to finish his sentence, but he doesn’t, and he looks so nervous it feels a cruelty to force him.
“You did it before. The way you talked last time was really nice,” you say, words chosen to be objective, but your face burns.
“Honestly, don’t even remember what I said,” Dunk shrugs. “And I’ve never been good with words.”
“You are. Just be confident, and it’ll be so good, I promise,” you reassure. “Just talk to me. Ask me what I want. Ask me if I like what you’re doing. Be sweet to me. Call me sweet names and say that I’m being good for you. And go slow. Whatever speed you think is slow, start slower. I’ll tell you if you need to go faster.” You pause. “Are you still good with this?”
“Yeah,” Dunk says, voice low, and eyes meeting yours in a way that startles you, so blue and deep and intimate.
You lean in and kiss his cheek.
“Alright, let’s go then,” you say.
He pulls his shirt over his head. You stare.
You’d seen him shirtless before. You’d walked in on him in just his boxers before. But you’d not really looked and, oh. Oh he’s just so big and strong. Not pure muscle, but healthy, and powerful. You’re going to look fucking tiny next to him.
“‘S this alright?” Dunk asks, and you realize you must have been ogling a little too openly for even Dunk to notice.
“Great!” you answer a little too cheerfully.
***
You’re sat in Dunk’s lap with your back to his chest. His hands are at your waist and one of his knees nudges between your thighs to spread you open for the camera. Goosebumps trail up your arms and you shiver. Dunk’s hands move to your arms instinctively and rub soothingly up and down your flesh. You can feel his heart hammering in his chest and wonder if he can feel the same from you. You can hear him starting and stopping a few times, before he manages to get the words out.
“What do you need, sweet girl?” Dunk asks in a low voice that has you shivering all over again.
“Touch me.”
“Am touchin’ you.”
You give a little huff of annoyance. You can feel Dunk smile against your skin, evidently pleased with himself for that one.
“Kiss my neck,” you say, not asking but telling.
Your eyes flutter shut at the light brushing of his lips against the curve of your neck. You tilt your head further, giving greater access and inviting more. Dunk tries adding a little pressure and you whine.
“Like this?” he asks.
“Yes,” you breathe.
His mouth trails further along your neck.
“Like this?”
“Yes," you sigh.
He finds the sweet spot on your neck that has you squirming.
“Here, is it?” Dunk asks.
“Yes!” you practically squeak.
He suckles the skin and you moan.
“That feel good?” he asks.
“Yes,” you admit, feeling your face go hot.
You hadn’t expected to get this turned on this fast.
“Want me to touch you some more?” Dunk asks, and you know he’s actually checking in that he has permission to keep going. He’s so sweet it makes you want to melt completely. He makes you feel so safe.
“Yes, please” you whine.
“Can I play with these pretty tits a little?” he pants in your ear.
“Yes!”
His hands leave your arms and run up your abdomen to rest just below your lace-covered breasts. You can feel his fingers tremble slightly as he hesitates. Your hands cover his much larger ones, running a thumb over his knuckles, giving him time to pull away and call things off. When he doesn’t, you move his hands to your tits and lightly squeeze over his hands so that he cups your breasts.
“Ah, fuck” Dunk groans.
He kneads gently. You hum appreciatively at the delicious feeling of your hard nipples rubbing against the fabric. You want him touching your bare skin. You want his mouth on your nipple. You squirm in his lap.
“You’re so big,” you whine and push your body against his hands. “So big and strong.”
It would be so easy for him to fold you in half. Bend you over. Hold you up against a wall.
You feel like playing a little dirty.
"Like your big hands," you praise. "Like your big everything."
You grin as he curses and hides his face against the back of your neck.
“My sweet girl” he breathes hot against your skin and scatters kisses on your neck and shoulder, nuzzling into you. “My pretty girl wearing the pretty things I bought her.”
Oh. Oh, you hadn’t discussed that, but fuck, it’s hot. You being his girl and wearing nice things for him. Well, that’s a little true, isn’t it? He bought you this pretty lingerie and now you’re both enjoying the reward of him playing with you in it.
“Harder,” you ask, and keen when he complies by squeezing you rougher.
You’ve not been able to sit still. You’ve shivered and squirmed until, somehow, entirely by accident, you’ve ended up with your thighs tightly locked around one of his. Dunk’s thumbs circle your nipples and you jerk forward, your clit catching on his thigh and dragging deliciously.
“Fuck!” you moan, louder than any before, and freeze.
Dunk stills too.
“Were you grinding against m’thigh?” he asks, voice low.
You’re so embarrassed. You hadn’t meant to. It just felt so good. Had you gone too far? Had you ruined everything?
Dunk’s hands drop to your hips and he grips the flesh there hard. His face presses into your shoulder and he groans.
“Y-you can” he pants. “Take what you need from me, sweetheart.”
You gasp in surprise, but fortunately, your body seems to work faster than your brain. Your hips roll into his hard muscle experimentally. Then, harder, angling your hips just right so that your clit grinds against him.
His breath tickles the tiny hairs at the back of your neck. You imagine how good it would feel for him to fuck you from behind. Dunk’s body caging yours and his size completely overwhelming you. Fucking you so deep and good and slow.
You can feel a wet spot soak through your new panties. You duck your head and feel your face burn at the obvious sign of your need. You try to lift yourself off Dunk’s thigh, wondering if you might yet hide it, but his hands on your hips push you back down onto his thigh and there can be no doubt Dunk knows you’re wet.
“You like that?” Dunk asks in that low, sexy voice. “That feel good?”
Again you try to duck your head, but Dunk isn’t having it. One of his hands leaves your hips to tilt your chin up.
“Uh uh,” he corrects, in a tone somehow cooing and condescending. “If you’re gonna get off on m’thigh, you can at least tell me you’re enjoyin’ it.”
“I like it,” you whimper.
“Good girl.”
Fuck, he’s got you so close to falling apart completely. It isn’t fair. How can Dunk, sweet and shy Dunk, your Dunk, be this calm about it? You roll your hips further back against him and that’s when you feel it.
Oh. Dunk isn’t calm and collected at all.
Dunk’s hard. And he’s fucking huge.
Dunk groans and again hides his face against the back of your neck, but now you're the one checking his behaviour. You’re going to cum and he is too.
You push yourself back flush against him. He gives a strangled cry and grips your hips so hard, you can already feel bruises forming. You rub yourself back against him.
“Is this okay?" you ask, voice coming out between little pants. "Does this feel good?"
"Y-yes!" he chokes out.
It makes you feel incredible to have big, strong, stoic Dunk go weak for you.
He lifts and angles his leg just right to make it easier for you to grind back against his cock while still rubbing your clit into his thigh. One of his hands stays anchored to your hip, the other squeezes and plays with one of your breasts. You're both too far gone for dirty talk, panting and moaning and whining for each other, needing release. You can feel it rising, rising, rising within you, until finally, you're overtaken. You cum, thighs clamping down around his as you keen and buck your hips wildly. Dunk lasts hardly three seconds longer before he's giving a cry and cumming, too, clinging to you so tightly it hurts in the best way.
You cling to each other even as the aftershocks die down and cold realization slowly hits you. You'd just humped and gotten off on Dunk's leg, had grinded on Dunk until he came, and you did it all on camera. Sick worry knots your stomach, but surprisingly, it's Dunk who soothes your nerves this time.
"Shhh, shh, sweet girl, it's okay," he breathes, voice low and sexy again, but there's a softness to it that sounds so sweet and real. He nuzzles your neck and his hands run gently over your waist. "You did so good f'me. So good."
Dunk holds you and runs his hands along you soothingly until the anxiety fades, your heartbeat slows, and your body calms. You'd cum harder than you normally did. Maybe it was the thrill of it. Maybe it was Dunk. But fuck, it had felt good, and now all you wanted was to curl up into his side and fall asleep with him holding you, if for nothing else than so you could cling to the fantasy a little longer.
But you had to come back to reality eventually.
You reach over and turn the camera off. You look at Dunk.
"Are you...are we...okay?" you ask.
You can see Dunk fighting to settle on what to say. Finally, he nods.
"'Course. Only natural, I 'spose. You aren't...angry with me?"
You laugh and shake your head. He laughs, too, light, nervous. You're uncertain where all this leaves you but at least neither of you thinks the other has taken advantage.
"D'ya need anything?" he asks.
You shake your head.
"Want to take a shower?" Dunk asks, then quickly elaborates. "Use my shower. As in, do you, alone, need t—"
You laugh again and shake your head.
"Do you mind if I take one? I'm sort of—" he looks down at his groin, your gaze following to see a wet spot from his cum.
You fight every fibre of your being urging you to get on your knees and clean him up with your tongue. Instead, you squeak out, "No, go ahead!"
He sets you up with a glass of water and his discarded shirt to wear before heading to the bathroom. You snuggle down into his sheets and cuddle his pillow, wishing it was him.
***
Dunk's heart nearly leaps out of his chest to you when he comes out the shower to find you'd fallen asleep in his bed. He wants to hold you, pet your hair, kiss you, whisper while you sleep how beautiful you are and how good you made him feel and how lucky he is that he got to see you fall apart like that. But it wouldn't be right to climb into bed with you while you're sleeping. So he tucks the blankets around you, allows himself to enjoy watching you lying peaceful and sweet and snuggled into his pillow, then leaves you to rest.
***
He doesn't upload the video until a few days later. Dunk waits to get your approval first then waits a little longer, selfishly, to keep that moment just between you two for a few more hours. Finally, he uploads.
Dunk gets a text message later from Raymun.
Raymun: srsly WHO is the mystery bird on your OF????
I saw a post a while ago about somebody getting an ask saying that since it was taking so long to finish a fic the asker feed it into AI to get more and an ending. And let me just say if somebody did that to my work….what I’d do to them is not a war crime the first time. AI HAS NO PLACE IN FANFICS!!!!
-18+, oral f receiving, dunk is pussy drunk, he doesn't really understand a woman's body lol but he wants to learn! + handjob, slight spit play! ᥫ᭡.
the tavern was a cesspool of noise and stale ale. you sat in a corner, cloaked and hooded, trying to make yourself invisible while dunk saw to the horses. the journey had been long, and the promise of a hot meal and a soft bed was a siren's call you couldn't ignore, even if it meant enduring the company of leering merchants and boisterous sellswords.
dunk returned, his broad frame blocking out the light from the fire as he sat down opposite you. he slid a wooden plate of bread and cheese towards you, his expression weary. "eat, princess. we'll be on the road at first light."
you nodded, too tired to argue with the formal address.
at the next table, a pair of sellswords had been watching the two of you since dunk crossed the room. one nudged the other with his elbow. "big lad like that," the thinner one muttered, not nearly as quiet as he thought. "must've done well for himself."
"aye," the other snorted, eyeing you openly. "pretty little wife tucked in the corner..."
"careful," the first man laughed. "you keep staring like that and her husband'll knock your teeth out."
dunk's jaw flexed, but he said nothing. he simply tore off a piece of cheese with deliberate calm, though a faint line had appeared between his brows. he shifted slightly in his seat just enough that his shoulder angled toward you, broad and solid, subtly blocking their line of sight. the movement was casual. protective. intentional.
"should not call me that here to be safe," you murmured softly after a moment. "princess...i mean" you whispered to him.
his eyes flicked to you.
"they think i'm your wife."
a faint, embarrassed heat crept into his ears. "aye, better that than something worse."
across the room, the noise swelled again as the fat merchant slammed his tankard down. "...and i tell you," he bellowed, "the secret to a happy wife isn't gold or jewels. it's between her legs!"
laughter erupted. you felt the heat climb your neck as before, but this time something else lingered beneath the embarrassment. dunk went still again, quiet, watchful, but his knee had shifted closer to yours beneath the table.
"no, i'm serious!" he insisted, leaning in conspiratorially. "you get down there, you use your mouth on her, and she'll be putty in your hands for a week. they all love it. every last one of 'em. squeal like a stuck pig, they do!"
you felt a hot blush creep up your neck, and you stared down at your plate, wishing you could melt into the floor. but dunk didn't laugh, his focus narrowing in on the drunkard's words as if they were the most important instructions he'd ever received. he took a long, slow swig of his ale, his eyes thoughtful, contemplative. the rest of the evening was a blur. you ate in silence, the merchant's crude words echoing in your mind.
dunk found a small inn on the edge of town, securing a single room with two narrow beds. the silence between you was heavy, charged with a new, unspoken tension. you sat on the edge of your bed, unlacing your boots, your heart hammering against your ribs.
he was watching you. you could feel his gaze on you, intense and unwavering.
you swallowed and forced yourself to keep working at the laces, though your fingers had gone clumsy. the fire in the small hearth crackled, throwing restless shadows across the walls. the beds were narrow enough that your knees would nearly touch if you both lay on your sides.
"princess."
the word was quieter now. rougher.
you looked up despite yourself.
dunk was leaning forward, forearms braced on his knees, big hands hanging loose between them. he looked almost troubled.
"those men," he said slowly, like he was picking his way across uncertain ground, "they speak like women are something to be handled."
your breath left you in a shaky huff. "they were drunk."
"that's when men say what they truly think."
you didn't know what to say to that.
he shifted, the bed creaking under his weight as he stood. the room felt suddenly too small for him. he crossed it in two long strides and crouched in front of you, close enough that the heat of him bled through the thin fabric of your skirts.
"i don't like it," he muttered. "the way they spoke. as if... as if a wife's happiness were some trick. some lever to pull."
your pulse was a frantic thing in your throat. "it was crude tavern talk."
"aye." his jaw flexed. "but i was listening." his eyes had a look of painful curiosity that made your stomach twist.
"i don't know much," he admitted. "about... that. courtship. marriage. what women want." a faint flush crept up his neck, barely visible beneath the firelight. "but i'd not have it be like that. i'd not have you think—" he stopped himself.
you blinked. "me?"
he exhaled, long and slow, as if the word had slipped out before he could stop it.
"aye. you."
silence stretched between you, taut as a drawn bowstring.
"i would not want it made small," he continued, voice low. "not made into something to be managed." his big hands flexed on his knees. "that no woman should have to endure a fool bragging about her like that. and that if a man is lucky enough to win a wife's affection, he ought to earn it every day. not boast of it over ale."
your heart thudded so loudly you were certain he could hear it. you forced a shaky smile. "you would make a very serious husband."
a corner of his mouth twitched. "i'm serious about most things."
"i've noticed."
his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth before he caught himself and looked back to your eyes. that tiny, fleeting slip of attention made warmth bloom low in your stomach.
you cleared your throat. "ser duncan the tall," you said lightly, though your voice wavered, "defender of women's honor everywhere."
he huffed a quiet laugh. "someone ought to be." he didn't move away and neither did you. careful. he was so careful with you. but even as he rose and stepped back, giving you space, the room felt irrevocably altered.
whatever the drunken merchant had meant as crude instruction had done something else entirely. it had made dunk think. and the way he looked at you now, thoughtful, protective, and achingly unsure, made your heart and stomach do flips.
"princess," he said, his voice a low rumble,
"yes?"
"those men in the tavern...what they were saying." he paused, and you could hear the hesitation in his voice. "was there any truth to it?"
your face burned. "i...i wouldn't know, ser."
"dunk," he corrected gently. "and you don't have to...i just..." he ran a hand through his thick, dark hair, a gesture of frustration. "i want to make you contented. and if that's something women enjoy...something you would enjoy, i would do it...for you."
the sincerity in his voice was your undoing. he wasn't thinking of his own pleasure. he was thinking of yours, guided by the drunken wisdom of a tavern fool. it was the most romantic, most chivalrous thing you had ever heard.
you stood up, your legs trembling slightly, and crossed the small space between you. you knelt in front of him, taking his large hands in yours. "thank you" you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.
he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours. "then...will you let me? i do not mean to dishonor you i just—"
"dunk, it's quite alright. i do want to...try it, i mean." you stood up, your fingers fumbling with the laces of your gown, your body thrumming with a nervous, exhilarating energy. he watched you, his eyes dark with a mixture of awe and trepidation, as you let the dress fall to the floor.
you lay back on the bed, your heart pounding. he hesitated for only a moment before joining you, his large body hovering over yours. he didn't kiss you, not yet. he just looked at you, his gaze a physical touch.
"show me," he whispered, his voice raw with need.
you guided his head down, your fingers tangling in his soft hair. he settled between your thighs, his warm breath a ghost against your most sensitive skin. he was hesitant at first, his movements clumsy and unsure.
"if you do not enjoy it dunk we can stop—" you whispered, but he only shook his head and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, then another, his exploration slow and reverent. then, remembering the merchant's words, he leaned in and gave you a long, slow lick.
you gasped, your back arching off the bed. it was a tentative, experimental touch, but it sent a bolt of pure pleasure through you.
he froze. "did you like that...?"
"yes," you breathed, your hand tightening in his hair. "again. please."
he obeyed, this time with more confidence. he began to explore you with his tongue, learning your body, learning what made you gasp, what made you moan. he was a diligent student, his focus absolute, his only goal to please you.
and then, he found your clit.
he circled it with the tip of his tongue, and you cried out, your hips bucking against his mouth. a new fire lit in his eyes. this was it. this was the secret the merchant had been talking about. he felt almost guilty, ashamed for it, touching you in such a way only a husband would, and he would never forgive himself for taking away your purity before you could wed a man of real status...but all these thoughts clouded away each time you would mewl and whine sweet things at each lick.
he dove in, his clumsy hesitation vanishing, replaced by a determined hunger. he wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding you in place as he began to suck, hard and relentless.
"gods above... you taste like honey. like the first taste of summer wine after a long winter."
it was overwhelming. the pleasure was so intense it was almost painful. he was no longer just learning; he was claiming. he was obsessed, he loved you, and your sweet dripping pussy so much, his heartbeat was heard in his own ears, devouring you with a single-minded intensity that stole your breath and shattered your thoughts.
the world narrowed to the feeling of his mouth on you, the rough scrape of his incoming stubble against your sensitive skin, the desperate, hungry sounds he was making deep in his throat.
"dunk," you sobbed, your hands fisting in the blankets. "i can't... it's too much..."
at your cry, he froze instantly. he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his mouth and chin glistening, his eyes wide with alarm. "am i hurting you?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "princess, tell me. am i hurting you?"
you shook your head frantically, tears of pleasure streaming down your temples. "no," you gasped, trying to catch your breath. "no, you're not...it feels so good...it's— don't stop!"
"oh," he rumbled, the sound vibrating against your core.
and then he dove back in. he sealed his mouth over your clit and sucked with a force that made your vision go white. your back arched off the bed, a strangled scream tearing from your throat as the pleasure became a sharp, exquisite agony. your hands flew from the blankets to his head, your fingers tangling in his thick hair, trying to push him away, to ground yourself, to do something to survive the onslaught.
your squirming only seemed to spur him on. he held you tighter, his arms like iron bands around your thighs, refusing to let you escape the pleasure he was determined to give you.
in one fluid, impossibly powerful motion, he moved. he lifted his upper body, his hands gripping your waist, and with a strength that stole your breath, he flipped you over. the world spun, and suddenly you were no longer on your back. you were straddling his face, your knees on either side of his head, your weight settled firmly on his mouth.
he was buried beneath you, his nose pressed against your mound, pressing open-mouthed, hot, wet kisses on your wet pussy. the new position was devastating. you were completely at his mercy, spread open and exposed, every sensitive part of you pressed against his hungry mouth. your hands flew out to brace yourself against the wooden headboard, your body trembling uncontrollably.
"there," he growled, the vibration a shockwave through your entire body.
"dunk! i could hurt you— let me off—" you mumbled worriedly, but his hands gripped your ass, holding you down. there was no escape, no respite.
"m'strong enough m'lady, i could die happy right here." his words muffled, he sucked harder, his tongue flicking against your clit in a rapid, merciless rhythm. the tension inside you coiled tighter and tighter, a white-hot knot of pure sensation, until it finally snapped.
"gods w-wait!"
"no...no i want it princess," he growled against your quivering flesh, his voice a low, possessive command. "give me all of it." he lapped at you, his tongue stroking you through your spasms, prolonging the ecstasy until you were a whimpering, overstimulated wreck. "that's it... that's my girl. so sweet."
you came with a strangled scream, your body convulsing, waves of pleasure crashing over you so hard you saw stars, creaming all over his mouth. he held you through it, his mouth never leaving you, drinking in your release as if it were the finest wine.
when it was over, you were a boneless, trembling mess. he finally pulled away, his face glistening with your arousal, his eyes shining with a triumphant, possessive pride. he lifted you off his face and onto his lap and kissed you, a deep, messy kiss.
you could barely manage a response, your fingers curling into the front of his tunic, holding him there as if the world might tilt without him anchoring you. you could feel him, impossibly hard and straining against his breeches beneath you. it seemed your pleasure had become his own.
your head fell against his shoulder, breath still shaky. the rigid, demanding pressure of his cock against your thigh had eased into a warm, heavy presence. a flicker of self-consciousness washed over you, and you reached for the discarded blanket at the foot of the bed, tugging it up to cover your waist. the soft wool was a small shield against the intensity of his gaze.
he pressed a kiss to your temple this time. then your brow. then the corner of your mouth, gentler and gentler still, as though easing you back from the heights he'd drawn you to.
"stay with me," he murmured, arms tightening just slightly around you.
you shifted in his lap, the hard line of his erection still an undeniable presence beneath the blanket. a new kind of courage, born from the intimacy of the moment, stirred within you. you met his softened gaze, your own eyes clear. "let me help you, ser," you whispered, your voice still raspy from your cries. you let your hand drift down from his chest, over the blanket, until it rested directly over the straining fabric of his breeches. you gave a gentle, questioning squeeze. "please?"
"you don't need to-"
"i want to..."
a low groan rumbled in his chest, his hips pushing up slightly into your touch. he took your hand in his, his large, calloused fingers dwarfing yours. without breaking eye contact, he brought your palm to his lips and spat into it, a hot, wet, shockingly intimate gesture. your breath hitched.
"s-sorry..." he murmured, guiding your slickened hand back down before pushing beneath the waistband of his breeches and bringing his cock out. "like this..." he guided your hand to his length. your fingers brushed against coarse hair and then, finally, against hot, silken skin.
he was massive. your fingers couldn't even close around his thick girth, and you could feel the heavy weight of him in your palm as he guided you down his impressive length. you had felt him press against you, but holding him like this, feeling the sheer size and power of him, was something else entirely. the sounds were slick and obscene. you wanted to worship him, to make him feel as utterly wrecked and cherished as he had made you feel.
you began to stroke him harder. he let out a harsh breath, his head falling back against the headboard, his eyes fluttering shut. you watched his face, mesmerized by the way his brow furrowed in pleasure, the way his jaw clenched. you swiped your thumb over the slick head, spreading the bead of pre-cum that gathered there, and he hissed, his hips bucking into your fist.
"gods, just like that," he gritted out, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, his grip tight. "your hand...so small...feels so good."
you redoubled your efforts, your movements growing bolder as you learned what he liked. you twisted your wrist on the upstroke, squeezed gently on the down. you wanted to see him fall apart, to hear him cry out your name. you wanted to be the one to make him lose control. and as his breathing grew ragged and his thrusts became more erratic, you knew you were close.
"so big dunk...are all cocks this big?" you whispered in awe.
he shook his head, mind in a haze. "dunno pretty girl..." the words were a choked, honest confession.
you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his jaw, your hand never ceasing its steady, slick rhythm. "just yours then," you murmured against his skin.
his control finally snapped. with a guttural groan, his hand flew from your thigh to cover yours, not to stop you, but to guide you, to force your hand to move faster, harder. his hips surged up off the bed, fucking himself into your tight grip with a desperate, primal need.
"look at me," he commanded, his voice a ragged snarl. "please please look at me..." you obeyed, lifting your gaze to his face. his eyes were wild, burning with an intensity that stole your breath. "watch what you do to me. watch me."
and you did. you watched as his face contorted, as his mouth fell open in a silent cry. you felt the thick vein on the underside of his cock pulse violently against your palm. with a final, brutal thrust, he came, spilling himself in hot, thick ropes over your hand and his own stomach. he cried out your name then, a broken, hoarse sound that was more prayer than profanity, his entire body shuddering with the force of his release.
he collapsed back against the headboard, utterly spent, his chest heaving. for a long moment, the only sound was his ragged breathing. you slowly withdrew your hand, slick with his spend, and looked at the mess you had made of him. a fierce, feminine pride bloomed in your chest.
he opened his eyes, which were now soft and hazy with satisfaction, then tucked his softening cock back into his breeches.
for a moment, he simply looked at you. not at your hand. not at the disarray of sheets. at you. a quiet huff of laughter left him, his head tipping back briefly against the wood. "you have no idea what you do to me."
"i think i do..." licking up the cum on your fingers as he lazily wiped his hand on the discarded linen at your side, entirely unrepentant.
you shifted closer, crawling up his body slowly, deliberately, until your knees completely bracketed his hips. he watched every inch of your movement now. your fingers slid up his chest, tracing the rise and fall of his breath, the steady drum of his heart beneath your palm.
"i like seeing you like this," you confessed softly.
his brows lifted faintly. "spent?"
"no." you giggled. your thumb brushed over his collarbone. "relaxed..."
his hands came up, settling on your hips, not gripping, just holding you there. you leaned down, brushing your mouth against his to give him a sweet kiss.
he tilted his head, brushing his nose lightly against yours.
"sleep now, princess" he murmured at last, "we ride early."
"we could always push the two bed together..." you smile, just now noticing how huge he looked on the narrow little bed. ৻ꪆ
content: insecure!dunk, chubby!dunk (inspired by this pic), lil bit of jealous!reader, momentary miscommunication/misunderstanding, briefest angst, SMUT, body worship, belly riding (? is that what it's called), piv, creampie
notes: world's slowest writer sees (1) picture of sexy man and delivers within a day ik that's right!! definitely would like to explore more jealous reader and/or jealous dunk in the future heehee i hope you guys like this one <3 back to my baelor shi now
masterlist
18+ content, minors dni
—
thinking about insecure!dunk who starts pulling away because you’ve been guests at storm’s end and he’s put on a few (lyonel insists on feeding his guests well).
dunk’s never seen himself like this before, so used to scrounging up meals on the road. he doesn’t know if he likes the change — doesn’t know if he looks like the dunk that you wanted all those months ago. he worries he looks like those foul lords who sweat into their goblets and leer over the rims.
where you’re practically tearing your hair out because by the seven, dunk looks good. his stature remains, his bones stay the same, and yet, he’s bigger, bulkier. his flesh squeezes more easily between your fingers as you claw at his back, and you’ve noticed he can lift nearly twice what he once did.
so you’re heartbroken, and more than a little confused when he starts… withholding. one night, he insists on keeping his tunic on, and the next he wishes to take you from the back, and you’re not one to mind, but you’d more than love to feel the softness of his belly pressing against yours instead.
and as the days pass under lyonel’s generosity, dunk comes to bed later and later. you’d even stayed up into the early hours once, bare as the day you were born, intending to lure your knight into your shared bed. try as you did, you’d still slipped into slumber long before dunk had finally returned. when you woke, you’d been clothed in one of his tunics, the bed cold beside you.
that had been the final straw.
you’d resolved to confront your hedge knight on his flimsy avoidance, and in your best dress, nonetheless — lyonel had spared no expense in his gracious hosting of your travelling trio.
the idea of wearing house baratheon’s signature yellow briefly crosses your mind, and you wonder how ser duncan might feel seeing you in another man’s colours — a thought for another time.
first and foremost, you need to get your man to look at you for longer than a heartbeat. so, you settle on a deep green, reminiscent of the elm on his shield, with a neckline lower than most would consider proper. fortunately, you care not for decency in your bid to make ser duncan ravage you over the nearest surface.
the torches flicker in their sconces as you make your way through the fortress, shivering as a gust of howling wind tickles the hairs at the backs of your neck. you breathe a sigh of relief you’re not spending the night braving the storm under a leaky tree.
lyonel’s feast has just barely begun when you join the remaining trickle of lords and ladies into the hall, and yet the music is in full swing. you can barely see the top of dunk’s head from the crowd that has already gathered.
lyonel lounges at the head of the table, donning the antler crown as he speaks to the hedge knight. only dunk’s broad back is visible to you, shoulders wider than the backrest of his chair. he’s got his hair down, shaggy and due for a trim as the tips brush against his collar. you long to run your fingers through the silky blond strands. how long has it been since you’d done so?
egg sits across the table, smiling cheekily between dunk and lyonel, that grin only widening when he sees you approach the empty seat next to dunk from behind.
the boy also watches, then, as though time has slowed itself down to a point, when a noblewoman shoulders past you and into the seat.
egg’s smile drops. you blink the party back into focus, your jaw clenching in the way he recognises as the beginnings of a tempest fit to rival those of the stormlands. the boy feels a strike of pity for ser duncan just then — the hedge knight cluelessly responding to the noblewoman’s blatant flirting with a polite nod.
egg tries to catch dunk’s attention from across the way, widening his eyes and raising his brows, but dunk merely shoots him a glare for goofing off.
to egg’s dismay, lyonel is the one who notices, and the lord is freakishly quick to jump to his feet, loudly announcing your arrival.
“my lady,” lyonel grins, tongue poking between his teeth, “ravishing as ever.”
any other day, you’d roll your eyes playfully and move on. but dunk’s still talking to the woman, like he hadn’t heard lyonel’s gasp of your name through his unwavering attention towards this new lady. dunk has even leaned down, closer so she may speak directly into his ear amidst the chaos of the hall.
the sight makes your stomach twist, and the spark of annoyance in your chest grows to a simmering rage.
so you play along, holding your hand out. lyonel’s all too happy to press his lips to your knuckles, winking up at you as he does. lord baratheon is the one to escort you to your seat next to egg — directly across dunk.
when dunk’s eyes fall upon you, breathtaking in your pretty dress you’d picked out just for him, he bumps the table in his haste to stand. the glasses rattle, and yet you don’t pay him any mind. dunk watches you smile at egg, then back at lyonel, hardly ever glancing in his direction.
supper goes on. the woman, a lady of a minor house, is speaking to him again. her words enter one ear and leave through the other. dunk’s mind stays entirely wrapped up with the sight of you, skin glowing under the candlelight, glittering with the rise and fall of your chest, the swell of your breasts under that torturous neckline—
“ser?” the woman purs, oddly close to his face. what was her name again?
dunk’s eagle-eyed gaze never leaves you, entirely fixated on the minute movements you make, watching with rapt attention in the hopes you’ll finally look at him — a pet waiting for scraps.
when you do, hardened eyes cutting across the table to land on him, dunk feels a fist squeezing around his heart. his stomach lurches, hardly believing he’s finally gotten what he’s been waiting for all night. he’s been inside you, for gods’ sake, made you come undone more times than he can count, but a mere look from you, more a glare than anything, sends a shiver down his spine like no other.
and like a common hound, dunk perks up at the barest hint of attention. as if he hasn’t been gradually starving you of it this entire moon cycle-and-a-half.
all the while, lord baratheon feasts with a grin, delighted at ser duncan’s obliviousness to his own woman’s ire. egg sinks further into his seat when the woman pulls her seat closer, her hair, long and dark, brushing dunk’s shoulder.
your narrowed gaze flickers between him and the lady, lips pursing at her proximity and the attempt to steal his attention once more.
your displeased expression, the pungent scent of the odd woman’s perfume — it finally clicks for him, a second too late, that something is amiss when the lady rests a hand on his forearm.
“ser duncan. whenever will you ask me to dance?”
her hand strokes up the length of his arm.
dunk goes tense, the same time you stand abruptly. your chair scrapes against stone as you leave the hall without another word, leaving dunk utterly befuddled as he gapes across the table at egg.
the young prince shakes his head in disappointment, grimacing as he chews.
dunk looks to lyonel for help next.
“i wouldn’t wait to follow, if i were you,” lyonel smirks, dipping his crown knowingly.
the hedge knight barrels out of the hall, haunted by lyonel’s cackle. barely stopping himself from plowing through the crowd in his rush, he finds you halfway to your shared chambers, following the furious clicking of your footsteps on stone.
“my lady, wait.” dunk huffs, out of breath from his haste to catch up to you. you pointedly ignore him, quickening your steps around a harsh bend.
“love, i didn’t–” gods, you move fast when you’re angry. dunk tries to slow you down with a gentle hand around your wrist, but you quickly wrench your arm back as you throw the chamber doors wide open.
he follows you in, yipping at your ankles with his eagerness to apologise.
“it’s not how it looked, my lady. i swear it,” dunk pants, coming to a stop as the door swings shut behind him. he feels awful — replaying every interaction with the noblewoman and imagining himself in your shoes makes his stomach churn.
he’d just as well get on his knees, beg you to believe that the seat beside him had been intended for you, and you only, as it always has been.
“and how did it look, ser?” you whip around, skirts swishing with matching ferocity as you seethe. “it certainly looked like you were having a wonderful time. please, don’t let my presence stop you from entertaining other prospects should you wish to.”
even when you’re spitting molten lava at his face, he still thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on — even as your words stun him.
“i- what?” dunk splutters, and his ignorance only spurs you further. “prospects?”
“if you do not desire my companionship any longer, you only need to say it. it’s unlike you to be so cruel, dunk, so as to flaunt your new friend before me.”
dunk gets the horrible, sinking realisation that he’s missed something.
“no-” dunk’s voice catches on what’s almost a shout, lurching towards you. he takes you by the elbows, hands gentle but firm, as though he expects you to wriggle out of his grasp and out of his life.
“you’re wrong, m’lady,” he pleads, searching your eyes. his heart plummets when he finds tears welling in the corners of your eyes. “i do not wish for anything of the sort. i could never.”
you avert your gaze, because the earnestness in dunk’s eyes is more than enough to quell the fire in you. all that’s left is sadness, and you can’t bear to look at him like this.
“what am i supposed to think, dunk? you’ve barely touched me since we got here. we’re hardly ever in the same room, and it’s clear you’ve intended it to be that way.”
dunk hangs his head in shame, hands coming up to cup your shoulders, then your jaw.
“i’m sorry,” he whispers, stroking over your cheekbones with his thumbs. “aye, you’re right, that was my intention–”
he shushes you when your frown deepens, wiping an errant tear. “but not for the reasons you think.”
“i’ve– my body has… changed since we arrived. it isn’t the same as it was,” dunks voice is rough. “i’ve worried you won’t desire me the way i am now, as you once did.”
you could hear a pin drop in the silence that settles between your bodies. your tears are forgotten as you let dunk’s words sink in.
his body has changed — grown. you knew this already. you just can’t seem to understand how he’d see that as something to be ashamed of.
“dunk,” you breathe, shoulders sagging in unbridled relief and disbelief. your giggle is high-pitched, a little delirious when you shuffle closer. “is that truly the reason for your distance?”
dunk frowns a little at the laughter spilling from your lips, but his hands curl tighter around your face. his own cheeks heat, avoiding your gaze as his eyes drop, catching on the dip of your cleavage on his path down. he clears his throat, “aye.”
you nearly keen at the warmth of his palms around your cheeks, a feeling severely missed. you wonder just how much he’s changed, if it’s enough to have him doubting himself to such an extent of denying himself your touch.
your eyes must glaze over as you stare up at him, towering over you like always, but indeed, his shoulders seem impossible broader, his chest and waist filling out his old tunic now. how would the added bulk feel on top of you? weighing you down, pinning you to the mattress–
“i wish you wouldn’t mock me,” he speaks quietly, unaware of how you burn for him.
“i am not,” you tell him firmly, hands gripping his own now. “you ought to know by now, my love for you is not fickle, ser duncan, you silly man.”
dunk’s brows are furrowed, still stuck in his confusion as you trail your hands up the curve of his forearms, squeezing at his biceps before they settle on his chest. you can feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat, and when you look him in the eye again, you find him looking back with a desperate shade of longing.
“i think you are the most handsome knight in the seven kingdoms. these changes show the life we’ve lived together, dunk.” you push up on your tiptoes, lips pressed to his jaw, featherlight, then on his cheek. “you have no idea how beautiful you are.”
dunk shivers, and he doesn’t know what does it. his lashes flutter at the feel of your breath against his face, and he wraps a burly arm around you waist, holding you up on your tiptoes.
“my love, i-” he tries in a defeated whisper. any louder and his voice would’ve cracked. your lips brush his when you shush him gently, threading your fingers through his long hair.
dunk is happy just to breathe your air, but something draws his face down, his back bowing as he inches ever closer.
“will you let me show you?”
dunk’s permission comes in the desperate way he brings your mouth to his, kissing you with a bruising force. a part of him still thinks you’ll recoil as soon as his tunic is off, and it only drives him to kiss you harder, like it’ll be the last time he gets to.
you make a needy sound, and dunk forgets himself long enough to lift you by the backs of your thighs. he hauls you up without breaking from your kiss, and when you part to yelp your surprise and arousal, he’s dragging your lips back to his with heavy-lidded eyes. already drunk off the taste of you.
it sends a flash of lightning straight to your cunt, already slick from the ease he’d lifted you with. the need rolling off of him in thick waves is heady, erasing any traces of shame at how quickly he has you grinding your core against his torso.
“dunk,” you whine when he frees your mouth. he pants for breath, pupils blown to hell and his lips glistening with your shared spit.
“what is it, m’lady?” he nudges your forehead with his. “tell me what you want, and i’ll do it. i’ll do anything you want me to-”
a shaky exhale leaves him when your fingers swipe over the shine on his bottom lip. you kiss him once more, voice sachharine when you say, “get on the bed, ser. clothes off.”
and he’d promised, hadn’t he?
dunk shucks his tunic off, only hesitating for a beat before letting it fall to the floor. his eyes never leave yours, watching the way you draw your lip between your teeth as he kicks off his trousers.
he’s softer now, no longer hard edges and sharp lines carved into muscle. he looks so fucking good like this, so undeniably masculine and strong with the pudge clinging to his belly and his chest. his arms have lost some definition, and yet they still rival the size of your head, just as you still long to slot your neck in the crook of his elbow.
his waist has thickened too, and you really must thank lyonel for his generosity.
you follow the dusting of hair across his chest, all the way down the happy trail you long to bury your nose into–
he really is beautiful, you think, and completely dense for believing you’d think otherwise. you tell him as much, and revel in the flush that travels from his cheeks to his chest.
you approach as he lowers himself to the bed, shedding your own dress with frightening efficiency. dunk’s lips part at the sight of your body before him, and the fact that there hadn’t been a shift to conceal your form, you’d been bare beneath your gown — it hits him like a stone. he’d been sitting at supper, painfully oblivious to how you’d been waiting for him with nothing but a mere layer of fabric in the way.
dunk holds his breath when you climb atop him, straddling his lap. he allows himself your hips, caressing the smooth skin while you settle.
dunk can feel your wetness smearing over the tops of his thighs, and he’s willing to beg to do something about it. but you beat him to it, dipping down to mouth at his chest, sucking the fat of his pectorals.
dunk jolts at the entirely foreign sensation, and distantly wonders if this is how it feels for you.
a ragged groan tears through him when your fingers brush his nipple on their path to plant against his tummy, raking your nails down his waist. it should tickle, but it only serves to make his cock swell even further.
“so soft, dunk. you feel so good like this.” you murmur above his heart, peppering kisses across his chest as you shuffle lower. the knight watches in awe when you suckle at his belly, leaving a map of lovebites down his torso. he’s so hard it hurts, and he really should be appreciating the attention and praise you’re showering him with, but he worries when another pulse takes his cock, that he may actually spend from this alone.
“love, please,” dunk moans, arching towards you when your mouth diverts from where he burns for you. you kiss at the v-shaped dip af his hips, the line of chub above the thick thatch of curls above his cock. dunk’s eyes go wide with astonishment when you nuzzle at the crease of his thigh, inhaling deeply. the familiar musk of your man makes your eyes roll back into your head, and you’re certain you’re making a mess of his legs.
neither of you miss the way his cock bobs from the proximity, and yet you continue nipping at the fat of his thighs.
“gods,” dunk finally breaks with a whine, “need you, please– fuck– it hurts, love.”
he believes for a moment, that you’ve taken pity on him and his pathetic cries. you rise on your knees, shuffling up the length of his body with your thighs spread wide to bracket his hips. dunk could cry with relief when your slick pussy slides over his cock, his sticky tip parting your folds and nudging your clit on the upward pass.
he relishes in your whimper, long enough that he doesn’t notice how you keep shuffling higher. only when your warmth is gone, settling over his belly, does he notice.
“what’re you-”
“hush, ser.” your hips circle experimentally on his stomach, and you keen loudly, when the wiry hairs of his happy trail catch on your clit. dunk chokes on a groan when he realises what you’re doing.
“you’re going to be the death of me,” dunk grunts as you spread your slick all over his belly. your fingers splay over his chest, palming his nipples.
he should beg, or perhaps move you back down — he could, if he wanted to — but he finds he moreso wants to watch. to have you using his body for your own pleasure, humping and bucking helplessly at the parts he’d kept from you, it sends dunk into a trance.
your knight helps you move with one hand kneading your ass, the other at your waist, encouraging you to grind down on his stomach with every pass. “tha’s it,” he sighs, drinking you in with reverent eyes.
“mmh- could’ve had this the whole time,” you whimper, and dunk doesn’t know if you’re lamenting the loss to him or yourself. “can’t believe you were hiding this from me.”
dunk hums, lightheaded. drags one large hand down your spine soothingly as your hips pick up speed. “i know, i know. ‘m sorry.”
your arms wind around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his neck to muffle your moans.
“won’t do it again, sweet girl. promise,” he strokes over your hair. another rush of wetness leaves you at his words, making it that much easier to chase your high.
“y’close?” he asks, low and gentle. you nod with a whine into his neck, hips jerking irregularly. dunk takes over, two hands on your hips dragging you back and forth, steady, atop his belly. his cheeks flush at the sticky sounds between your bodies.
“i can hear it, love. fuck– jus’ let it happen, tha’s a good girl.” dunk rides you through your orgasm when it hits, holding your trembling body as you soak his chub with your release.
you barely manage a breath that doesn’t shake before dunk is rolling you over, and you’re finally where you’ve wanted to be all along. his frame eclipses the rest of the world, caging you in with those stocky arms.
he kisses you with fervour, pouring an apology into your mouth as he rolls his hips against yours.
“please, love,” he pants above you, sweat dotting at his hairline as the rest of it curtains your faces. “let me have you. need you so fucking badly, sweet girl- oh, gods.”
you both let out sounds that would make even lord baratheon blush when dunk finally slides home. your walls stretch for him always, sucking him in like you never want him to leave (you don’t).
“seven hells,” dunk grits his teeth, thick neck bared and strained with self-control. he lets loose a broken groan of your name when you push your heels into the bed, helping him sink further into you, until he’s buried to the hilt.
dunk meets your eyes in silent question, and the unbridled want in your expression is all he needs. he can practically hear you in his head, going yesyesyes as his hips snap into yours, driving his fat cock in and out in a rhythm that has you babbling nonsense while you cling to him.
he loses the ability to form coherent sentences when he looks down where you’re connected and sees the creamy ring at the base of his length.
his arms go out, and you realise with a belated, fucked-out kind of joy that you’re breathless because he’s resting his whole weight on you — completely entranced by your cunt and the sounds it makes, the primal slapping of skin on skin only spurring him on.
your legs start to slip, both your bodies tacky with sweat. dunk grunts in discontent, and with disgustingly attractive ease, pins your knees to your chest, pounding down into you with this new angle.
he barely manages to catch your wail with his mouth when he focuses on that one spot, and he knows he’s found it when your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure.
“du-unk,” you whine, scrambling for a hold, finding purchase on his meaty shoulders. your teary eyes blinking up at him hurls dunk within arm’s reach of his end. the air is punched out of his lungs when you sniffle and say, “i missed you.”
dunk dips down, taking your lips between his and cums with an apology on his tongue. he sputters through endless “i’m sorry”s as he fills you with his seed, flooding your pussy as you flutter and sigh around him, sated and full.
you’re both sticky, fucked-out messes, panting into each other’s open mouths through the aftershocks. dunk lifts off of you when he regains the use of his body, apologising again — sheepish — when you gulp in a lungful of air.
the man even scoots over, deliberately putting distance between your bodies. he blinks at you timidly, like he’s hoping you’ll forget just how cross you’d been earlier if he gives you space to breathe.
you level him with a pointed look and a pinch to the side as you grab a heavy arm with both hands, rolling him until he’s halfway laid across you.
you’ll have to breathe eventually, but for now, you enjoy the peace only found in the heavy embrace of your knight.
Pairing: Ser Duncan the Tall x Runaway! Female Reader
Word Count: 9.5K (trust me, its worth it)
Summary: You steal from a knight in Ashford on one starry night. You think you are surely dead, but then one small lie spares your life. You are sure he wants you just as much as you want him. Yet, he holds himself back. Love comes for all, so why do lovers seldom get a happy ending?
Content: Slow burn, Angst, Yearning, Theft, Hunger, Alcohol Consumption, Medieval Sexism, Mentions of Blood and Death, Non-Explicit violence, Explicit Language, Spanking, Brat-taming (slight), Fingering, Tit-sucking, Sex (P in V), Orgasms, Virginity loss, Creampie, Aftercare (attempted, he doesn't know what he's doing), Mention of Reader being tall enough to pick apples. Please let me know if I missed anything.
Author's note: I told you I could not hold back anymore! I am writing this five hours before I need to wake up. I poured my whole soul into this. Integrate dialogue from the show to make this feel authentic as well. Enjoy <3
You knew that life on the road would be difficult when you climbed into a caravan cart heading to Ashford in the dead of night. You just didn’t think you’d find a knight’s blade at your throat.
The journey was hard, but nothing could have prepared you for the hunger you had to endure. You thought the smallfolk would have been too enamoured with the tourney to notice their salt beef missing, but that was increasingly proving to be difficult. By the time you saw the faint light emitting from a campfire deep in the meadows, you were desperate.
You pulled the hood of your cloak tightly over your head and crossed the distance with shaky steps. The scene was simple with two plain brown tents dug into a barren patch of land. Under the warm firelight, they glowed gold, and the sight made you tired. You couldn’t remember the last time away from the starry sky.
You shook your head, recalling the purpose of your intrusion. You had to scavenge fast before the folks sleeping there returned. You smelled the meat before you saw it. It sat untouched on a large leaf right next to the trunk of a thick oak tree. You dove at it and swallowed without tasting.
You were three bites in when you felt the steel of a sword press against the side of your neck. “Stop stealing, man,” a voice called out.
You kept chewing. You at least deserved to be killed with a full belly. When you had scarfed out the last piece, you gingerly stood up with your hands raised. You turned around to meet the owner of the blade and pushed your hood back. “I’m not a man, sir,” you said.
In front of you stood a tall, broad man with the brightest blue eyes you had ever seen. With the way he was dressed, he appeared not be faring much better than you. Yet, his sheer size left you in awe. You had never seen a man so big.
“Sir?” a voice called out.
You whipped your head to the tent from which a small, bald child emerged. “I heard a noise,” he said, rubbing his eyes.
The man didn’t tear his gaze away from you to look at the boy, and did not move the steel away from your skin either. “I did not mean to steal from you, sir,” you explained, gulping. “I was just so hungry.”
His eyes bore in your own, and in that moment, you recognized that he knew hunger as well. He sighed and lowered his blade. “Why did you come here?” he asked.
You licked your lips, uneasy. “I have nowhere else to go,” you answered, truthfully, “but I shall leave here at once if you choose to spare my life.”
His eyes widened at your words. “Oh, no, no,” he sputtered, holding his free hand out. “You do not have to worry about that. I was simply taken by surprise.”
He let his sword drop to the ground, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. In your time on the road, you had learned that the beast you should be careful of the most was man. “Thank you for your mercy,” you said, bowing. “Please excuse me, kind sir.”
You had taken a few steps away from them when he called out. “It is not safe for you to be out here alone, miss.”
“I will be all right,” you replied, hurrying ahead.
A small hand grabbed you at the elbow. You glanced down to see the boy holding your cloak. “Cousin?” he asked.
A look of confusion passed over your face. The boy’s eyes narrowed, and he mouthed the words: follow along.
You blinked quickly. “Oh,” you stuttered. “I didn’t recognize you in the dark. What are you, um, doing here, cousin?”
“I am a squire for my Ser, Duncan the Tall,” he answered. “He will be competing at the tourney this year.”
“Is this your kin, Egg?” the knight inquired, walking to you.
“Oh, yes,” the boy answered, quickly. “This is my cousin who ran away from home a fortnight ago to be a tailor in Kingslanding. She has a real passion for mending clothes, Ser.”
Your eye twitched as you struggled to keep your expression neutral. You had never sewn a day in your life. “Yes,” you deadpanned. “I yearn to sew.”
“And?” the boy urged, elbowing you.
“And . . . ,” you faltered, “preparing salt beef.”
“You have a passion for making salt beef?” Duncan asked, tilting his head to the side.
“Aye,” you said in a small voice.
“I do love salt beef,” the tall man whispered.
The boy held on to you tighter. “So can she stay, Ser?”
“It is not appropriate for a lady to be alone with us, Egg,” the knight scratched his head.
“But she is my sister.”
“Sister,” you echoed, nodding.
He sighed, dropping his head down. “I-I don’t know.”
You were reaching the end of your wits, and the heat emitting from the campfire felt too good to depart from. “Just for tonight,” you pleaded, interlocking your fingers together. “I promise to be gone by the morning, Ser.”
His blue eyes looked up, and you could almost see the cogs turning in his brain. When he spoke next, he said. “One night.”
That night, you dreamt of Ser Duncan the Tall.
You were in a dimly lit room at a small inn, and he sat on the bed with his legs ajar. He patted the thin mattress between his thick thighs, and you found your feet carrying you to him.
You stopped in the space between his limbs and looked down to see your face reflected in his clear eyes. You noticed your dishevelled hair and the swelling on your lips. You looked like a woman who had been kissed thoroughly. His large hand grazed up your skirt, leaving heat in its wake. He stopped right under the curve of your ass to grip you tight. “You’re not supposed to like this, dove.”
You jolted awake when the sky was still dark, covered in sweat. You turned over to see your newly found cousin sleeping soundly next to you like a prince. You wondered why Egg had chosen to help you.
Maybe he saw that you were in need, or maybe he just wanted a friend. Whatever the reason was, you were thankful nonetheless. You peeled the blanket you were sharing off yourself and made your way out of the tent.
You heard Duncan snore as you walked past his tent and deeper into the meadows to look for breakfast. You found berries and apples in the trees, which you picked carefully and placed into the pockets of your cloak.
When you returned to the campsite, Duncan was awake. “Good morning, sir,” you greeted.
He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and grunted. The way his hair stuck out in places made you smile. Then the memory of last night’s dream returned and brought with it the heat to your cheeks. You cleared your throat. “Apple?”
You tried not to focus on the size of his hands as they took the fruit from your small hands. He took a big bite out of the apple. “You picked these yourself?”
You nodded. “I am tall enough to reach into the trees,” you shrugged. “Some might say too tall.”
“You’re not too tall,” he spoke as he chewed. “You’re just right for—”
He paused mid-sentence, and his face turned the colour of the apple he was eating. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “We are, um, going to the market. Would you like to join?”
“Of course, Ser.”
You discovered that Egg loved the market.
He skipped ahead while you and Duncan followed behind quietly. You did not know what to say to the knight. You just hoped that he wouldn’t ask for you to leave just yet. Duncan broke the silence first. “What are you called, miss?”
You offered him your name as you struggled to match his pace. You did not understand why men had to walk so fast. “So,” he started, scratching his head, “you left home to be a tailor?”
The truth was that you had to leave your home because the summer sickness had claimed all your kin, but you did not wish to hear words of sympathy anymore. People never knew what to say when they learned you were an orphan. “I left because I had no coin, no home, and no way to earn,” you said instead. “I just wish I had planned it out better.”
You both stopped at a shop where Egg was trying to haggle down the price of three goose eggs and a loaf of bread. “I am very thankful for last night,” you continued. “You have done me a great kindness, Ser.”
“The Maiden charges me to protect all women,” he replied. “I simply fulfilled the duty of a knight of the realm.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “Right.”
Egg brought Duncan two goose eggs that he carried carefully.
The three of you walked through the market with the sun beginning to set behind the horizon, watching Egg stop at every vendor on the way. “What made you come to Ashford, Ser?”
“For the same reasons as you,” he shared. “My Lord, Ser Arlan of Pennytree, just passed, and I needed to devout myself to a cause. So I decided to enlist in the tourney. By the end of the joust, I hope to have impressed a Lord enough to be taken into his service.”
“That is very honourable,” you remarked. “But what if you get hurt in the joust, Ser?”
He froze, like the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. “I suppose that would be bad.”
A voice yelled. “Half-man! Half-man!”
You turned around to see a man running in your direction. Duncan let out a sigh. “Do I look like a Half-man to you, Raymun?”
“Aye,” he grinned. “Half man and half giant.”
You bit back a laugh as the man apologized.
“Will you and your cousin ride in the tourney?” Egg inquired, biting into the loaf in his hands.
“He will,” Raymun frowned. “I would if I could, but I am only a squire like you.”
A mist settled over Duncan’s eyes. You wondered what he was thinking about. “You fight well for a squire,” he noted.
The man’s smile grew wider. “And you have the look of a challenger,” he said. “You will do great things, Ser.”
Your eyes trailed over the knight’s body. You found yourself in agreement, but the thought of him getting hurt in the joust made your stomach uneasy. It was a strange thing to feel since you decided, after all, you barely know the man.
“Are you and your lady friend hungry?” the man inquired, eyeing you.
Your stomach rumbled right on cue. “Always,” you replied.
Raymun grinned. “Tell your squire to go put the food away and follow me.”
You didn’t have the heart to turn Egg away, so while Duncan stayed behind with Raymun, you decided to walk with him back to the campsite. That journey would prove to be a long one since the boy seemed not have had his fill of the market for the day. It was like he had never been allowed to roam freely before.
You waited for him at a fruit stall as he tasted every type of grape before settling on one. A man stepped close to you, and you evaded his touch masterfully. Chalking it up as an accident, you called out, “Are you nearly done?”
“Almost!”
You huffed and tapped your foot impatiently on the grass. “Is that boy your son?” the man asked.
You sized him up from the corner of your eyes. “Cousin,” you corrected.
“You have a husband, miss?” the man asked.
A shiver ran up your spine. You moved forward to get to Egg, but the man grabbed your wrist harshly. “What the rush?” he demanded. “I just asked you a question.”
You yanked your hand out of his grip, stumbling back. “Do not touch me.”
The man smirked. “I barely did.”
You opened your mouth to call him a bastard, but paused when a shadow loomed over you. You looked up to see a scowling night towering behind you. “I believe the woman asked you to leave her be,” Duncan spoke, nostrils flared.
The man squinted up at him. “How big are you, ya’ giant cunt?”
“Big enough to take you on,” he glowered, curtly. “Would you like to test yer’ fate?”
The man watched him for a moment and then spat on the ground before walking away. You turned to face Duncan when the bastard was out of sight. He stood in front of you straight with tension. “Thank you.”
He nodded, absentmindedly, still staring ahead at the direction the man had taken. “I should not have left you alone.”
“It may not look like it,” you smiled, “but these hands can do more than just sew. Believe me.”
“I do not doubt that,” Duncan’s shoulders dropped.
“I do,” Egg interjected, closing the distance to you with a bunch of grapes in hand. “I think you should take her to the pavilion immediately, Ser.”
“No,” you insisted, shaking your head. “I am capable of walking you back.”
“Go, cousin,” Egg stated. “I will be fine.”
The irony of a child being able to walk safely after dark over a grown woman was not lost on you. You exhaled, hoping to calm the budding irritation in your chest. “Very well then.”
You knew you were in the presence of the highborn the moment you stepped inside the pavilion.
You took a seat next to Duncan at a table, watching the people crowd every inch of space in the massive tent. They laughed and sang, and some had even brought out their swords for a friendly duel. You had never seen such a sight before; smallfolk never had the luxury to slow down enough to enjoy life. “I have never seen so much food in one place before,” you said.
“Me neither,” Duncan shared. “I grew up in Fleabottom and then on the road with Ser Arlan. I have seen people fight to the death for food, you know?”
You nodded. You had seen people die for less.
Raymun poured some wine into your cup from over your shoulder. “Lyonel Baratheon,” he said, gesturing at the man wearing a stag crown at the front. “The Laughing Storm they call him.”
You took a bitter sip from your cup. “I thought he would be bigger.”
He laughed and walked away. You watched the Lord’s mouth move to speak, but could not hear him over the noise. He slapped his hands on his thigh and tried again, “I HAVE HAD A PROFOUND THOUGHT!”
The drums cut off immediately.
“Four thousand years ago,” he began, “our ancestors gathered in that big field outside to blood each other with sticks and to have a little bit of fun. And they say it was this land’s first ever joust. Well, I say . . . uh, what the fuck was I going to say?”
Duncan’s hand reached to pour some more wine, and the sound of the liquid trickle echoed through the pavilion. You elbowed him and whispered, “Stop that.”
He gave you a sheepish look and set the jar down.
“Ah,” Lyonel remembered, “Men could not have devised such a joy. So, who was it?”
Duncan reached for his cup and began gulping loudly. You ran a hand over your face to hide from the looks people gave you two. His size already made you two stick out like a sore thumb, and his actions were not helping either.
“Who was it?” the Lord repeated, curling his hands up. “Hm?”
No one answered. “Ah, fuck it,” he decided. “A hundred gold coins to the man, beast, or god who sticks me best!”
He threw a heavy purse of coins on the table closest to him, and the crowd broke out in cheer. You swallowed a few more sips and spoke to Duncan with a grin. “You are two of those already, Ser.”
He rolled his eyes, but his lips were stretched wide. You liked it when he smiled; it made his teeth poke out. You wanted to run your tongue over them.
“Now eat your birds so we can dance!” Lyonel cried out, and the drums picked back up again.
Duncan reached for a large turkey leg and tore a chunk off the meat. You eyed the table in front of you, unsure where to begin. You wanted to eat everything at once, but also nothing at all. Duncan saw you sit there, clutching the cup with eyes scanning the food. He held out the meat on the stick to your face. You held his gaze as your teeth made a small bite next to his. The turkey was cold, but it was the best thing you had ever tasted. “Good girl,” he remarked.
You felt his words deep in your belly. He stood up suddenly and took your hand. He pulled you to the dessert table and picked up two pastries. “We shall eat till our belly is full,” he said, smiling down at you.
You nodded and took another bite out of his hands. You finally understood why the highborn hired folks to hand-feed them grapes. It felt good. Or maybe it was the fact that it was Duncan’s hand feeding you that you were enjoying. You tried not to dwell on it too much. This was your last night with the hedge knight and his squire, and you didn’t want to spend it reminiscing.
Something over your head caught Duncan’s attention. You whipped around to see one of Baratheon’s men gesturing him over. He stopped chewing and crossed the space to meet them at the table, and you followed dutifully behind.
As soon as you reached, Lyonel asked, “Have you been punched in the face before?”
Duncan’s jaw fell open. “I beg your pardon?”
“Big men get punched more than little men,” he explained. “Did you know that?”
“No,” Duncan let out an awkward laugh, “but I believe it.”
“Is that why you slouch? So you don’t get punched?”
He blinked with furrowed brows. “I don’t know, Ser. Where I grew up, you do it to go unnoticed.”
You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. It had been the same for you growing up.
Lyonel pulled out his blade, and your heart dropped to your stomach. “The Seven above gave you tallness,” he stated. “So be tall. Or I will name you a heretic and burn you. Or drown you. Or whatever it is they do these days to heretics.”
You had become a professional at begging for mercy over the past few days and quickly intervened. “We meant no disrespect, my Lord. We were just here for . . . supper.”
Lynoel broke into a laugh. “All right. Yeah, well, that actually makes sense. What is your name, man?”
“D-Dunk,” he stuttered. “Ser Duncan the Tall. And this is m-my squire’s cousin.”
You promptly curtsied.
“That’s ridiculous on both counts,” he remarked, leaning forward. “So, do you both like dancing?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” you asked, confused.
The wine was hitting your head in waves.
You and Duncan shared a look as you danced in the circle at the centre of the pavilion. You both knew you had to put on a show for Lyonel, lest he grow bored and decide that an execution would be fitting entertainment for the occasion instead.
You couldn’t help but giggle. You had never seen a man so large appear to be so uncomfortable. You decided to help him out and interlocked your arm around his large bicep to spin around. You grew more dizzy with each round, and your laughing grew louder.
Lyonel was hooting as he danced around the space, throwing his arms up. You let go of Duncan, and he bumped straight into the man. The knight watched with wide-eyes as the Lord stepped closer to him. Before he could react, Lyonel stomped on his foot.
Duncan jerked and let out a groan. When he tried again, Duncan moved out of the way. They danced like that for a moment as you moved into position behind the Lord. You remembered the coin he had promised. Duncan was an honourable man, but you were not above cheating.
A full coin purse would keep his belly full once you were gone, and perhaps he would think back at you fondly. The thought made you sad, and then Lynoel walked close enough for you to shove him forward, and you forgot all about it. As he stumbled, Duncan took the opportunity to bring his own big foot down on the man’s booted one. He let out a shout, and the people cheered.
All colour drained from Duncan’s face as the Lord stood in front of him, trembling. His breath grew heavier as he waited for his reaction. The crowd’s clapping matched the beat of your racing heart. Then the Baratheon craned his head up and let out a hearty laugh.
Relief flooded your senses.
Duncan’s lips stretched into a grin, and he pushed the man away to dance. His large hand found your waist immediately, and he guided you in a circle around the people. He spun you in his arms, and you crashed into his chest with a laugh. The hands trapped between your chests felt the solid planes of his torso.
His eyes shone brightly under the candlelight. His blown pupils had almost drowned out the blue of his irises. He licked his lips, and his breath fanned your face gently when he spoke, “Stay for one more night.”
Sunlight slipped through a gap in the tent folds, waking you.
You groaned and tried to move, but something heavy held you down. You blinked rapidly, adjusting to the brightness and saw you were in Duncan’s tent. His heavy arm was draped over your waist, and he slept soundly beside you.
You had no memory of how you ended up here, but you did not mind. Your clothes were still on, so you guessed you must not have missed out on much last night. You gently removed his arm from you with both hands and slipped out of the tent quietly.
You made your way to a stream nearby to quench your thirst. You bent down at the bank and cupped water in your palms to drink. Once you had fill, you became aware of the layer of sweat and dirt on your body.
You stood up and scanned the area for watching eyes. When you didn’t find any, you quickly stripped out of your clothes and slipped into the river.
You thought about the events that transpired over the last few days. A week ago, you were fighting rats for scraps of food, and last night you had danced with a knight and a lord. You wondered what would tomorrow hold. Would you stay with Duncan and Egg for one more night? Maybe even until the end of the tourney? Maybe Duncan would win a joust, and you could stay even longer to nurse him back? Or maybe you could leave tonight and make your way to Kingslanding as you had originally set out do before you met that tall distraction.
You don’t know how long you stayed in the water, but once you felt clean, you brought your head to the surface.
You changed back into your clothes, and they clung to you like a second skin. You leisurely made your way back, enjoying the way the sun felt on your face.
Duncan was pacing back and forth at the campsite.
When he saw you approach, he paused. “Where have you been?” he asked with a tight jaw.
“Bathing,” you replied, running a finger through your wet hair.
His lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t wander off without telling me.”
You shifted uncomfortably in your place. You didn’t do anything wrong, but the disapproval in his voice didn’t sit well with you. “Why?”
He turned around and reached into his knapsack. “What are you doing, Ser?”
“Sowing a patch,” he answered curtly.
“Is that not my job?”
He sat down on the grass, ignoring your words. He licked a threat straight in his mouth and passed it through the eye of a needle.
“Ser,” you tried again, “are you upset with me?”
He passed the needle through the fabric in silence.
“Do you wish me to leave?”
He sighed and let his head drop. When he didn’t say anything more, you understood. You knew it was about time anyway. Three days without fearing for your safety or where your next meal came from was more than what most got. All good things must eventually come to an end.
“Okay,” you said.
You moved towards Egg’s tent to retrieve your stuff. “Never mind that,” he called out.
You stopped and turned to look at him. He put the fabric aside and pushed himself off the ground. He walked to you and spoke without looking at you. “I would like for you to stay, miss.”
Warmth spread through your belly. “I want to stay too.”
He shuffled closer until your chest almost grazed yours. He gulped at the sight of your nipples poking through the wet dress. “But as you are a maiden,” he murmured, “so it is not appropriate for you to travel with me alone.”
“I don’t care,” you whispered. “You make me feel safe, and I think life with you would be better than one alone on the road. Besides, I truly do enjoy spending my time with you.”
He craned his head down to let his forehead touch yours. “I-I as well.”
“I can be of help to you,” you insisted, gnawing at your lips. “Just tell me what I can do.”
He shut his eyes tightly with furrowed brows. When he opened that a moment later, he croaked, “Maybe . . . maybe you can stay on as Egg’s chaperone? He’s young and needs a firm hand, and then you’ll be in my charge too.”
The idea of a squire with a chaperone made no sense, yet a small smile played on your lips. “Aye.”
“We can never be seen in the market together again,” he continued, “or else people will talk. I will not have them question your virtue.”
You wanted to tell him that you never cared much for what other people thought, but you decided on a simple, “Yes, Ser.”
“Dunk,” he said. “Please call me Dunk.”
Just as you had promised, you stayed ten paces behind them.
Every now and then, Duncan would pause and look back to see if you were following. You always were. It was not difficult; your feet seemed to carry you wherever he went. When he and Egg paused to grab a drink at an ale garden, you found a table nearby. You took small sips of your cider and watched a tug-of-war game play out in front of you.
You saw a familiar man saunter to Dunk and Egg. “Yes, Hedge Knight! You!”
Lyonel pulled the cup out of Duncan’s hand and threw it on the ground. “What is this?” he demanded. “Piss froth? Get up, I need your muscle.”
Duncan shot you a confused look. Lyonel grabbed the back of his thick neck and brought his face to him. “Will you heed my call to war?”
Before the knight could respond, the Lord exclaimed, “Aha! Good. Get up!”
Your jaw dropped in awe as Egg tied a thick rope around Duncan’s torso and took his place at the front. You edged closer to get a better view. The game and Lyonel yelled, “Fucking pull!”
You watched as the men yelled and struggled at either side. Suddenly, the Lord let go of the rope and stated, “I’m thirsty.”
You saw Duncan’s jaw clench as he struggled to dig his feet into the wet mud, and Egg was lifted clear off the ground. What an arse, you thought. You sprang forward to take his place and began pulling at the rope with all your might. Lyonel demanded that everyone haul but made no attempts to join.
You heard Duncan let out a loud groan behind you and heave back the rope. Slowly, your party moved more of the rope to your side and, with a final tug, dragged the other squad down in the mud.
You let the rope slip from your hands and flung your hands up to cheer. Duncan wrapped an arm around you just as Egg rushed towards you. He hoisted you in one arm and Egg in the other and threw you in the air. Lyonel screamed in amusement as you were flung up and down in the air. You were laughing so hard that you thought you’d knock the air out of your lungs.
You met his eyes and held his face in your hand. One second, your lips were pressed against his cheek and the second, you were dropped flat into the mud.
If Duncan he felt sorry for dropping you, he did not voice it.
He did buy some more food and a new set of clothing for you on the way to an inn with the coin you two won last night. “You should fall into mud every day, cousin,” Egg remarked, skipping next to you. “We will get to sleep in a warm room every night then.”
You were fuming with anger. You could not understand the change in Duncan’s behaviour. You thought that you had shared a moment with him back at the moment, yet now Duncan wouldn’t meet your eyes.
You huffed and reached into the basket of food you were carrying for the meat wrapped in paper. You plucked it out and chucked it in a pigpen as you passed by.
No stupid salt beef, you thought, for the stupid hedge knight.
When you checked into the inn, the innkeeper demanded how many rooms your party needed. “Two,” he replied. “One for me and one for my sister and her son.”
You shot him a look that questioned if he had lost his mind. Sister. Sister?
The innkeeper’s eyes bounced from your face to his, noticing the lack of familial resemblance. She rolled her eyes and fetched two keys from under the desk. You snatched the key from her hand and left without looking back.
It took you an hour to scrub the mud off your body.
You had just changed into the fresh set of clothes when your room door was pried open. Duncan stormed inside with heavy footsteps. “What do you want, Dunk?”
“It’s Ser to you.”
Your nostrils flared. “I forgot my place, Ser. What can I do for you?”
“The beef has gone missing,” he glowered.
“Oh, has it?” you mocked. “I wonder if it grew legs and walked away.”
He exhaled sharply, and a tremor ran through his torso. “I know it was you.”
“And I would do it again,” you sneered. “A thousand times over.”
He paced around the room, pinching his temples. “Do you have any idea how much coin it costs to buy meat?”
“Oh, I’m sure you still have much more left from that purse we won!”
“I would have had a lot more if I did not have to spend it on new clothes,” he raised his voice to match yours.
“There would not have been any need for new clothes if you had not thrown me in the mud!” “I was taken by surprise!” Duncan cried out, throwing his hands up. “You must have taken leave of your senses to k-kiss me like that in front of everyone.”
You clenched your jaw, forcing the air in and out through your nostrils. “You are a petulant child,” he stated. “Your little cousin has more sense than you.”
“And you are a coward,” you retorted. “Your horses are more brave.”
He licked his lips and smiled ruefully. “Raymun’s cousin thinks I ought to spank you for this.”
“Huh,” you scoffed. “You would not dare.”
Duncan ran a hand over his face and watched you for a long moment. You could almost see his brain behind his eyes working to come to a decision. Without saying another word, he made his way to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress with his legs ajar.
You had seen this scene before. Maybe in a dream.
He tapped the space between his legs, demanding you to come to him. “Absolutely not,” you spat.
“I will not force you,” he said, biting the inside of his cheek. “You will come willingly.”
“Duncan,” you scowled, “not in a million years—”
“You agreed to be in my charge,” he reminded, “and now this is the punishment I am dealing for your misbehaviour.”
You knew then that you had made a mistake, for he was not the kind to resort to violence. It was one of the things you liked the most about him. Even with all the strength in the world, he chose kindness every time. Yet your pride would not let you apologize.
You ran a hand through your hair. “I am not sorry.”
He nodded sharply. “You will be.”
You swallowed and slowly crossed the room to him. You still did not believe he would truly do it. This was a mere display of strength. When you came with range, he yanked you down. You landed right over his knees with an oof.
You held your breath for what felt like an eternity, and then just as you exhaled, his hand came down to your ass over your skirt.
You jolted at the contact as the sound of the slap echoed through the room. Your astonishment overpowered any pain his strike would have caused, and you wondered if it had happened at all.
Then he brought down his hand again, and your cunt clenched around nothing between your thighs. Your hands shot up to grab the faded sheet on the mattress to brace yourself. He was doing it, he was truly doing it.
His voice sounded hoarse when he spoke. “Food costs money, yes?
Spank. “Aye!”
You forced in a shaky breath. “It is bad to taste completely edible food, yes?”
Spank. “Aye!”
You bit down on your tongue hard to keep quiet. “Even when one is angry, yes?”
Spank. “Aye!”
A moan escaped your throat. “You are sorry for what you have done, yes?”
Spank. “Aye!”
You covered your mouth with your free hand. “You will never do it again, yes?”
Spank. “Aye!”
The next time he touched you, it was soft. His large hand ran gently over the buttocks. “D-does it hurt?”
“No,” you croaked.
Duncan had made you feel the complete opposite of pain. “Let me see,” he said, grabbing the hem of your skirt.
You shook your head, still hiding your face in your arm, holding the fabric down.
“Please,” he insisted. “I need to check how badly I have hurt you.”
Feeling utterly spent, you let your hand drop. He pushed your skirt up all the way and exposed your bare ass to the cold air. You were not wearing any underwear for he had forgotten to purchase any.
You felt a shaking hand graze your ass cheek. “Y-you are,” he stuttered, “wet.”
You wished the ground would open and swallow you whole. You made an attempt to pull the fabric down, but his other hand grabbed your wrist. “Let me see,” he whispered.
You let your hand fall back at your side. His fingertips moved to gently massage the globes of your ass. You put down on your lip as the movement exposed your cunt to the cold air. “Ser,” you called out.
He hushed you, swiping a finger over your wetness. “We are past that,” he stated, rubbing your juices over his digits.
“Dunk,” you called again, and shifted.
The move made him slip dangerously close to the opening of your cunt. He breathed out your name. “You were not supposed to be enjoying this,” he said. “This was meant to be a punishment.”
You wanted to tell him that it was for your desires had been laid out in the open.
He pulled his hand away from you and turned you to face him. His pupils were blown wild. “I pushed you away earlier because I did not want it to jeopardize your virtue,” he scoffed, “and now look at me. I’m doing the very same thing. I should have just let you kiss me thoroughly.”
You did not care about your virtue if he was the one compromising it.
Tears brimmed in your eyes. You reached your hand up to cup his face.
“I like it when you touch me,” you tell him earnestly. “I only ever want you to touch me.”
He closed his eyes and groaned. “D-Don’t say things like that.”
Your lips stretched into a smile. His eyes fluttered open and met yours. Without tearing them away, he trailed his fingertips up the length of your legs and dipped between them.
You took in a sharp breath when his finger breached your tight hole. It was way thicker than anything else you had experienced before. “I have never done this before,” he admitted. “Any of it. I want to make you feel good now. Tell me what to do to make it better.”
“Play with me,” you gasped. “You'll see what feels good on my face.”
His eyebrows furrowed at your words. He licked his lips and drove his finger further. You arched on his lap in response. “Like that?”
It was your turn to stutter. “J-Just like that.”
He brought his digit out and drove it back in a few more times experimentally. You searched for something to hold on and your hands found his shoulder. “Fuck!” you cursed, withering. “Faster!”
He curled his free arm around your torso and crushed you into his chest. His pace quickened, and your head tipped back to let out a loud moan. He curled his finger inside your wet cunt, and your toes went numb. Your grip around him tightened. “That’s the spot! Right there!”
He pressed his mouth in the crook of your neck and hit the same spot again and again and again. Just one of his fingers was enough to make you see stars.
You walked hand in hand with Duncan later that night under the starry sky.
He had a stupid smile on his face that reflected your own. A fortnight ago, you were shivering in the back of a caravan heading to Ashford; today, you were being kept warm by a man who generated heat. You had never felt something like this before. Life was good, and you guessed that if every day was like today, then you could live happily for a very long time.
“Ser Duncan! Ser Dunacn!” you heard Egg scream as he rushed to him. “He’s hurting them!”
Duncan let go of your hand and took off before you could ask Egg what he meant. You tried to keep up with them, but the knight was just too fast.
By the time you entered the puppeteer's tent, four knights belonging to the Kingsguard had already wrestled him to the ground. Above him stood the pale, bloodied Targaryen prince you had seen before at the tourney. You recalled him to be cruel and dishonourable.
Egg pushed past you and skidded to a stop. “Don’t hurt him!”
“You stupid boy!” Duncan cried out, thrashing in the guard’s grip. “Hold your tongue, or they’ll hurt you.”
“No, they won’t,” he replied, swiftly. “If they do, they will have to answer to my father. Let go of him. Do as I say. Now!”
They followed his command immediately. The prince frowned at the squire. “You impudent little rat,” he frowned. “What has happened to your hair?”
“I cut it off, brother. I didn’t want to look like you.”
Time seemed to slow down. Duncan stared at Egg with his jaw slack.
The ruse was up. For both of you. You called out his name as the guards pulled him to his feet and dragged him out of the tent. When your eyes met, all you saw was the pain of your betrayal glistening in his.
You waited with Raymun in the marketplace until a guard came to fetch you.
Your body was numb, but your heart hurt anyway. I was going to tell him, you say to yourself, I promise I was going to tell him! You had made a mistake. You had thought you had all the time in the world.
The guard’s horse trotted to a spot, and you barely heard the man’s voice when he spoke. “Prince Aegon wants a word with you.”
Raymun helped hoist you on the horse. “Come to the Fossoway pavilion once you are done. I will wait for you”
The horse took off into the night. You held on tightly to the guard’s shoulder, and if he heard you cry, he did not care to comment on it. You arrived at the Ashford Manor within minutes. Egg— Prince Aegon awaited you inside. Your legs shook as you lowered yourself in a curtsy. “My prince,” you greeted, too afraid to meet his eye.
“No, cousin,” he shook his head. “There is no need to do that. Come with me. Ser Duncan is being kept in the dungeons.”
You followed behind Aegon as he lit the dark hallways with a flaming torch. In the light, you could see his fair hair sprouting. How could you not have noticed? Were you really such an idiot?
Duncan sat on the floor in the dark with his head hanging between his legs. “I have brought her for you, Ser,” Aegon announced. “Perhaps you will speak now.”
He fit the torch into the holder on the brick wall and left you two alone.
The pouring rain outside drowned the sounds of your rapid breaths. “I must beg your forgiveness for deceiving you, Ser,” your voice cracked, inching closer.
“Are you a Princess of the Seven Kingdoms?” he demanded, stopping you in your tracks.
“No,” you answered, truthfully. “I am simply a runaway. I did not mean to lie to you about it.”
He craned his head up to look at you, and the redness in his eyes made your legs almost give out. “But you did,” he stated, coldly. “About everything. Did you even give me your real name?”
“Yes,” you nodded earnestly.
You dropped down to your knees in front of him. “Why did you do it?” he asked, turning his face away from you. “Was it some jape? Make a fool of the stupid hedge knight?”
“No,” you whispered, trying to meet his gaze. “I thought the campsite had been abandoned, and I only meant to take some scraps of food and leave. I never thought I would run into you.”
“Then why did he lie for you?”
“B-Because he is a good boy,” you said, tears pouring down your face. “He was just looking out for me. Just like you do.”
Duncan scoffed. “I-I,” you stuttered, “I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong.”
“Of course you did,” he spat, finally looking at you. “That’s why you lied.”
You doubled over, crying into your hands. You wanted him to understand that it was not a crime to want to live, but you could not find the words. Your problems seemed so small in front of what he was going through. Raymun had told you that Aerion Targeryan had accused him of treason, and tomorrow morning, Duncan would most likely be killed for it. What pained you the most was that you could not defend him. You could not keep him safe. Now the last memory of you in his mind will be soured by your lie.
“Dry your eyes,” you heard him say.
“I just wanted to be a part of someone’s family,” you sobbed. “I never meant to hurt you. I am sorry, Ser. I truly am,”
You felt his hand caress your hair. “It’s just a bit of bad luck we found each other at this time, huh? In another life, we could have been a real family.”
Aegon entered the dungeon cell. “My uncle wants to see you, Ser.”
You stayed kneeling on the ground long until after Duncan had stood up and left. “What will they do to him, Egg?”
The boy sighed, and for the first time, you noticed the toll everything had taken on him. He may be a prince, but he was a child first. “I don’t know, miss.”
You wiped your tears with the back of your hand and stood up. “If they let him out tonight, send him to Fossoway Pavilion,” you sniffled. “You come with, and we shall at once leave this damned place together.”
You were on your third cup of ale when Duncan entered the pavilion, soaking wet.
You sprang to your feet and rushed at him. When you hugged him tightly, he did not push you away. He simply crushed you closer into his chest. You inhaled his scent, letting it flood your senses. Duncan the Tall was alive and in your arms.
After a long moment, Raymun cleared his throat, and you two let go. “What is happening with you, Ser?”
“I am to have a Trial of Seven,” the knight answered, letting you lead him to a bench.
“That’s fucking mad!” Raymun exclaimed.
“Why?” you demanded, urgently. “What’s wrong with it?”
“That means battleaxes,” he explained, “morningstars, and lances of war, miss.”
Your heart dropped to your stomach. “You are scaring her,” Duncan chided, reaching for your cup.
Raymun’s cousin, Steffon, who had been a pain to be around, spoke. “This is knightly combat, boy. She should be afraid.”
Duncan reached for your hand under the table as he continued. “I saw what Aerion did to that girl and her troupe. It was a rotten thing to do. All knights vow to protect the innocent, and you did exactly that. I am for you, Duncan.”
“Thank you, Ser.”
Steffon inquired, “Who else fights with us?”
“I know no one else,” Duncan answered, shaking his head.
He was an orphan, just like you. There was no kin for him to turn to, just like you. “I would fight for you,” you tell him. “I will fight for you.”
“Women can not be knights,” Steffon remarked, utterly confused. “And they do not fight in tourneys.”
“I know that you assh—”
Duncan squeezed your hand tight. “You are an honourable man, so naturally tragedy must follow you,” Raymun said, breaking the tension. “I am sure we can find five four men who wish singers to make them immortal.”
“I have some friends,” Steffon agreed, standing up. “I shall wake them at once.”
“Will they heed your call,” Duncan inquired, “and put their lives on the line for a man they do not know?”
“All men must die sometime,” he reminded him. “Tomorrow is a good day as any.”
Duncan would not let you out of his sight.
You did not want to leave it either. Knowing that tomorrow the Stranger may come for him made your heart weep. You wanted to spend every waking second with him. You wanted him to consume you whole so that when he departed, he would take all of you with him.
When you both made your way back to the inn and the room door was firmly shut, you melted into each other. You had spun around to reach him, and he was already in your arms.
His mouth crashed down on you in the dark. You gasped, mouth parting just enough for his tongue to slip inside. You licked his teeth just like you always wanted to as he backed you into a cold brick wall nearby. Your hands slid up his torso to hold his face. His large hands grabbed a handful of your ass through your skirt, and you bit down hard on his lip.
Duncan jerked back with a groan. He looked at you, confused. “You will not die tomorrow,” you told him, sternly. “Do you hear me?”
His face softened. “Aye.”
He bent down to kiss your neck, and you craned your head back on your tiptoes. You finally understood when people said that with the right person, experiences like this are addictive. You never wished to be apart from his mouth. His hand stopped palming your ass to tug the front of your blouse down. He kissed the tops of your breasts, making you beg, “Take it off, please.”
Duncan tore away from you and took a few steps back. He wiped his wet mouth with the back of his hand.
“Do not take this moment to fret about my virtue,” you said, sternly. “Do you not see how I ache for you?”
His head dropped low. “I may die tomorrow.”
You opened your mouth to object, but he hushed you. “What am I even leaving for you behind?”
“Do not speak to me as if I am your widow,” you spat, stalking up to him. “There will never be anyone else for me. You are it. Do you understand, Duncan? You are not doing anyone a favour by not fucking me right this moment.”
Blood rushed to his face. You shoved him down on the mattress, and the bed creaked under his weight. You pulled your skirt off first and then your blouse over your head before climbing onto his lap. He gulped, hands frozen mid-air. You let out an impatient grunt. “You stupid hedge knight.”
You grabbed fistfuls of his hair and kissed him hard. He resolve melted when your tongue danced with his. One moment you were in control, and the next you were under him. His mouth trailed wet kisses down your throat and to your pebbled nipples. He sucked one harshly into his mouth, eliciting a loud moan.
His hand found the other one to roll between the pads of his fingers. You reached blindly for the hem of his shirt. He parted from your flesh only when the fabric had forced its way up. He did not protest when you tugged his trousers down to free his hard cock.
The way it slapped against made you shudder. He pushed you into the mattress and balanced his weight on one hand. His eyes shone brightly in the dark.
“I have never done this before,” he confessed, blinking, “with anyone.”
“Good,” you smiled. “You never will either.”
He bent forward to rub his forehead against yours. “There will never be anyone else for me, too.”
He pressed a chaste kiss against your lips and pulled back with furrowed eyebrows. “I am too big,” he said. “I am afraid that it will hurt for you, and I do not know how to make it not so.”
Your smile grew wider. “It will not because it is you.”
“I’ll go slow,” Duncan promised, reaching for his leaking cock. “You will tell me if I displease you, miss?”
You pushed yourself up on your elbows to watch and nodded. Your breath quickened as his leaky head pressed firmly against your opening. The intrusion burned, but you welcomed it for it was a salve for the fire spreading through your bones. He searched your face closely for any signs of discomfort. When he didn’t find any, he pushed all the way in. You collapsed back onto the thin mattress as he slowly stretched you open on his cock.
He was filling you to the brim soon. It was a perfect fit, almost like he was always meant to be in there. He did not move, but you felt the mattress dip around your head. His head popped into your line of blurry vision. “Hello?”
“Hey,” you responded, meekly.
“How does it feel?” he asked, licking his lips nervously.
Duncan had stretched you so wide that almost impossible to clench around him. “You were right,” you breathed, hands limp at your side. “You are huge. F-Feels like you’re still in my throat, Dunk.”
His cheeks redden at your words. “If you say things like that,” he bit his lower lip, “I won’t last long.”
You laughed weakly. “I don’t want you to,” you told him, exhaling. “I want you to fuck me into the mattress and then cum inside.”
He groaned in defeat and dropped his head on your sternum. You jerked the movement shifted his cook, feeding it even further into you. “Shit!”
He experimentally moved again, and your arms flew to hold onto his wide shoulders. Your nails dug crescents into his skin as he tentatively began to rock into you. Your soft groans echoed through the room in sync with his rolls.
You moved your legs to hang over his ass, and he snapped his hips forward, impaling you in the mattress. You cried out his name, and his lips found a spot to suck on your throat. “I have desired this for so long,” he gasped in your hair. “I cannot believe I’m finally inside you.”
Your eyes clenched shut as the tears began pouring. Hearing him want you as much as you wanted him made your heart sing.
“Every night when you slept away from me,” he continued, voice muffled, “every time we walked next to each other in the market, all I could think about was dragging you deep into the meadows. Did you know that? Did you know that I was dying to be inside you?”
He lifted his head up to see you sobbing. “Dunk!”
“When the lights fade from my vision for the final time tomorrow,” he grunted, thrusting into you, “I will think back to this moment. I will think of you.”
Your soul hurt hearing him speak like that. Duncan’s hands reached for the back of your knee and folded you like a straw at the hips. The sounds of your skin slapping together grew louder as he found a rhythm that, although thought to be impossible, did make you clench around him.
He adjusted himself, finding the spongy deep inside you. “Right there,” he groaned. “Gonna’ get you right there, dove.”
You groaned, legs wringing. “You look so beautiful like this,” he told you. “If I had known, I would have done this sooner. I could watch you forever. I will leave you my horses.”
Your back arced at a painful angle, but you pushed through the ache. Duncan had started to ramble; it was hurling you into the light quickly. “Yer squeezing me so tight,” he said to himself. “I could live inside you.”
You took hold of the light strands at the base of his neck. “Don’t stop! Do not stop!”
His lips stretched into a grin. If someone had told you on your first night at Ashford that you would have found yourself a knight buried deep in your cunt on the fortnight, you would have laughed in their face. If they had told you that you would fall in love with a stupid hedge knight, you would have laughed even harder. But there Duncan was, inching you closer to bliss by the second.
You did not notice when his thumb had slipped between you both to rub your clit. “Dunk,” you wheezed as he began to rut. “I’m—”
Your vision went white. Your cunt pulsed around him as waves of pleasure erupted from the base of your spine and out to your extremities. You cried out, shaking underneath him, as your vision blurred. The pinnacle wiped your head clean.
Duncan did not stop, cock still working into you. Your pussy grew sensitive as his rhythm grew sloppier. Grunts began pouring from his mouth as his arms tightened around you to thrust quickly and shallow. Your stomach tightened at the sight of him losing himself inside you. You wished to engrave the image of his heavy-lidded eyes and slack jaw into your mind forever. The knight was about to come undone.
Duncan let out a groan, heavy balls tightening against your ass, and flooded your cunt with warmth. He rocked into gently, riding out his orgasm. You felt impossible full as his cum leaked out of your cunt and dripped down the crevice between your ass cheeks.
He did not pull out. He cupped the back of your head and kissed you, messily. You melted into his mouth, limbs still tingling.
You kissed blissfully for a long time until he manoeuvred you around so that you lay on top of him.
His hands smoothed down your spine, and his lips pressed on top of your shoulders. “W-Was it just as good for you too?” he asked, breathless.
Your cunt still pulsed around him as aftershocks of your pleasure worked their way through you. You nodded against his chest, rubbing your cheek against the soft hair on his chest.
He hooked a finger under your chin to lift your face up to him. “I love you.”
Tears brimmed in your eyes once again. “I love you too.”
He brushed his lip against yours and closed his eyes. You both stayed like that, joined together at the hip, until sleep took over. When you stirred up hours later, daylight was just breaking over the horizon through your window.
Duncan lay blissfully asleep and alive under you. You would keep him that way forever. Even if it cost the dragon house to burn itself.
Okay so it finished me instead. But I’m almost there. I’m writing the last bit which is smut as usual 👀 and the hardest part for me. BUT ITS HAPPENING!!