DUNKIN THESE NUTS

dunk who would never ever intend to hurt you in any way but sometimes gets so lost in his pleasure that he gets a bit rough (not that you mind) apologising profusely while fucking you dumb.

dunk who has a crush on eggs sister and cant fight the blood rushing to his cock when he sees you wearing a dress that shows the smallest amount of cleavage.

dunk who gets hard very easily, but cant hide it cos his cock is stupid big.

dunk who just wants to be taken care of and loved, treating him gently, something which he hasnt been afforded much in his life due to his brutish stature.

dunk who looovveesss when you ride him- your boobs in his face is his version of heaven.

dunk who refers to you only by your title while you fuck because hes just so thankful that youre having sex with him and wants to stay respectful and noble.

dunk who cums basically immediately the first time you guys fuck (and kind of every time after that) or really do anything- he cums his pants during your first heavy make out.

literally just imagining sitting atop the horse with your back against his chest, encasing you between himself and the reins. his big beefy arms practically begging you to touch them. and you do, every time you're "startled" by something from the woods, far off the trail. he's always quick to soothe, "it's alright m'lady, just a squirrel." all the while he's hyperaware of your delicate fingers encasing his thick forearm, trying not to let your warmth—or the thought of what that grip would feel like on his cock—distract him.

he offers to stand guard while you bathe, as it's the honorably thing to do, but he curses himself the second he "accidentally" glances the angle of your peaked nipple as you wash or the curve of your ass when you dry. and of course you know when he's looking!

his favorite time is laundry time! only because you get to wear one of his tunics while your dress dries and he's too busy ogling you to get any real work done. his shirt is big enough to pool around the thighs, compelling him to wonder if you're even bothering to wear anything underneath…the following day when you return his garment he's getting off to your scent.

also! in regards to you wearing his clothes, he constantly replays the memory of you standing before him, going on about something he can't quite recall, the fire behind you illuminating your silhouetted body under the light gray of his shirt. duncan wishes he could've paused time and taken the moment to properly drink in your person, his mouth slightly agape in awe.

he definitely had a love-hate relationship with the beginning of the companionship; he was so awkward trying to not make you uncomfortable (but he loved the puzzle of figuring you out). constantly had am i sitting/standing too close? thoughts circling his mind, would take mental note of what herbs you'd wash with, how you liked your eggs, etc. will forever go out of his way just to see you warm, comfortable, and smiling.

at first, he’s self conscious about it. it’s written all over his blushing face and hidden between his clumsy fingers that settle under your ribs. you tell him you’ll take it slow, that he’ll be stealing your breath away with kisses in no time. unbeknownst to you, he held onto those somewhat teasing words and took them to heart. he was eager to learn, eager to touch and grab and press his lips against any bit of you he possibly could.

because the second they tasted your own, he became a fool.

“give me one more, dove.” he mumbles, ducking his head and nuzzling his face against the side of your own as if it’ll coax you. his stubble rubs up on your petal soft cheeks like it always does, making an airy giggle bubble up in your throat as he continues to smother you with his affection and tower over you.

when you oblige, you’re not expecting him to take your face in his big but gentle hand, fingers pressing into your cheeks just enough to hold you still. you’re not expecting him to move his lips against yours in a way that feels hungry, or something tiptoeing on the line of feverish. but it’s smooth— not practiced, just natural. you gasp into his mouth and cling onto him a little tighter before you have time to react properly, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth.

he may be a bit thick, may not catch onto your little hints all the time… however in moments like these, you’re reminded that he’s not chaste by any means, despite the awkward kissing you’ve gotten used to and the unintentional manhandling that makes you dizzy and needy.

“where did that come from?” you mumble when he finally relents, lips swollen when you speak. your eyes are wide as can be whilst you stare up at him, a sick combination of being dumbfounded and completely lovesick on your face.