paid back tenfold ₊˚⊹⋆
dark!dunk x mean!targaryen!reader
-18+, reader is aerion’s sister, slight noncon! reader lowkey wants it cause shes mean on purpose, dunk is fed up, degradation, overstimulation, p in v, creampie, breast play, light hair pulling, light slapping, baby trapping, little bit of choking! ᥫ᭡
a targaryen princess did not attend a trial of seven disguised beneath a riding cloak. she did not push through the crowd, silver hair braided tight against her skull, to watch a hedge knight defend his honor against princes. she did not feel her heart lurch into her throat when he fell.
and yet you did.
you watched ser duncan the tall stand against your blood, against aerion’s cruelty, against the weight of dragonfire in human form and you felt something crack open in you.
after the trial, dunk lingered. he said it was to gather his bearings. to rest. to recover. aegon’s request. perhaps all of that was true, so he did not leave immediately and neither did you.
officially, you were there to console your kin. unofficially, you began appearing wherever he was. in the yard when he needed some air, in the stables, leaning against a post, watching him saddle his horse with quiet, deliberate hands.
you told yourself it was curiosity.
a common-born knight who had struck a prince, who had lived and you told yourself it was disdain. how dare he? how dare some hedge knight alter the fate of dragons? so you sharpened your words like daggers.
you mocked the swelling around his eye, still purple and yellow. you reminded him sweetly, softly that prince baelor was dead because he had raised a hand to royal blood. you told him, almost conversationally, that aerion had laughed while drinking wine in the courtyard afterward.
you watched his jaw tighten. you watched his hands curl. you watched the guilt hollow him out.
and gods help you, you could not stop.
because the truth was far uglier than hatred.
you were obsessed.
you had grown up among silk and prophecy, among men who bent the knee before your family and women who feared dragon tempers. you had never met a man who looked at a prince and chose defiance. who took the blow meant to protect a puppet girl. who fought not for glory, but because it was right.
he did not look at you the way other men did.
he did not fawn. he did not tremble. half the time, he looked irritated. and it drove you mad.
egg had begged that dunk remain at the castle a little longer for recovery or for reasons neither of you spoke aloud. so he stayed beneath the same roof as you. ate at the same tables. walked the same halls heavy with dragon tapestries.
you made it your mission to unsettle him.
if he was gathering his bearings, you would knock them loose. if he felt guilt, you would press on it until it bled. because if he hated you, at least he would feel something.
and if he broke you would be there to see it.
which is how you ended up in his room weeks later, fire dying low, the air thick with smoke and words neither of you should have said. you had followed him again. of course you had. you always did.
the air between you and dunk was crackling with tension. you had been poking at him all day, mocking his bruised eye, reminding him that prince baelor was dead because of him, and whispering how aerion had laughed about it while drinking wine in the courtyard.
"you're useless, ser dunk," you said, leaning back against the table, a cruel little smile playing on your lips. "a good-for-nothing hedge knight. you couldn't even keep your prince alive. aerion says you're just lucky he didn't have you executed."
dunk was sitting in the corner, cleaning his sword with slow, deliberate strokes. he didn't look up at first. the muscles in his jaw worked furiously, his grip tightening on the hilt until his knuckles turned white.
"you shouldn’t talk so," he said at last, his voice low and dangerous. "you think you’re so high and mighty."
his jaw clenched. "because you’re a dragon’s daughter. because you are princess."
you tilted your head, feigning innocence. "high and mighty?"
he stood abruptly, the chair scraping loud against the floor. he loomed over you, broad shoulders blocking the light. his shadow swallowed you whole.
you refused to shrink.
"you think i’m just a big, stupid oaf who likes to be scolded," he spat, his face inches from yours. his eyes were dark, burning with humiliation and rage.
"i never said that," you replied coolly.
"yes, you did," he shot back. "not with words. every time you look at me, i see it. you pity me. you look at me like i’m some kennel dog that’s tracked mud through your father’s hall."
"i do not pity you," you snapped. "but i do think you are quite egregious. you played the hero." you folded your arms. "and now you sulk about the cost."
his nostrils flared. "i don’t sulk."
"no?" you stepped closer deliberately, forcing him to either move back or stand his ground. he didn’t move. "prince baelor is dead. aerion is shipped off to lys. and you—you linger in corners like a man waiting for something that isn’t coming."
his hand shot out, rough fingers gripping your chin. not hard enough to hurt but firm enough that you could not look away.
"i am not waiting for anything," he snarled. "i’m calculating. prince aerion gets exile and i get the blame. the whispers. the stares."
his thumb pressed slightly under your jaw, tilting your face up.
"but you…" his voice dropped, rough as gravel. "you come to me every day with that smile. reminding me. poking at it like a bruise."
"get your filthy hands off me!"
his grip tightened, just slightly, and his eyes darkened further.
"you’re cruel," he breathed.
"am i?" your pulse was racing now, but you refused to let him see it. "i thought hedge knights liked pain. it makes for better songs."
that did it.
"you think this is a game?" he growled. "you think i don’t see what you’re doing?"
"and what am i doing, ser duncan?" you whispered.
"you come here like you hate me," he said, breath hot against your face. "but you follow me. you seek me out. you sit too close."
you didn’t answer.
his gaze flicked to your mouth, then back to your eyes.
"you want me angry," he realized. "you want me to snap."
"i want nothing of the sort-" you smack at his hand gripping your chin in hopes that it will get him to back off. his fingers only flex tighter for half a second before he lets go on his own terms.
you lift your chin immediately, pride stinging worse than his grip.
"do not touch me like that," you say coldly. "you forget yourself."
"forget myself?" he repeats.
"yes. you may have struck a prince, ser duncan, but that does not make you one." you smooth an invisible wrinkle from your sleeve, as though dismissing him entirely. "you are still what you’ve always been."
his jaw ticks.
"and what’s that?"
"a hedge knight who got lucky."
the words land like a slap.
you see it- the flare in his eyes, the way his shoulders square, the air leaving his lungs slow and controlled.
"you think it was luck?" he asks quietly.
"you were fortunate prince baelor tried to stop it," you continue, circling him now, deliberately reckless. "fortunate the gods chose to spare you. fortunate my family did not demand your head."
"you’re pushing me," he warns.
"oh?" you stop in front of him again. "i don’t believe you have the right to be cross with me dirty hedge knight."
he exhales through his nose, a sound more animal than man, and you can tell that his restraint frays visibly.
that does it.
he grabbed your wrist and hauled you toward the bed, throwing you down onto the mattress. you gasped as the soft furs hit your back.
"ow! dunk, wait-" you tried to sit up, but he was already on top of you, his weight pinning you down.
"stay down," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. he grabbed the bodice of your dress, his fingers digging into the fabric. with a rough yank, he tore it open, the ribbon torn lying beside you. his hands were everywhere at once, rough and demanding.
"look at you, is this what you wanted?" he growled, his eyes roaming over your breasts, now exposed to the cool air. "wanted someone to involve you in this? desperate for attention." he reached out and squeezed one breast hard, his thumb pinching the nipple until you cried out.
"you're hurting me-" you gasped, but he just laughed, a harsh, ugly sound.
"i thought you wanted to be hurt? just like the rest of us… don’t really seem fair that you are exempt from pain."
he shoved your skirts up, his hand coming down hard on your thigh, leaving a red handprint that bloomed instantly. smack. you yelped.
"such a pretty princess," he murmured, leaning down to bite your shoulder, his teeth sinking into the skin hard enough to bruise. "say such words to hurt me, but look at how wet you are."
he didn't wait for your retort. his hand, calloused and rough, gripped your waist with bruising force. with a grunt of exertion, he manhandled you, flipping you over onto your stomach with a harshness that left you breathless. you landed with a bounce on the mattress, your face pressed into the sheets, muffling a startled cry.
"hands and knees," he commanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
you moved to obey, your body trembling, but he wasn't having it. he grabbed your hips, angling them up, and positioned himself behind you. he didn't want to see your face. he didn't want to see your pretty eyes or the smirk you usually wore when you thought you had the upper hand. tonight, he wanted to watch nothing but your back arching, your body surrendering to him.
"i don't want to see you," he growled, his hand fisting in your hair, pulling your head back until your neck arched painfully. "i just want to fuck you."
he didn't give you time to adjust. he undid his trousers in one fluid motion, his cock springing free, thick and angry and already glistening with pre-cum. he didn't use spit. he just grabbed his shaft and positioned it at your entrance and with a brutal thrust, he impaled you, stretching himself deep inside you.
the angle was punishing, driving straight into your most sensitive spot with a force that made your toes curl and your eyes water. he set a savage pace immediately, his hips slapping against your skin with a wet, obscene sound that echoed in the quiet room.
"look at you," he grunted, his hand landing hard on your ass, leaving another red mark. "a dragon's sister, and you're taking my cock like a common kitchen maid. aerion would be disgusted by how you're taking me."
he didn't let you speak, didn't let you defend yourself. he just fucked you with a ferocity born of weeks of pent-up anger and frustration. he knew you were close; he could feel your walls clenching around him, milking him greedily.
"say it," he demanded, his hand sliding down to your throat, applying just enough pressure to cut off your air slightly. "say you belong to me. say you're my highborn brat."
"i'm yours," you choked out, your voice muffled by the fabrics of the bed.
"that's right," he purred, though there was no warmth in it. he reached around, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it harshly, overstimulating you.
you cried out, your body seizing up as the pleasure became too intense. he didn't slow down. he just fucked you harder, driving you toward the edge of madness. the friction was blinding, the pleasure mixing with the pain of the bruises blossoming on your skin.
"you're going to be sorry you spoke to me like that," he warned, his voice thick with lust and anger.
he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "you wanted to talk about being cast down? i'll show you what it means to be brought so low you can't get back up. i'm going to fuck a bastard into you right here on this bed. right now. and when your belly swells, and your fine silks no longer fit, everyone will see. they'll all know what you are. not a highborn lady, but my broodmare, filled with my seed."
his thrusts became punishing, each one a declaration of ownership. "you'll understand then, won't you? you'll understand what it's like to have your future stolen. they'll whisper about the fallen lady, the one who spreads her legs for a lunk with no name and no lands. but you won't care, will you? because you'll be too busy nursing my child, a constant, living reminder of the night i claimed you. the night i made you mine in truth."
he released your throat, only to grab a handful of your hair, pulling your head back. "tell me you want it," he snarled. "tell me you want my babes growing in your belly."
"n-no!" you whine, but the sound is weak, choked by pleasure and the brutal grip he has on your hair.
with a surge of strength you didn't know you possessed, you buck your hips back against him, hard. it's not an act of pleasure, but of defiance. the movement throws him off balance for a split second.
you twist, wrenching your head from his grasp, and manage to crawl away, slipping his cock out with a wet, obscene sound.
his face is a mask of disbelief, then fury, his cock still hard and glistening with your combined fluids. "get back here," he growls, his voice a low warning.
you didn't get far. just to the edge of the bed, your knees digging into the mattress as you tried to put some space between you. but he was on you in an instant, a mountain of enraged muscle. he didn't grab you gently. he lunged, his big hands wrapping around your ankles and yanking you back toward him with brutal force. you slid on the sheets, a cry of surprise escaping your lips as you were dragged back into his domain.
he flipped you onto your back with a single, powerful motion, looming over you, his expression thunderous. "you don't run from me," he snarled, his voice dangerously low. he wasn't asking. he was stating a law of nature.
"or what, you lunk?" you spat, your voice breathless but defiant. "i’ll scream- i’ll have you killed if you finish in me…"
before you could form another retort, he hooked his arms under your knees, folding you nearly in half and lifting your hips off the bed. the new position left you completely exposed, utterly vulnerable. he positioned himself at your entrance, not pushing in, just letting the slick head of his cock rest against you, a threat and a promise.
"you want to fight?" he grunted, his voice strained with the force of his exertion. "fine. let's fight."
with that, he slammed back into you. the angle was vicious, deep, and stole the air from your lungs. it wasn't about pleasure anymore; it was a battle of wills, waged with his body. he set a punishing rhythm, each thrust a hard, deliberate statement of his dominance. the bedframe groaned in protest with every powerful movement of his hips.
"mine," he growled.
"yours?" you gasped, a cruel smile twisting your lips despite the overwhelming sensation. "you don't own me. you're just the brute who is warming my bed."
his other hand snaked down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. he didn't rub it gently; he pressed down, demanding pressure that sent a jolt of agonizing pleasure through you.
"feel that?" he growled, seeing your response. "your body is smarter than your pride." he leaned down, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and ragged. "you can fight me all you want, sweet girl. you want to be bred."
"never," you choked out, the word a lie even as it left your lips. "i'd rather die than bear your bastards."
he increased the pressure on your clit, his thrusts becoming erratic, more forceful. you couldn't speak. you could only moan, a mix of pain and pleasure and helpless fury. the pressure inside you was building, an unstoppable tide.
it triggered your own violent climax. your body convulsed beneath him, your walls clamping down around him as waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you trembling and defeated.
"that's what i thought," he snarled, and with a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he spilled himself deep inside you. the heat of his release was scalding, a possessive flood that seemed to reach up into your womb, claiming every inch of you. he stayed sheathed inside you, his weight a heavy, suffocating blanket as he rode out the last pulses of his orgasm. you could feel his heart hammering against your back, a frantic, wild beat that matched the frantic, wild pulse still fluttering between your own thighs. the room was silent, save for your ragged, mingled breaths.
slowly, he shifted, lifting his weight just enough to look down at you. his face was still a mess of bruises, but the fury in his eye had been replaced by a dark, possessive satisfaction. he reached out, not with violence, but with a strange, gentle reverence, and brushed a sweat-soaked strand of hair from your forehead.
"you can fight me. you can spit and curse and tell me you hate me."
his thumb lingered at your temple, brushing another damp strand of silver back into place. the touch was almost tender, and that frightened you more than his anger ever had.
"but you don’t," he continued quietly.
your breath was uneven, chest rising and falling beneath him. "i most certainly do."
a faint, crooked smile pulled at his bruised mouth. "no-"
your throat tightened.
"you presume much, ser," you whispered.
"and you provoke much, princess."
the room felt smaller now with the dying fire cast long shadows across the walls, gold light flickering over his battered face and your flushed one…just smaller.
