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Jay | 22 | MDNI

[strawbrrycowboy]

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˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Jay. twenty-two. any pronouns.

˗ˏˋ cowboy enthusiast in college ˎˊ˗

requests are closed! ✉️

✶ - audhd, stoner, horror luver, best friends to lovers & enemies to lovers connoisseur .ᐟ

recent works:

- Duncan and Aerion

- Wicked Game

- Ser Duncan Headcanons

- Remmick and His Missy

✩ links; rules | masterlist | who i write for

MDNI ; MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED

[strawbrrycowboy]

Wicked Game (3)

You let out a long groan as you set your phone down on the wooden table, rubbing your temples in frustration. Argyle glanced up at your annoyance, following the movement of your phone with a tilt of his head. “Something happen?”

You sighed. “It’s Steve. He’s being fucking weird today.” Steve’s fickle moods with you were hard to keep up with. It was no secret in the group that you and Steve didn’t get along well. Argyle took a slow sip of his coffee, considering your words. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know, just…off?” You waved a dismissive hand. Steve’s behavior had been the least of your worries recently with finishing exams and preparing for the holidays. You longed for the break between semesters, craving some peace and quiet. Argyle shrugged his shoulders, his attention creeping back to the condensation pooling around his cup of coffee.

“I dunno that much about him, but is it ‘cause Eddie said something about us today?” You huffed out a surprised laugh. “What Eddie said? Don’t tell me you think that Steve would be upset over that. He was joking, Eddie always says stupid shit like that.” The idea of Steve being jealous of your friendship with Argyle was too ridiculous. Steve barely tolerated you as is.

“Steve always gets upset at his jokes.” Probably because he was so uptight half the time, you suspected. Silence passed for a moment, the chatter of customers filling the air. “Well…you know. Cause he likes you.” Argyle sounded as if he was stating the obvious, which was far from what he was doing.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you laughed once more. “Shit, Argyle, what did you smoke today?” Feeling Argyle’s forehead, you exhaled in fake relief. “You aren’t sick,” you commented. Argyle chuckled and smacked your hand away. “I’m being for real.” Knowing the conversation would go nowhere after listening to the stretch of silence, Argyle shrugged again.

“Like I said, I don’t know.” You nodded at him, too busy eyeing your cup with narrowed eyes. After a moment, you stretched and stood up decisively. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” You hopped up, ready to move on from this conversation and the coffee shop.

[strawbrrycowboy]

Aerion is so awkward with his betrothed…

When you enter a room he stands ceremoniously, but can’t decide what to do after that. He gestures out to a seat or coughs under his breath. A good husband would greet their wife with a kiss, yet he can’t seem to move his arms out.

“Sit,” he hardly asks. Every time he speaks, Aerion feels as if he is shouting through the room. Each movement taken is watched under his deliberate eye. How were you supposed to function when you could not get out from under his thumb. Even when sitting across the dining table you felt the weight of his power.

It’s terrifying, being that shameful in a position with your husband. Had you not done anything right? Little did you know he was inspecting you to learn.

It wasn’t often then you were called to supper with him. Aerion often tended to other things around the time of social communal eating. They were all a waste of time, until of course, you came along. You spoke with purpose. You didn’t waste his time.

So, yes, his eyes cut to you a little too quickly when you shift, but it’s because he cares.

[strawbrrycowboy]

How Duncan looks at you across the crowded tent when you’ve just finished putting on a show. He loves watching you show off your talents—I mean—swallowing a sword? Who’s heard of that!?

You’ve accidentally revealed too much when your eyes slowly lock with your husbands as your throat hugs the blade.

How Duncan looks at you when a random man approaches you when you’re out in town with him. Does the man not see his hulking figure shadowing you? There was no way.

There was also no way Duncan would let somebody address you that disrespectfully. No man would open his mouth that vulgarly and still have two functioning hands.

Besides, you deal with the mess on Duncan’s knuckles afterwards.

How Duncan looks at you across the way when he hears something he isn’t supposed to. A good knight shouldn’t spread crucial information to just any common folk, but you weren’t just anyone. Who was Duncan if he wasn’t loyal to you?

How Duncan looks at you when you start to break down in front of him. You had seemed fine with the aimless traveling; Duncan hadn’t even considered that you may want a life that had more to it than this.

He was a right dunce is what he was.

Tomorrow he will look for good work. Duncan would right his wrongs and take care of everything hard, but for now he needs to hold you.

How Duncan looks at you when you have your first serious fight. This wasn’t like before when you had started crying or when he would nervously get too worked up. This was actual anger.

It wasn’t his fault that he hadn’t picked up on the flirting, but it didn’t help his case that he had sat there and taken it. Then holding her elbow as he stood up? Right. He hadn’t meant it.

What he does mean is the way he kisses you and then the way he takes you—to prove that you’re all he wants.

How Duncan looks at you for the first time.

[strawbrrycowboy]

Ser Duncan and Aerion being head over heels for you...

Oh they fight nasty. With Lyonel in Ser Duncan's ear and Aerion listening to voices that don't exist, you're doomed.

Ser Duncan takes the non-crude things Lyonel advises him to do and always finds a way to mess them up. He chases after you to carry your stuff, but nearly gives you a heart attack when he thunders after you. That or he gets to you too late. Aerion has already swooped in to your side, giving you a once over.

Funny how dragons had a type too.

Aerion was slicker than Dunk, but nowhere near as kind. He wouldn't offer to brush your dress off or tuck your hair behind your ear. No, Aerion was like he always was—sharp wit with a killer outlook. Literally. Any man crossing you would answer to the tip of his sword. And sure, Ser Duncan would fight for you, but he doesn't order a man to death for accidentally stepping on your shoe.

Dunk would have brushed the man off. It's all...a lot. The fighting, the whining, the begging (mainly from Lyonel for some reason). Maybe you should make a pros and cons list. Funnily enough, the best option would reveal itself to be having both of them.

[strawbrrycowboy]

Peter Parker x Johnny Storm

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.3k

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Johnny hangs out with Peter for a night, but he can never keep his hands to himself. 

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: unprotected sex, not a lot of foreplay, brief drinking, ftm!Peter, Johnny’s head bursts into flames, it’s been a while since I wrote this and I’m too embarrassed to reread it (I hope it holds up)

As Johnny lounged on the bed, Peter emerged from the kitchen with two cold beers. Peter wasn’t much for drinking them, since he considered them liquid piss, but he’d suffer through drinking one if it meant Johnny would be happy. It was a rare night where they got a break from running around the city to save lives.

Neither of them disliked the job, but your body grew tired after a while of doing it. They needed a break.

Peter handed one of the open bottles to Johnny before taking a long swig of his own. “You’ve been a little tense lately,” Johnny remarked, noticing how Peter’s shoulders were practically up by his ears. “Still not used to the whole hero gig?” You’d think after years in the game you’d get a system going, but it wasn’t always the case.

This wasn’t just any kind of work. Peter snorted. “Something like that,” he muttered, sinking down onto the bed beside his friend. Johnny tried to control himself around Peter, but it was hard with how flustered Peter made him. Johnny’s powers were starting to kick into high gear, and Peter could feel the heat radiating off the other man’s body like a furnace.

Johnny noticed Peter squirming and smirked to cover up his embarrassment. “Too hot for you?” he teased, scooting a little closer to the other man. It was his usual antics of being too friendly for it to be platonic. Peter rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. He was used to Johnny’s constant presence by now. “It’s fine,” Peter said, taking another gulp of his beer. “Just don’t start anything you can’t finish, hot stuff.” He grinned at his own playful jab when Johnny chuckled in response. “Oh, I never do,” Johnny purred, his voice turning into a distinctly flirtatious tone. 

He reached out and plucked the beer bottle from Peter’s hand, setting both bottles down on the bedside table.

Almost immediately there was a new tension in the air, a mutual desire that neither could deny. It started with playful teasing, a brush of hands, a lingering gaze. But it always escalated into something more. This time it was Peter making the first move.

Peter leant in and captured Johnny’s lips in a searing kiss. Johnny responded eagerly, his hands gripping Peter’s hair as he deepened the kiss. They fell back onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and heated skin when they laid down together. Peter’s hands roamed over Johnny’s body, feeling the scorching heat radiating from beneath his clothes.

Johnny’s breathing grew heavier, unable to control the temperature of the room with the heat radiating off of him. He quickly shed his own clothes, wanting to feel Peter’s skin against his own without any barriers. Peter did the same, his body already beginning to thrum from the intensity of his arousal. They came together again, a clash of sweat slicked skin and pounding hearts. Johnny almost felt bad for how quickly he became heated, but Peter never seemed to mind the heat. He never got burned. 

Peter’s spider senses were on high alert, his body tingling with a different kind of anticipation. He could feel Johnny’s heartbeat, hear the rush of blood through his veins, smell the musky scent of his sweat. The brunette’s enhanced sense made him entirely surrounded by Johnny. “You know, I’ve always admired your powers,” Peter said in between kisses. The tips of his fingers dug into the lines of Johnny’s muscles. 

“The way you can create and control such intense heat…it’s amazing.” Johnny smirked at the compliment, his blue eyes glinting in the low light. “And I’ve always admired your agility and strength, Parker,” he retorted. “Not to mention your other assets.” He punctuated the last word with a squeeze to Peter’s ass, making him gasp.

Peter’s breath hitched in his throat as Johnny’s hand crept lower, slipping beneath the waistband of his remaining boxers. In tandem, Johnny’s free hand slid up Peter’s arm, the rough pad of his thumb pressing just under his spinnerets. Peter’s sensitive skin tingled at the intimate touch, and he could feel his web-shooters starting to activate. Any more pressure and he’d be shooting webs at an embarrassing rate.

“That feels really good, Johnny,” Peter panted, his body arching into the hero’s touch. “But be careful, they can be a little...sensitive.” Johnny didn’t seem turned off by the idea. He only grinned wickedly. “I like sensitive,” he muttered, hand sealing around Peter’s wrist.

He returned to tug at Peter’s waistband again, knuckles grazing plush skin. Thumbs hooking low, lower, until he had a firm grip on the material. Peter barely got out a breath before Johnny was giving a surprising tug. There was enough time for Peter to raise his hips off of the bed, muscle memory pushing Peter forward through the interaction. A quiet huff left his lips, sass dripping from the invisible syllables. 

Johnny’s movements held the confidence that made Peter’s thighs jerk closed and his mouth fall open in surprise.

There was no hesitation.

No insecurity.

This wasn’t some hookup who knew nothing about Peter. This was Johnny who would infodump about his “conquests” in the dating scene. He was a playboy–experienced–but not an asshole about it. Never once had Johnny gone out of his way to hurt someone and he would be damned if he ever once did that to Peter. This wasn’t to lead him on.

This was a confession.

This was Johnny.

Johnny, who touched him like he’d somehow memorized every nerve ending without once touching Peter before. His hands knew the path better than Peter. It was slow at first–dragged out. His middle finger brushing against Peter’s sensitive t-dick, dragging up then down in precise circles. The bundle of nerves twitched in response to Johnny pulling the hood up to rub at Peter’s small cock. Johnny’s lethal care to his body caused Peter’s hips to jump eagerly, his moans catching low in his throat.

The other man mouthed along Peter’s throat with a deliberate drag of his lips, murmuring filth just below his ear. “Peter,” he groaned. Johnny’s voice was stubbornly stable despite touching Peter. “Can I? I wanna to fuck you, please let me.” For a man about pride he didn’t seem to mind begging. If Peter asked he would find himself on his knees for him.

Heat licked up Peter’s spine, a new feeling that somehow didn’t come from Johnny, but rather the way he moved. “Yes–yeah, Johnny. Come on, baby.” Peter masked his nerves by putting on a tough front. The brunette’s vocal chords trembled with the strain of keeping his body still. It was too early to be squirming and moaning for more–not when Johnny was pulling his hand away from his cunt.

Why would anybody be able to make him feel like this besides his best friend? Peter was no slut, but he had gone out looking for ways to get off. Most nights ended in regret that knotted itself in his gut when he was never able to get off. Everyone was either too rough or too gentle, nothing that was exactly what Peter wanted. And then never even bothered to ask!

Johnny, however, was so flawlessly skilled. Maybe this should have been his career, but Peter revoked the thought as soon as it was in his mind. He didn’t want to share Johnny with a stranger. 

Who did Johnny learn this from? One part of his brain was filled with jealousy at who taught him this. The other half of his mind was split to not care as long as he could keep going. He should send them a bouquet or a thank you gift for training his best friend so well. So many nights were wasted with men that asked if he had come. He had–come close to leaving their shitty apartments.

But Johnny didn’t stop to ask a stupid question like that. He knew how to please someone.

Johnny spread Peter’s thighs over his lap with his elbows, getting a nice grip on his cock. “I’m gonna take good care of you. Deep breath in, c’mon.” He pushes his tip in, biting on his lower lip. If he hadn’t been waiting ages to do this, he would have worked Peter up. Neither of them currently had the patience.

He paused to let Peter adjust to the stretch of his tip, only an inch in–if that. Peter was tight. Johnny knew Peter knew his limits, momentarily handing the reins over to him. “Johnny, shit,” Peter breathed out, squeezing his eyes shut until stars sparkled behind the lids.

“Fuck babe..” Johnny whispers, when Peter squirms on the bed.

Peter pushes his hips back, giving him some more leeway. Without the excessive pressure he was able to take in another deep breath that he could hoard in his lungs. With a nod, he pushes forward, slightly surprised to feel how easily Johnny’s cock slides in this time. Peter’s warm arousal had coated Johnny’s entire length providing them with a natural lube.

Johnny wasted no time joking about how wet Peter was . 

Already that empty feeling was starting to disappear, but it wasn’t enough. Peter needed Johnny to fuck him now. “I need you,” he moans in a voice that’s closer to a plea than any actual speech. The previously uncomfortable pressure led into pleasure that sparked at his warm walls, coaxing Johnny deeper into him.

Another nod to encourage Johnny. He wasn’t trying to slam against Peter’s cervix, taking care to wait until they were both fully relaxed. “I know, babe. I know.” everything screamed that Johnny wouldn’t treat Peter like any other hookup. His lips pressed at the contours of Peter’s collarbones when he pulled almost all the way out. Johnny’s hips drew down then thrust upwards, beginning to set the pace. How many times had he daydreamed about this exact situation? Too many times to count.

It wasn’t long before Peter’s hips were rolling and bouncing on Johnny’s lap, his cunt clenching as he rode him. Johnny groaned shamelessly, his hands pawing at Peter’s waist–clamping down with a bruising force for some stability. He thrust up to meet Peter, eyes dead set on watching Peter’s face. 

The room had long grown hot and stuffy, Johnny’s powers flaring up as he got closer to the edge. “Fuck, Peter. You so good around my cock,” Johnny panted, his eyes dark with lust as he watched Peter bounce on top of him. Between them, Peter’s cock dragged across Johnny’s happy trail. The soft hair stimulated Peter with each drag of Johnny’s dick.

Peter just smirked in response and leaned down to kiss him hard, his tongue pushing into Johnny’s mouth to explore it. Inspired by the other man, Johnny made out with him, hands pulling Peter’s hands off his shoulders. This time Johnny followed through, pushing down on the middle of Peter's wrists. The man whined in a high pitch, his spinnerets shooting out thin strands of webbing as he moved. The webbing clung to Johnny’s sweaty skin, gluing their chests together as they fucked. 

Johnny’s body put in the work to build up the speed, slick sounds rising between them. His strokes were quick and mean and fulfilling. He added a deeper pressure on Peter’s wrists to hear him choke on another groan. His hips kicked forward useless to the rhythm, chasing it and grinding into the friction like he was afraid it might vanish along with Johnny.

“Oh shit, Johnny. Johnny–don‘t stop, just like that,” Peter rambled on, the words spilling out of him too quick to stop. They swirled in his throat, sticking together like his body couldn’t keep up with his thoughts. His whole frame jumped, a desperate mess of muscle and need. He couldn’t control his movements anymore.

Peter’s lungs frantically pulled in gasps, his body unraveling in Johnny’s strong grasp. When had Johnny laid back on the pillows? When had his hands slid up Peter’s body to trace the scars on his chest? It seemed as if Peter’s clarity all came rushing back before his climax. “Ineedyou,myboy,” Johnny choked out, the words barely making any sense. His red cheeks gave away how long he had been out of breath for.

And then suddenly, Johnny let out a loud moan, his body tensing up as he came inside of Peter. Hot and heavy, spilling deep into Peter’s cunt and making the next thrust wet and obscene. Peter’s whole body jerked, chest rising fast. Moans tumbled from his swollen lips as he came alongside Johnny, clawing at the blonde’s broad shoulders.

Peter had a moment of coming down before he caught the dazed look in Johnny’s eyes. Shit, that was never good. 

The blonde’s hair burst into flames, the fire licking at the unsuspecting pillow underneath his head. Peter gasped and quickly yanked Johnny up by the shoulders, pulling him off of the pillow before it caught on fire. “Shit, careful Johnny!” Peter exclaimed, patting at his hair to put out the flames. Johnny just laughed breathlessly, his eyes glazed over with post-orgasmic bliss.

“Sorry about that, babe. Guess I got a little too into it there,” Johnny said with a grin, running his fingers through his extinguished hair. There was no obvious remorse in his voice. He didn’t regret a single second from tonight.

Peter just shook his head and laughed, wrapping his arms around Johnny's neck. “Yeah, yeah. What a nice apology,” he sasses Johnny, too comfortable to get off of Johnny. As a soft silence settled between them, Johnny leaned in. His breath fanned over Peter’s lips…and then he kissed him. One of his hands cupped Peter’s jaw, his fingers curling around the curve of it like an anchor. 

This kiss was different from the earlier heated ones. Johnny was actually kissing Peter, tongue sweeping slowly like he was studying the taste of Peter. It was seduction, it was dedicated to pouring out his emotions for Peter.

It was about love.

[cosmictheo]

𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄 | valarr targaryen

| gif credits: @valarrs-targaryen |

— summary: at prince valarr’s name day feast, ser duncan makes the fatal mistake of assuming his terrifyingly composed wife must be another of maekar’s daughters. — pairing: valarr targaryen x wife!reader — word count: ~2.2k — content: sunshine x grumpy, domestic fluff, humor, valarr is so in love with his scary wife, himbo!dunk, protective!valarr, romance, pda.

⋆ . ۰˚ ౨ৎ ── series masterlist with different characters’ versions: here!

Dragonstone has always smelled of sea salt, smoke, and something eerily ancient. Ser Duncan hardly ever enjoys the company of a few members of the royal family, and there, at their ancestral home, he finds himself stranger than ever.

That's why Egg had spent most of the day guiding him around the surroundings rather than the interior of the castle itself, showing him the cave nest where the dragons had once lived, the cliffs from which they used to launch into flight, and the soggy coastline. Dunk would ask him again and again to go over the names and traits of everyone present, since he didn't want to confuse or offend anyone.

Inside the castle, the flames of the torches glow brightly that evening, flashing off the glossy black walls of the Great Hall as the heavy Targaryen banners dangle over the tables of the feast.

It is Prince Valarr's name day, successor to the heir, and although he would never have demanded it, the celebration has been arranged with the formality that his name would require.

You had arranged everything, naturally, from the decorations to the color scheme to food choices. You had spent an entire week organizing this, as it was the least you could do for your beloved husband.

You are seated at his right at the head of the high table. Dressed in midnight black, embroidered with silver thread reminiscent of dragon scales. Hair pulled back modestly, back held straight. Expression... stern.

Most people are chatting animatedly at the table, but not you.

You just observe, as if that were your absolute favorite way to spend your time, and just let others talk. You move your sharp eyes back and forth across the faces of those present, studying their features and gestures, listening attentively to their stories or funny anecdotes, occasionally nodding your head to confirm that you are indeed listening to the conversation.

Duncan has picked up on that. You rarely say more than is strictly necessary, and he has only seen you smile a couple of times since he first got to see you.

You are undeniably one of the most breathtakingly beautiful women he has ever seen, as well. Your face is gorgeous, your eyes—though they can be intimidating—are bewitching, you are a charmer in your own quiet, nonchalant way, and that mysterious aura that you carry around like a shadow is something he finds strangely appealing, to say the least.

Valarr, on the other hand, seems to cope with the attention with polite patience. He smiles when appropriate, appreciates every toast, and laughs sheepishly at every memory shared about his childhood. But every few minutes, his hand would reach for yours under the table for reassurance.

And you always respond when he gives you a little appreciative squeeze, aware that you must be having a particularly difficult time dealing with all the extra attention and loud noises.

“You're squeezing too hard, Val,” you warn him without looking at him.

“It is my name day, my heart,” he replies softly, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I'm allowed a little indulgence, aren't I?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a broad smile grow on his pretty lips when he senses you squeezing his hand back, and placing them together on your lap, caressing his fingers affectionately.

At the far end of the hall, the doors burst open.

“Valarr!” calls out Egg as the opened gates reveal him, striding toward the table with enthusiastic steps, overjoyed.

Behind him comes Ser Duncan the Tall, strolling along with clumsy steps, bowing his head respectfully in salutation to everyone present, as several of them have turned to look at the boisterous entrance.

Valarr sighs, looking at you with a warm smile. “My cousin never arrives unaccompanied by a spectacle.”

Egg stands before you two with a bright smile, his face and clothes dirtied from the journey through Dragonstone's grounds. At that, Prince Maekar looks at him with a frown of disapproval. “Happy name day, cousin! I brought you a gift.”

Duncan shifts awkwardly beside his squire, shaking his head as Valarr looks up at him, amused and curious. “I'm—I'm not the gift, m–my Prince. H–happy name day”

One of your eyebrows barely arches at the terrible way he presents himself.

“Iugh,” you huff, not amused by his silly joke.

Valarr glances at you for a moment, with a look that is both reproachful and playful, clearly amused to see you in pain, and then he turns back to the knight, bowing his head in appreciation. “Thank you, Ser. It's good to have you here.”

And as Egg rummages through the contents of his small shoulder bag and Valarr shares a humorous glance with you, Duncan seizes the moment to take a better look at you.

You. He doesn't even remember ever asking Egg about you. There are so many Targaryens that he could barely name three.

You must be a Targaryen, judging by the way you carry yourself.

You’re seated next to the prince, leaning back in your seat with an air of weariness, your gaze flicking over the faces of those who are starting to turn toward you with curiosity, and you’re clearly displeased by the attention.

Duncan is overcome by a familiar sense of dread when your terrifying eyes finally fall upon him. They are cold and menacing, making him feel as if he could be squashed to pieces by them if they could.

Oh, no. He thinks, swallowing hard. Maekar's spawn. Another one.

He truly should say nothing at all, especially when you're staring at him like that.

That has always proven the safer choice in rooms filled with dragonlords. Dunk should have learned that by now, he should know better.

And yet, he clears his throat.

“My apologies, Princess,” he begins, voice respectful but just a touch too loud for the quiet pocket of space around the high table. “I—I don't believe we've been formally introduced before. I'm Ser Duncan. I did not realize Prince Maekar had another daughter.”

Silence. Devastating silence.

His words echo around the walls and the musicians fall out of tune, reducing the music to an uncomfortable, eerie silence.

Daeron, somewhere, seems to be drowning in his own wine. And at his side, Prince Maekar closes his eyes briefly, as though praying for patience.

“What the fuck, hedge knight?” his angry voice cuts through the silence, one hand patting his eldest son on the back to help him breath again.

Egg stands motionless, his hand still in his bag, staring up at Dunk as if the knight had grown a second head, a particularly stupid one.

Valarr slowly turns his head toward you, seemingly intrigued to see your reaction to such offense.

You are frighteningly calm. Your eyes, which Dunk already found unnerving, narrow into two slits of seething indignation, looking much more offended than annoyed.

Your husband brings your entwined hands to his own lap, pulling you closer to him to reassure you. This causes Duncan to frown.

The prince chokes out a stifled laugh, doing his best to save the poor knight's life.

“Ser Duncan,” Valarr says, his voice buzzing with amusement, “I’m afraid you’re terribly mistaken.”

But Duncan isn't even listening to him, he's too focused on not letting a single muscle twitch as he stands there under your scrutinizing gaze.

“Maekar's...?” your voice is low, drawling, and fraught with the kind of venom that makes Dunk take a step back, nearly bumping into Egg. “Daughter?”

Duncan feels the ground slipping, finally noticing how quiet the room has gotten, and how everyone seems to be holding their breath, waiting for your reaction.

He must have done something wrong.

“I only meant—” he stammers, “I didn't mean to offend your father or your family—you carry yourself very much like—well—”

Your head tilts slightly, urging him to continue speaking.

“—like someone who belongs to Prince Maekar’s line,” Duncan finishes weakly, knowing now that he has said something wrong. Very wrong.

Your head remains tilted and your face is finally beginning to show emotion—discomfort. “W–what?”

Egg looks seconds away from either fainting or laughing.

Valarr squeezes your hands in his lap, thumb brushing across your knuckles in a slow, grounding stroke.

“She is not my uncle’s daughter,” he says then smoothly, rescuing the knight at last. His smile vacillates between amusement and pride, “she is my wife, Ser.”

Duncan's jaw drops.

Understanding dawns slowly upon him.

“Oh,” he breathes.

“Yes,” Egg whispers helpfully by his side.

Duncan clears his throat again, this time more cautiously. “Then… my congratulations, Your Grace. You are a fortunate man.”

“I am,” the prince agrees.

“I chose this family, Ser Duncan,” you say very cautiously. “It did not produce me.”

The knight bows his head in remorse and shame and apology, babbling out words of forgiveness incessantly.

“My deepest apologies, my lady—truly—I meant no insult—only that you possess a... a presence.”

“A presence,” you repeat flatly, definitely irritated by all his nonsense. Your eyes squint contempt, not even understanding what the man was really alluding to.

“Yes. A strong one. A royal one.” Duncan persists in trying to make amends, yet only seems to be getting worse. “Well—and you're so beautiful—just like a r–real princess, so I only assumed—”

He shuts his jaw shut when he notices Valarr's brow gradually furrowing at his choice of words.

“Careful now, Ser Duncan,” the prince says pleasantly, the warmth in his eyes dimming by a fraction.

Then, he lifts your entwined fingers, brushing his thumb along your knuckles in a steady, calming rhythm only you seem to notice.

“You must forgive Ser Duncan, my love,” Valarr says to you. “I don't think he's meant to offend you in the slightest. He has been on the cliffs all day. The sea wind muddles the mind.”

A few cautious chuckles ripple through the hall.

Egg nods vigorously. “It does! It really does.”

“You may rise, Ser,” you say at last, almost bored, gesturing dismissively with your hand. “And get out of my sight before I decide to have you thrown off the cliffs—if only to determine whether your head might function better upon the rocks below. You're disturbing my husband's day.”

He realizes only then that he has half-knelt without meaning to and scrambles to his feet so fast he nearly knocks over a goblet.

“Yes, my lady. Thank you, my lady. I will—ah—not test the rocks,” he mutters, retreating one careful step at a time.

Somewhere down the table, a snort of laughter escapes Prince Daeron before he smothers it in his sleeve.

“Mhm,” you hum, still staring at him, unamused.

Egg, traitor that he is, beams, finally placing the small gift he had brought for his favorite cousin down in front of him on the table.

As the noise swells once more, Valarr leans closer to you.

“My wife,” he says charmingly, voice pitched only for you, “you cannot threaten to execute my guests on my name day.”

“You are indulging,” you remind him, teasingly. Only for him. “So am I.”

That does it.

A quiet, helpless laugh escapes him—bright and warm and so very unlike the tense hush that had fallen moments before.

“You were magnificent,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek, which immediately softens your face into a warmer, more sheepish expression.

Your lips curl into a small pout as you turn to look at him, still visibly upset. “I was insulted.”

He bites his lower lip, unable to resist the urge to lean closer to you so he can kiss your little pout away. “You were magnificent while insulted.”

Your fingers loosen slightly in his grasp, and your lips twitch.

It is subtle, barely even there. But it is a smile.

“You find this amusing.”

“I find you terrifying,” he corrects, teasingly. “It is one of my greatest comforts.”

“You are impossible,” you mutter.

“And yet,” he smirks, his hand casually wrapping around your waist to bring you closer to him, “I'm your husband.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “That fact does not grant you immunity.”

“Oh? No?” he hums, far too pleased with himself. “I was under the impression I possessed certain privileges.”

“Delusion is not a privilege.”

He laughs softly at that—warm, bright, entirely unbothered by the hall still watching in poorly concealed fascination.

“You look overwhelmed, lover,” you remark after a moment, quieter now.

“I am,” he admits.

Your thumb brushes lightly against the inside of his wrist, the smallest gesture of comfort.

“Five more toasts,” you say. “Then I will invent an excuse and steal you away from all these people.”

He exhales a laugh, softer this time, and presses his forehead briefly against your temple in a gesture so intimate it nearly goes unnoticed by the rest of the hall.

Nearly.

From below, Duncan dares one more glance upward and feels deeply horrified.

Because the woman who just threatened to dash him against the rocks is now looking at Prince Valarr as though he hung the very moon above Dragonstone.

Your sharp edges soften in his closeness, the line of your shoulders relaxes, your thumb traces idle circles on his blushing cheek.

Egg nudges him with his elbow.

“Told you,” the boy whispers smugly.

Duncan shakes his head in disbelief. “She doesn’t glare at him.”

When Valarr says something low and teasing in your ear, you lean in—just slightly—and answer with a whisper that makes his ears turn pink.

Yeah, you're definitely scarier than Maekar.

[strawbrrycowboy]

amazing

[strawbrrycowboy]

Edi be Thu, Heven-Queene

Ser Duncan x Fem!Reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.2k

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Modern!Duncan calls you about Lyonel, but you can’t focus on anything but his late night voice.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: phone sex (briefly), modern!akotsk, perverted!reader, getting off to Dunk using a sword

He would have known if he saw you in person. Dunk would have been able to feel the way you squirmed. He would have been able to pinpoint when his voice had settled warm and gooey in your gut, making it feel like you were on fire. Yet, he wasn’t here. Duncan was across the seas from you, too far to know what his voice was doing to you.

You were only on the phone with him—easily pretending you weren't horny by hemming and hawwing at whatever he was going on about now. You had originally called him to complain about a less than pleasant exchange you had at the mall, which was put on hold so he could complain about a guy he knew. Men troubles. Something about his friend getting too drunk and making him dance in a club. It sounded fun and you weren’t jealous of the possible girls over there. Definitely not.

See, Dunk had always been attractive enough to catch anyone’s attention, including yours, but he was always off limits. There were multiple mutual friends you didn’t want to lose if anything were to happen—not that you wanted it to. If you had it your way, you and Dunk would be friends forever. And more.

What he didn’t know didn’t hurt him though, right? 

That’s when you abruptly made a bullshit excuse to hang up. You were a shitty friend. You could have at least listened a little bit more before giving into your traitorous body. Could you really be at fault though when Dunk’s voice got all deep like that when he was tired? You can’t blame a girl! He was already getting close to sleep, the tiredness creeping into his husky tone. It sounded too close to him being hot and bothered.

Your enthusiasm was nearly amusing with how fast you tugged your sleep shorts off, piling them on the ground. You were too impatient as you laid out on your bed, imagining what you would do if he was actually here with you. Sliding your panties down, you set them next to yourself, spreading your legs to the room. 

You bit your lip, forgetting all about the complaining on the phone and possibly being a terribly, shitty, horny friend.

Rationally, you should have worried at least a little bit about how suspicious your behavior had been, but you were deliriously horny and only thinking clearly enough to put a blanket under your hips. The mere thought of having Dunk murmuring in your ear had you wet for half of the call. Screw your traitorous body.

As you sat back on the bed you stayed true to yourself, being impatient as ever. Two of your fingers swept up through your folds to gather the arousal that had long pooled there. You could easily coat them in your warm slick. Dragging your fingertips up and down, they spread apart to expose your entrance to the cool air of the bedroom. 

What would happen if he had grown worried by your sudden departure and showed up at your place. In reality you’d be an awkward mess, and impossible, but in your fantasy you could imagine what you would do. You would act just surprised enough before sweetly calling out his name in the hopes of him helping you through it. He would. Duncan was sweet enough, he’d most likely sink to his bulky knees and satisfy you himself.

You didn’t have to work yourself up to easily push two fingers into your cunt. The relief was immediate, a huff leaving your lips when you crooked your two fingers up. The pads of your fingertips stroked the inside of your walls, coaxing them to loosen. Contrasting your usual approach, you sharply twisted your fingers, knuckles sliding in and out as you moaned quietly. The pain mixed with the pleasure, your cunt easing up around the intrusion.

Dunk was oh so serious with you. He would probably look at you with those hooded eyes as he fucked you through it, whispering praises. Duncan seemed like he would like praise; You would have to test it out.

Your other hand slid down your stomach to part your folds, rubbing at them as you slid your fingers out. Strings of arousal kept them connected when you spread your ring and middle finger apart. The stretch now missing from you made you feel far too empty. Pressing them together again, you thrust the tips back in quicker this time, the middle finger of your other hand finding your clit. 

You sighed, legs relaxing at the buzzing feeling. Your gut had been tight for so long you thought it would never feel better again, but this—this was what you needed.

You moaned as you guided yourself through it. You pressed down, drawing tight circles on your clit as your back bowed. “Please,” you pleaded to nobody in particular. “I need it so bad—give it to me.” Your chest heavily rose and fell under your tank top. Your peaked nipples brushed against the thin fabric, warming with each electrifying pass. “I want you so bad.” Your fingers crooked a bit, finding your g-spot. You whined louder this time, eyes falling shut as you repeatedly massaged the spot. 

Sparks shot down your legs—toes curling against the sheets. The same heat licked up your spine and slid through your veins. You desperately rolled your hips, grinding into your moving hand, palm hitting the bundle of nerves over and over again. “Like that,” you mentally remembered how Dunk had huskily guided you through sword fighting. He knew what he was doing. His large hands would swat yours away before handling you just like how they had moved your hands away to grab his sword again. Instead of giving you space, Dunk seemed to always be grabbing you to deposit your body where he wanted it to be.

Would he manhandle you like that in bed too?

You hadn’t given in and gotten off to that memory solely out of spite. But there was no time like the present. “…Duncan.” Your heels dug into the bed as you pumped your fingers. …The way he would stubbornly groan your name. The syllables would be all drawn out in a pussydrunk voice. If only Duncan were here. You keened, hips lifting as you hit your clit, fingers curling inside your pulsing walls. You were so close, you just needed the last push. 

A flash of light had your head turning, Dunk’s contact flashing on your phone screen.

Fingertips dragged over your sweet spot again, your cunt clenched. You teetered on the edge of coming, watching the call ring out. This had to be the least sexy thing to get off to. Dunk’s perfect face looking at you from your phone, call ending just for his text to pop up. ‘You okay? If you need to call back let me know.’

With a moan you flicked your fingers up again, letting yourself go. You tossed your head back as you came, warm cum covering your fingers to pool in your palm. Looking away from the phone, You calmed down—cheeks flushed the darkest color available. You panted, drawing your covered fingers from your pussy. They were so clearly so drenched in your essence.

If you thought hard enough you could imagine them to be Dunk’s. You were so screwed.

[inbred-eater]

me watching everyone dogpile on timothee shittymet with the biggest smile on my face

[strawbrrycowboy]

ᯓ★ 𝐒𝐞𝐫 𝐃𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

* and some Egg hc’s

𓊆†𓊇 Dunk has an incredible short-term memory but an awful long-term memory. He doesn’t have an affinity for detail unless it’s a useless fact.

𓊆†𓊇 He curls his shoulders forward around you constantly. Ser Duncan likes to know that he can protect you, but he also has the internal struggle of not wanting to scare you off. To combat this he makes himself smaller around you until he needs to protect you or Egg.

𓊆†𓊇 If there was a baby crying, Duncan would try to calm it down without knowing how, but if the baby is put in his arms they quiet quickly. He has a naturally calming presence.

𓊆†𓊇 Could probably be Snow White in another life.

𓊆†𓊇 Modern!Dunk and Egg would be Disney movie warriors. Brave and Swiss Family Robinson were Duncan’s favorite. Egg prefers Cinderella and Alice in Wonderland!

𓊆†𓊇 If they had to pick an amusement park though, they would love Universal. Duncan would have a picture in his room of him and Egg on the Hulk ride.

𓊆†𓊇 He always needs explicit guidance to do anything in a relationship even if it’s chores.

𓊆†𓊇 Canon, but Dunk is a human vacuum. He can put any amount of food away. He’s always hungry.

𓊆†𓊇 When in a relationship, Dunk likes to carry most of the responsibility. He wants you to live freely while he takes care of any stressor.

𓊆†𓊇 He trips up on some words often. When Dunk was a kid he had a speech impediment that he worked on in solidarity, but he still messes up some simple words.

𓊆†𓊇 Ser Duncan would never punch a wall, but he has fallen through the side of a tent multiple times. It isn’t rare that he trips over his own feet.

𓊆†𓊇 If Dunk wasn’t born in 193 AC he’d be perfect in the 90’s to play basketball and be “that 90’s” boyfriend.

𓊆†𓊇 The world was lucky that Ser Duncan was never able to try granola, he would spend all of his money on it.

𓊆†𓊇 On a similar note, Dunk earns currency to immediately use it on his partner in some way. He searches for equality in relationships, but it doesn’t mean that he won’t spoil you.

𓊆†𓊇 His favorite place to kiss is the top of your head, your shoulders, and between your shoulder blades.

𓊆†𓊇 Ser Duncan’s loyalty is one for the ages. He would be the last man to ever consider cheating, it never even crosses his mind. If one of his friends ever cheated he would refuse to speak to them any longer.

let me know if we want an nsfw one. . .

[strawbrrycowboy]

Ser Duncan leaning over your shoulder to kiss you…

He’s so big he has to curl over you on horseback, not that he minds. He likes that he gets a pass to be this close to you. Chest to your back, Dunk can’t help that he doesn’t know where to put his hands.

They fumble the reigns, shaky breaths bathing the hair tucked behind your ear. He gets nervous, yes, but his lips still find the spot where your shoulder meets your neck.

Out here no one can shame you for quick intimacy.

[strawbrrycowboy]

do i make a steve harrington x reader x rafe cameron fic ?

[strawbrrycowboy]

Wicked Game (2)

[chestharrington]

I saw a tiktok about passive voice in fanfic and it made me feel so self conscious. Like isn’t it ok to switch back and forth a little?? Just so the sentence structure and flow varies a little?? Now I’m second guessing everything I write lmfao

[strawbrrycowboy]

i hate watching tt’s about fanfics because people are always complaining and yet never writing

[wheelerharrington]

STRANGER THINGS 1.03 | Chapter Three: Holly, Jolly

[strawbrrycowboy]

this was hotter than anything jonathan ever did

[strawbrrycowboy]

I love how you write, will you still be taking Kurt kunkle requests?

thank you so much :,) i totally would ! i love kurt i don’t think i’ll ever dislike him <3

[strawbrrycowboy]

i knew this season was written by ai when steve didn’t get the shit beat out of him