so the luck is ours alone?

THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG. I MAY NOT BE THAT FREAKY ON MAIN BUT YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Hello, hello! Call me Cass, I'm here for all your knightly needs. I’ve been loving the first season of AKOTSK, and therefore there’s nothing more I want to do other than write for that big hunk on everybody's screens. I consider myself more mellow with my fics—in other words, I particularly enjoy writing fluff and angst. There's some suggestive content here and there, so you've been warned.

I love discussing my works or general ideas with the series and I'm more than happy to lend an ear on what you think!

Currently writing for: Ser Duncan the Tall (AKOTSK)

MASTERLISTS:

The Hedge Knight Shooting Stars (Papa!Dunk) 200 Follower Celebration 300 Follower Celebration

(7/16) MOST RECENT WORKS: search up #☆*:・ﾟfollower celebration to see all my works from the mid-june to july!

Just in—check out my kofi! This is just for support of my works and to see what else I’m doing (if I’m not writing for the hedge knight, I’m drawing him. Getaloadofthisguy.)

Since we've been yapping away about our beloved knight, and everyone loved wrestler!au (rightfully so) what about the early days of wrestler!dunk and reader? It probably took Dunk many weeks to gather enough courage to ask reader out! He would be so nervous, and offer to do ANYTHINGGG to spend time with her; helping her with plumbing, fixing lights, even cooking...he just wanted to be with her in anyway, but surely grew frustrated with himself and then reader asks him out nervously and he almost throws up from excitement and nerves ><

I'll Be Waiting Right Here

synopsis; dunk cannot rid of his crippling anxiety to ask you out, and you cannot take it anymore. genre; fluff pairing; wrestler!ser duncan the tall/reader warnings; reader is a bit deranged. no real mentions of wrestling haha.. a/n; the wait is over, here’s the first full-length wrestler dunk fic! ari, you know how hard this was for me. i was rolling up and down trying to complete this. other than that, the constant worry of this not meeting my standards loomed over me like a noose. BUT ITS HERE, PLEASE ENJOY!

word count; 3.2k

“He’s out there again, poor guy.”

Your head was down, fingers working to button up a cherry-red coat. The rack was in front of you, a rollout of furs and thick wool already on display to kick off the chill that would blow through your hair soon enough. Mornings were the busiest this time of year, yet no one had walked in just yet. It was only you and Rowan.

“Look," she tried again, no longer focused on organizing the clothing run in front of her. Rowan nodded towards the front of the store, encouraging you before the sight disappeared.

Finally, after hanging the simple coat, you turned enough to catch exactly what she saw. At the front windows, standing outside like a street dog, stood a familiar Irish regular.

"Does he know we're open—? Come on," Rowan waved. Her voice lowered, muttering idiot before calling out, "We're open!"

You watched as he blinked, registering that Rowan was beckoning him and not some bystander across the street. Of course not, why would...

He met your gaze, and he nearly ducked. His knees bent barely, but he couldn't commit to the action. It shouldn't be this difficult. You knew each other, somewhat. He knew where you lived, and he knew your telephone number by heart. A gentle friendship had blossomed some weeks ago when he picked up a belt he didn't need and gave you more loose change than dollar bills. You had commented then about how you used a belt to strap your ladder so it wouldn't fold while in use.

"I'm still too scared to get on it," he recalled you saying. "The light in my hallway burnt completely, I guess. I like to keep it on all night…"

"You need it replaced?" Dunk wanted to kick himself. Why was it a question? Duncan, she told you!

"Yeah," you shrugged, closing your register. "I'll get to it eventually. Maybe I'll buy another ladder. It doesn't—"

"I could replace it," he offered. "I, uh...I wouldn't need a ladder. Besides, it might not be the bulb. There's always faulty wiring or...or something loose that just—just makes it...not work."

"Oh,” you said, because nothing of the sort crossed your mind. Or so he assumed; what if you were creeped out? “Yeah, that…that makes sense. If you want to, then, ah…”

You took a look around your counter, before stepping back to grab the notepad from the cubby underneath. Dunk watched with wide eyes, his gut churning because you had agreed. Now you were writing with a pen that magically made it between your fingers, because he was too focused on the curve of your cheek to consider the rest of the world.

From then on, the world ceased to exist when he was near you.

Dunk opened the door, stepping into the warmth of the department store and forcing himself not to immediately stare at you. He came by every morning since that fateful day, always hoping you had something broken or in need of examining. There wasn’t a circuit he couldn’t replace, or a drain he couldn’t unclog. You just had to say the word.

“Welcome in!” Rowan chimed, sounding more tired than cheery. “Wonder what he’s coming in for…”

“Red.” You nudged her, already feeling the warmth spread over your neck.

“What? Oh, he needs another cap, doesn’t he? You should ask what happens to all the others, he buys so many—“

“Maybe he collects,” you defended the man easily. After all, he’d been nothing but kind—shy in most interactions, but that made him all the sweeter. “That’s not such a crazy thought.”

“Or maybe he’s waiting for the right time to break into your apartment. Don’t you read anything? All these men do is plan. He’s probably mapping out your apartment every time he goes over. If he doesn’t strangle you in your sleep, then he’s going to…”

DING.

Your attention snapped from Rowan to the front door. Another customer—a woman with a young boy—stepped inside. Rowan greeted them too and went back to fussing over her apparel rack.

“I’m trying to look out for you, is all,” she sighed. “It’s odd enough he snoops around here. Letting him come to your place and help around? It’s strange, and sad. He’s strange…and sad.”

You, on the other hand, let your gaze wander around as he moved throughout the store. He gravitated everywhere, seemingly finding interest in every area.

He avoided the women’s clothing like the plague, though. There were certain parts he never came around as long as you were near, and it was as confusing as it was weird. Was he that nervous? Or was Rowan right?

No, she wasn’t. You wouldn’t allow yourself to think so. He didn’t deserve the speculation, not with how gentle he treated you.

“…Maybe you want to be kidnapped,” Rowan spoke out, and you caught her eyeing you with pity and lingering judgment. “Or murdered.”

“Shut up.”

“They’d catch him immediately, too. How many times has he smacked his head on the restroom sign? Remind me.”

You scoffed, “you know, I think it’d kill you to—“

DING.

This time, the sound rang from the counter. There, Dunk stood ready to check out, although his body blocked whatever he had to purchase. You could only guess it was another hat, or a belt—perhaps boots?

Part of you prayed it was anything but a hat. One more and you’d never hear the end of it from Rowan.

“I’ll be right there!” You called to him, placing all your merchandise back on the small rack. Rowan gave you another look as you hurried over, and you offered Dunk a small smile when you rounded the counter.

“Hey,” you greeted, moving on autopilot to get his item ringed in. Another cap lay on the counter, and you had never seen him wear one. Not once. Collecting, was it? You ought to ask someday.

“Morning,” Dunk nodded to you, already struggling to keep his eyes on yours. His hands fiddled with his wallet, worn and faded, and he looked almost…sick? Still, he forced himself to talk. “How’re you?”

“Good,” you answered with more enthusiasm than before. “The dryer’s still going strong.”

“Aye, that’s good,” he chuckled. Last week, you’d called him about your dryer breaking down and asked if he could check it out before you decided to get another. The situation ended with him covered in lint, but he saved you from spending your savings.

It meant more to you than you could express, but knowing what little you did about him, he’d melt from an ounce of appreciation.

“This all?”

“Yeah. Yes,” he nodded again and pulled out some cash to pay. Do it now. “Well…”

Now, Duncan.

He cleared his throat, eyes shifting between you and the display behind your head. He was already reddening from your gaze alone. “Do you…I was wondering, that is, if—well, if you’re not busy after…” Fuck, did he even ask?

Try as you may, you felt hope seep into your heart. Dunk was a long way from finishing, but you couldn’t help how your eyes lit up. After months of tiptoeing and daydreaming, this had to be it. This was it. He was bound to ask you out.

"Hm?" You prompted, forcing yourself to stand frozen. You refused to blink, refused to look away in case he withdrew completely.

"I, ah, have the night free," he struggled still, thumb picking at the old leather of his wallet. "You know, not—not scheduled for anything until next week. Just thought—you work early, and..."

His stomach was beginning to cramp. Dunk stopped, knowing what was about to happen before his hands grew clammy. The thoughts rushed in, all taunting him for another failed attempt at asking you out on a date. All he wanted was a chance, yet his body refused to let him take that risk.

He swallowed, feeling the dizziness starting to creep in. Dunk knew the direction to the restrooms by heart, but even as he stood with you at the counter, he knew he wouldn't make it to the men's door.

“Keep the change.” He was wrecked, entirely too ruined to continue. Dunk took the cap and left before you could utter a word.

A snort came from the countless rows of racks ahead. That did it for you, and you slammed your till shut. Had the store been empty of customers, you would've shouted at Rowan.

For the rest of the day, you couldn’t think of anything else other than his stammering words and his blue eyes. The pieces had fallen into place, or so you thought. He had come with a motive, a truth that could no longer be ignored…

Or had you completely gone over your head?

After punching out for the evening, you headed home with a rush of bitter thoughts and a twisting ache deep in your chest. How could you let this man do this to you? A man who was perfect in every way, with his helping hands, his soft gaze, and his stumbling nature. He was too handsome for his own good, and you couldn't close your eyes at night without thinking of him one last time.

You couldn't cook dinner with peace of mind. Your hands itched as you stirred, imagining what he would think as you broke apart the sizzling meat in the pan. He was a wonderful cook, proving so when he made a poor man's casserole. You remembered his sheepish smile as he came in.

“Arlan’s old recipe,” he told you, serving you without hesitation. “That’s…that’s my father, of some sort. Was—he passed some years ago. Taught me everything I know. Told me to spare what I have even if it’s all I have left…”

The memory consumed you, and you had to walk away to wash your hands. But, oh—there were times he'd wash his hands in your sink, and he was thorough.

“Always good to wash your hands before and after work,” he commented, scrubbing the dirt from under his nails. Another crisis diverted, and he never asked for anything in return. “I prefer a bath, really. Might as well…clean everything….”

Your eye twitched. His scent lingered, phantom and musky. The heat he radiated drifted to you, kissing your skin until goosebumps rose. He taunted you without intent, without being in your presence, and you knew then he had torn every thread of restraint from your head.

You weren't in control of your body anymore. You wiped your hands, working the water off before going back to the stove. The pan was taken off the burner, and you twisted the knob until the heat dispersed. Every move you made was unrushed, almost careful.

Night free, he said to you this morning. I have the night free.

Walking into your bedroom, you thought of the time he stopped your door from creaking every time you pushed it open and closed it. He even checked the air vent in your room that same day and moved your vanity when asked. Never did he mention reimbursement. Never did he accept cash.

Every little flaw, every mishap that presented itself, was always taken care of by him. What couldn’t he do?

The question was cruel enough, but it was the answer that made you spiral.

The doors to your closet swung open. Clothes were pushed aside, hangers scraped against the metal rod that went from wall to wall. You grabbed the rack before the hangers could move back into place and wrenched it with all your might. The rod didn't dare budge; its structure was solid to the core and stupidly strong. You yanked once more, a grunt spilling past your lips as you fought to break your closet rack.

Every attempt was a blow to your sanity. Every pull brought in more strain, and you cursed everything below the sun until the rod collapsed.

“You stupid fuck!” You cried out, to yourself or the rod—that was irrelevant. “C’mon—!”

You yelped and stumbled back, falling on your ass as the rod was pulled completely off. All your clothes fell onto the floor, the rod barely hanging on from one side.

Shock shot through your body, dulling the pain from your fall. But it couldn’t compare to the odd satisfaction that poured over you soon after.

Fifteen minutes went by. The clock ticked, and you fidgeted as you thought back on revealing the mess to Dunk over the telephone. You’d called as soon as you got up from the ground, voice wavering and heart slamming from adrenaline as you gave a brief explanation. It was anything but the truth.

You stood together in your bedroom now, and your head was a scrambling mess.

You ripped your rack out of the wall. Your clothes were all over the floor, and he was here. He was here.

“I tried to clean it out before I called,” liar.

Dunk stood beside you, staring at the rack and the wall. He blinked a few times as he took in the sight. Something wasn't registering with him, not yet.

He set his toolbox down and stepped in, avoiding the mess of clothes on the floor to get a better look at the damage. Despite his back being turned, he felt your eyes on him, waiting and assessing. His heart was going to burst out of his chest at this rate.

Finally, he found his voice. "You—you didn’t tell me the whole rack came down.”

“I didn’t?” You gasped. “No—no, I did. I just..”

Liar.

“It’s late; I’m sorry.” You moved closer. “You don’t have to fix it. I shouldn’t have called so late—”

“No, no, wait,” Dunk turned around, his eyes falling on yours that begged to stay. “I don’t…I don’t mind. Not at all.”

And Dunk, ever the courageous man in your adoring eyes, immediately returned to evaluating. The rod would have to be replaced, its integrity broken for collapsing the way it had. The wall would have to be patched and painted as well.

“Okay,” you said, not recognizing the sound of your own voice. “I’ll go make lemonade.”

Dunk wasn’t given time to protest or agree. You sped off, leaving him to work. He had no paint, nor a new rod, but there was still some he could do for the night.

He began with a proper cleaning. All your hanging clothes were taken out and placed onto your bed. He removed the few shoeboxes and didn’t, by the grace of all the above, snoop around. No matter what he saw in the small space, he forced himself to stay professional and clear out.

The rod was removed soon after. Every hardwood store in the city was closed by now, and he made a note to stop by early next morning. Fresh paint, too…

“Hey.”

Dunk spun around, startled by the sudden noise. You stood before him now, glass of lemonade in hand and a kind smile. Act normal, he nailed into his head. Act normal, Duncan. Please.

“Lemon—lemonade still an offer?” He smiled dumbly. His stomach churned because there you were, holding a glass for him, and he had the nerve to ask like a blind idiot.

“Here,” you encouraged him, and he accepted without breaking into a sweat. Dunk thanked you, nearly choking on his words before he took a drink.

“It’s the least I could do…”

Dunk lowered the glass to glance back at what he had done. He pointed to the rod leaning on one of the closet doors. “I got that out of the way. Suppose I could come back tomorrow? When…when you’re off…”

He trailed, finding you a step closer than before.

“Could, uh, replace it,” he cleared his throat. You were drowning him, and he didn’t want to fight for air. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow, if that works for you.”

“What will it cost me?” You questioned.

Dunk blinked, taken back and still managing to keep upright with how close you stood. “What?”

“I have to repay you somehow.”

“No—no. You never did then, and you won’t start now. We—“

“There’s nothing you want?” You took another dangerous step forward, and he stepped back.

“Nothing,” he swore. “Nothing, I swear.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Dunk felt his entire body heat up. He gulped, “I—I should…finish…up tonight…”

You wouldn't relent. “Tell me the truth.”

His back hit the wall. Dunk said your name softly, his hands sweating and pulse hammering. There was no choice in it now, was there? He had to speak it, peel back his desires and pray you accept him.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

He shuddered, “There’s—there’s maybe…one…thing…”

“Anything.” You reached for him, testing the waters with your hands, feeling his arms. He leaned down, gravitating towards you and not quite realizing it.

He needed to dive away—find your bathroom, or a trash can. The dizziness slammed into him full force, yet his body refused to move. “I…I always thought—God—you…”

A wave of nausea hit, and he once again stopped himself. Dunk could only manage your name, a plea wrapped into a whisper. He was thrice your size and no matter the time and place, couldn't utter his only wish.

You, on the other hand, couldn't take it anymore.

You pulled him down, your hand sliding to cup the back of his neck. His lips met yours, warm, rough, and inexperienced. Dunk wasn't quick enough to process what was happening, yet his heart sang. Your scent flooded him, bringing him somewhere only his dreams could carry him.

And it ended all too quickly. Dunk felt the loss like a stab to the gut when you pulled back. He tried to speak, but you beat him to it.

“I want to have dinner,” you blurted out, and you never realized how your body shook. “Or go see a movie.”

“…D—dinner?”

“Or a movie.”

Dunk hadn't comprehended the kiss. You kissed him, and he wanted to throw up. He wanted to do it again, then let his body empty itself because everything was threatening to come out. Then again, and again and again until his lips no longer belonged to him.

A date? He dared to wonder. Or was this a cruel joke? You wouldn't do that to him, would you?

“I’d like that.” he took the chance, somehow, in his poor state. “Just…just me and you.”

“A date,” you clarified, and his heart stuttered.

Bathroom. Where's the bathroom? He was nervous and excited, far too much that he'd let loose right in front of you—on you. God, a date. Weeks of dreaming, of longing and fearing…

Without thinking, Dunk pulled you back in. A squeak slipped past your lips as he turned to press you against the wall and devour you. It was needy and demanding, a pour of all his feelings for you before the worst of it came.

He was happy to the point of sickness, and he only had moments to spare.

“pets” yeah spoil the dog fic i’ll eventually do…GOOD IDEA, ARI.

ANON UR SO RIGHT the twins would do this. little aeon and talf need some corner time after, mama is overwhelmed. but they look at her like this—

i, too, am thinking about wrestler dunk. i’m actually posting a full fic for the au tomorrow! very very happy to see you guys love the concept and i’m excited to expand (a multi-chartered fic? mayhaps.)

anyways, thank you for the recommendation! i looked through the tracklist already and recognize some things. some pinpoints the era of wrestling i’m going for, so it’ll be fun to explore!

dunk was spent beside you, snores soft against your head, and your arm curled around your middle. the day had been long; miles stretched endlessly ahead as you traveled east. you slept most of the way, pressed into his back as your babe reveled in the warmth between you.

it painted the picture now—knight and squire fast asleep, while you and your little giant were wide-eyed and quiet.

“look at the moon, my love,” you whispered, gaze set upon the babe beside you. he was wrapped in heavy cloth, securing him as you brushed his hair from his forehead. he was close enough for you to see every breath he took and hear every little noise that slipped from his lips.

“it’s full tonight, and it watches over us.”

the babe cooed, gazing up between scarce leaves as you pointed up at the night sky.

“the stars shine so bright…my father used to tell me all babes born under the moon have a star to their name. perhaps when we die, that star may return to us.”

you looked back down, just to find him watching you. those eyes that belonged to his father, bright and blue, sought for you as if you’d hung the moon.

leaning down, you kissed his nose. his leg underneath the cotton kicked.

“i do not believe it is so,” you continued, just as dunk shifted. his head came to yours, his nose right against your ear with a content sigh. and still, he was left in another world.

“you are my little star, watching and guiding your father to make me whole. waiting all these years to come down so you could finally be with us.”

your babe, such a quizzical thing, reached for your hand. he was too young to understand, but you thought otherwise. a part of him must’ve understood, because it was true, wasn’t it?

the thought of him, fragments of his soul, had been one of the many stars among the moon. he was where he was meant to be, right under your adoring gaze.

“how many more of you wait?” you hummed, bringing a finger to his nose. his skin, so soft and perfect, felt like silk. even his hands, which grasped your finger to hold, were a dream peeling itself to be made real. “or is it just you, my love?”

he smiled at you, a small, happy noise emitting from him. again, his leg kicked, and you had to shush him before dunk awoke.

“it does not matter,” you whispered, a hint of a smile upon your lips. “one or more, nothing could make me happier. for us, you shine bright enough.”

you kissed his hand—once, twice, thrice—and held him beneath the twinkling stars.

i’ll say it again happy birthday to my meep city happy birthday to the greatest there ever was and that will ever be. happy birthday to that handsome tree trunk.

Happy birthday to Peter Claffey. THE BIG THIRTY.

I can’t begin to describe how special he is to me. I would’ve been stuck in my writers block and felt like a waste had he not ever played Ser Duncan the Tall. I believe no one else could’ve done it, and his performance was fate. Seeing him bring this character to life—introducing me to a world that I fought my entire life not to get sucked into, has changed me for the better. I wouldn’t be here on this blog if it weren’t for him, and I wouldn’t have connected with you all. I’ve never been happier because of the love shared for him and this character.

Basically. I owe Peter Claffey my life.

I hope he finds happiness and more. He deserves the best. MY GOAT TURNED THIRTY—PARTY AT MY PLACE BE THERE OR BE SQUARE!

thank you so much! i’m very happy to see many of you liked it <3

hello, anon!

thank you for your inquiry to the dunk oracle.

your question has taken me on a ride of self-reflection. to give you the short answer; it depends. on whom? well, you!

dunk loves experimenting, and this is something he comes to realize once your relationship flourishes. he's a big pleaser, and often you're suggesting new things to him for you to try together. your sex life is very simple in the beginning, and he only utilizes what he's heard and seen (no doubt he's seen much during his travels, both on paper and between two or more breathing bodies) there are some acts he's never considered to be an option. orally, he knows of it, but to ask or think about it during the moment? that's a matter you have to bring to his attention, or something you try in the heat of the night.

you’re both learning, and you’re both trusting of one another. so…

if you want to try it, dunk will give it a go. there's a lot of skepticism on his end, and you'd need to assure him leading up to it, but bottom line he'll try. he may get off more to your pleasure than his own, and he’d certainly do it more if you asked. he loves you too much to reject the idea.

although, it’s not the same as your warm cunt. the hedge knight will weep for it every time you spread your legs, or when he spreads them for you. you’d never seen a man fall to his knees so quick to get under your skirt, and he only wants a taste. HELLO!

i’ll look after you;

the floorboards groaned underneath dunk’s boots. he made his way through the dark, having only the light that slipped through the door to guide him back to your bedroom. one little giant had been tucked into bed, and another waited past the oak.

he pushed the door open, finding you still laid with rafe curled into you. he’d been there all evening, vowing to stay by your side as you rested. days like these were never easy, your body working to begin anew all over again. he knew of your pain, your fatigue, and did all he could to make it more bearable.

“come now,” he came closer to the bed, reaching to take the boy into his arms. “your bed won’t wait for you all night.”

“awwwww, noo…”

“yes,” dunk carried him off, wanting to get rafe tucked snugly so he could return to you. it was easy to get arlelle down at night, yet her older brother was still tricky to work with. he needed more adjusting, you believed, and dunk thought he was too reliant on you.

before he could say more, rafe turned and reached out to you. it wasn’t in protest, nor was he fighting his father on the matter.

“i be back on the morrow, mama,” he murmured, admitting defeat with his big eyes. rafe had kept you company through the evening, distracting you as best he could from your cramps. he didn't understand why you were in pain, only that he wanted to help.

“try and rest, my love," you took his hand and offered a comforting smile. with a kiss to his fingertips, dunk carried him off to his separate bedroom.

“you take care of her?" you heard rafe ask, no doubt wanting a promise from his father.

"aye," dunk's voice was distant. "you don't need to worry none."

you closed your eyes, listening to the quiet words that faded away. the ache—insistent and harrowing—never seemed to cease. at least the little one was a anchor, but he needed his rest. you could not keep him all night.

and yet, the comforting thud of movement already began to ease you.

“dove?” dunk whispered, stepping back inside with careful steps.

your quiet whine came slow. “hmmmm?”

“good, you’re awake…no,” he chuckled lowly, “not good, i mean. you should be at rest. how’re you feeling?”

you opened your eyes, finding him in a state of undress. he’d taken off his tunic, and the bed dipped as he came to sit down. you reached to trace his lower back, fingertips ghosting over the heat of his skin.

“better,” you answered to some truth. “i don’t feel the need to vomit at every turn of the time…but seven hear me, the ache refuses to cease.”

"m'sorry, dove," dunk grunted, taking off his boots while he listened. “i made you that tea. did it help any?”

“yes, my love. i suppose it did.” although, you wanted to add: might you saw me in half to stop the tingling in my legs? then sew me together and make me new.

the words never left the tip of your thoughts.

with his boots off and only in his breeches, dunk got up and turned to pull back the covers. he slid into bed, immediately bringing himself close to you.

“gods,” he sighed, his body sagging into you as he kissed your temple. “missed you all day…”

you eased into him. he kissed your lips, then your cheek. “i’ve been here all day.”

dunk snorted and brought his hand to your stomach. he rubbed below your navel, massaging just as he knew you liked it. it was a slow drag, circular and warm.

a soft noise escaped you as the heat pressed in.

“you know what i meant,” he wrapped an arm around you, moving your body closer. all day he’d gone without you by his own fault. dunk asked you to stay in bed and let him handle the children and the chores. he tended to you every moment he could, until a little one wailed or the floor shook from something heavy falling over.

rafe and arlelle always kept you and your knight on your toes. that was for certain.

“it was too loud and too quiet all at once." dunk confessed, his nose nuzzling into the side of your head. "even when i could be here with you, that time wasn't nearly enough.”

“we have tiny beasts to tend to,” you murmured, turning your head just enough to find his eyes in the dark. “i don’t hold it against you."

"aye, i know, just..." dunk smiled—bashful as a boy and dumb as a man in love. “…want to take care of you all the time. during your moonblood or not, you deserve that sort of attention.”

your entire body flushed. it was almost enough to distract you from the slight nausea. “foolish you may be, ser…”

he laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tried not to tuck you in further and completely hide you away. “doesn’t really matter now, does it? m’here now, and i won’t let you go until the sun's fully risen. or until one of the little runt's cries..”

and dunk made good on that promise.

i’m BAAAAAAAACK.

thank you for the req, anon!! i hope this is what you were looking for, and it’s always a pleasure to write for papa!dunk/mama!reader. my favs <3

dunk as a twin

hectic week ahead, so there won’t be much if any new posts. FRET NOT MY DUNKREADERLING ENJOYERS AND WRESTLER DUNK TRUTHERS AND MY OVERALL DUNK ENTHUSIASTS I’M STILL HERE. requests are being steadily worked on (and here i am still surprised i got a good amount in, yippie!) any questions will be answered quicker, of course, but know more fics/blurbs are coming! i’m just going to be away from my desk more than usual for the week. so, with that being said…

i’m going to be working on a big update for my main dunk masterlists. i want to figure out if steadily updating (one a week or twice a week) works better for you all than waiting a month or two.