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She would give me toothaches just from kissing me. | Ser Duncan.
( Ser Duncan the Tall x fem!reader )
résumé: An exploration of what it would be like for Duncan once he’s allowed to touch and kiss you without limits. He is lovesick fool, after all.
warnings: None! Just fluff! And Duncan being in love.
word count: 747!
author’s note: nothing I write is quite convincing me yet, and I hate how often the same words repeat, god… anyway, let me know what you think. Be kind! But I might take a short break <3
Ser Duncan, who has kissed you for the first time, seems unable to stop. He had always denied himself even the simple fantasy of how your mouth might feel against his, for it seemed illogical to him that a lady as exquisite as you would desire the discomfort of his dry lips… but fortunately for him, your courage in taking the first step cast such insecurities aside.
That small, stolen peck among the night gardens awakened a hunger for touch he had long imprisoned within his heart, hidden deep inside. Physical closeness became proof that his affection was returned, and the freedom to show it through touch was… deeply stirring.
It was not long before he greeted you with a kiss upon your hand whenever you met, though you would quickly pull it away in embarrassment.
“It is not necessary for you to do that, Ser,” you whispered, and by the Seven, had you been able to blush, you surely would have. “It is far too formal.”
“If formality displeases you, then it will not be necessary for you to call me Ser,” he replied, still respecting your space. “…I merely wished to greet you properly. I have been thinking of you… well, since I opened my eyes this morning.”
That earned him a tender smile from you. “I have been thinking of you too.”
That single confession was enough for Duncan to return the smile, a small one, but it was enough to melt your heart.
“If you are to greet me so each time we meet, then allow me to kiss your hands as well,” you demanded quickly.
“My hands? No, no… why would you do that? They are wounded and—”
Dunk could not finish, for the words caught in his throat as he watched you take both his hands and lift them to your lips, gently brushing them against his knuckles.
“Then I shall heal them,” was all you replied.
From that moment on, Duncan’s kisses were not only accepted, but returned.
Even so, he always found the proper moment to gift you even the smallest caresses. Were you speaking intently of courtly gossip? He would listen to you attentively, his lips resting slowly on your cheek before he rested his head on your shoulder (even if his back would ache afterward, it was worth it when you kissed his brow in return). Were you walking hand in hand with him? Without hesitation, he would take your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to its back. Were you troubled by matters of the realm? Fear not! He would seek to soothe you by embracing you from behind with his great arms, leaving a trail of kisses that began at your shoulder and ended at the hollow of your neck.
When Duncan kisses you upon the lips, he does so with an awkward softness. He lacks experience, and at first he is a bundle of nerves, unsure even where to place his hands, and you must guide him. In the beginning, you both merely held hands as you kissed, slow and tender in languid affection, but now he allows himself to relax, his hands resting at your waist.
Without fail, a soft laugh escapes him whenever you are in a playful mood and, as he leans in to claim a kiss from your sweet lips, you turn your face aside, evading him, your noses brushing sweetly together.
He loves to kiss the crown of your head, closing his eyes as he inhales your sweet scent, his fingers threading through the strands of your hair or his palm resting gently at the back of your head.
Or better still. When he is exhausted from training and can give himself over to you completely, his muscles finally relaxing as he slowly invades your space, one arm around your back and the other behind your shoulders, drawing you close as his body yields. His face comes to rest upon your shoulder while he scatters kisses along your cheek, murmuring soft words of your beauty. Until fully spent, he accidentally lets all his weight fall upon you, fainting into your warmth.
And… if you allow it, after winning a tournament he would delight in lifting you into his arms, spinning you about upon his heels, kissing every inch of your face: each fraction of skin from the curve of your nose to your cheekbone and at your lips, melting into you before setting you back down slowly.
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summary: this is just smut 💀 baelor is a good husband who thinks you are the best
word count: 1.7k
tags: smut, mdni, 18+, fingering, fem!reader, heavy use of “my darling” “my wife” so on (this is self indulgent), soft!baelor who praises you, and fingers end up in a mouth (?)
notes: not proof read and i have written smut like twice ever, please be kind 🙏
"You are my wife," Baelor reminds you with such sweetness. "If it is your desire, then I shall make it a reality."
He believes this whole heartedly, you know. For the most difficult of circumstances, or most simple of tasks. He would do anything for you.
"I wish you would only do it if it is what you want as well, husband." You chuckle at his ambition and remind him he has a label in the relationship as well.
"I would not do a thing I did not please." He speaks truthfully, raising your hand so he may kiss your knuckles. "And, to be honest, I would not have been clever enough to think of that on my own."
You roll your eyes at him now, though you cannot help but smile. To which he grins ever so happily for. He is ridiculously agreeable. You are perfectly straight forward.
"Be careful, for flattery may stop suiting you if you use it so often." You tease him, hand still in his hold.
Baelor chuckles, kissing the next knuckle on your hand. "Flattery will always suit me when it is through your eyes, my love."
He is right. You don't bother to dispute it.
"It was not clever to consider putting in a lounge chair." You find some other fake disagreement to have. Just to keep him going.
"Clever to consider the placement, though." A kiss to the next knuckle.
It truly wasn't all that clever, just the spot you noticed got the most light in the evening. The light that glows golden. Baelor says it is his favorite time of day, as it is when you show your true angelic form to him once more. You say he is full of manure.
"If that pleases, then fine." You finally answer.
He smiles against the next kiss to your knuckles. "Fine?"
"Yes," you nod. "Fine."
He chuckles now, bringing his other hand up to join his hold on you. He is knelt on the ground beside of your current lounger, looking into your eyes with a twinkling eye. He looks like trouble.
"Very little is ever simply fine with you, my darling." His fingers interlace with your own. He plays with your hand so carefully.
"Are you suggesting I am disagreeable?" You raise a challenging brow, trying to hide a grin.
He kisses your wrist. "You do enjoy to challenge me, is all I mean." He kisses your pulse point. "And I quite enjoy hearing your banter."
You watch him for a moment as he trails kisses along your forearm, making his way upwards slowly. His beard tickles your skin, causing your fingers to twitch between his before squeezing gently for encouragement. How he loves to adore you.
"Hmm, a shame I see no need to banter over this matter, then." You shrug much too casually.
Baelor hums into the next kiss, landing on your collar bone and lingering for what he knows is a second too long. "Quite so."
Your eyes close, breathing in slowly and letting your head relax on the cushion. Baelor hovers over your chest, a kiss falling right in the center. Then another, evening your collar bones. Then another, just above your dress where your breasts are peeking out.
"I do enjoy these opportunities to appreciate my clever wife as well, so it seems I am in luck." His eyes shine as he maps out his path.
You chuckle at his response, spine swaying your body upwards. Seeking him out? Readjusting? Whatever it was, you are enjoying yourself equally.
He seals a final kiss into your palm before letting go, hands finding a new part of your body to take over. His fingers trail down along your dress, knuckles tingling over the fabric. His lips keep busy too, kissing your covered ribs, then below your hidden navel. His hand has made it to your ankle now, fingers brushing beneath the hem of your skirt.
"Baelor…" you whisper his name, unsure why.
"Yes, my darling?" He murmurs back as his fingers trail up along your leg, your linen shift catching gathering around his arm.
"Just…" you breathe in deeply, squirming in attempt to get him closer. "Must your appreciations be so time consuming?"
Baelor smiles down at you, his free hand brushing over your cheek to soothe. It hardly works, given you needed his touch in a much more obvious place. That is the point, though.
"Oh, darling..." he coos, kissing the corner of your lips. "To properly appreciate, it will take a generous amount of time. However, it is lovely of you to be so eager."
His hand beneath your dress is at your thigh now, smoothing inwards as he massages. You bite your lip and do your best to follow his flow. He makes it hard.
"You look gorgeous." He says it so softly, as if his thumb isn't gliding along your inner thigh in a terrible tease.
"Baelor." You whine, your own hand making way to his lower wrist with hopes to get him on track.
He lets you hold him, even lets you drag his hand closer to the heat that radiates from you. He would allow you to do any thing you pleased, any moment. But you both know you enjoy his pace.
"Yes, darling?" He asks again.
"You must give me something to work with beyond your sweet words." Your eyes open, connecting with his in a plea.
His lips curl into a smile, giving you a small nod of understanding. It is all it takes. His hand moves upward, two fingers gliding and feeling the slick between your legs.
"You melt so easily beneath my fingers," he gives praise. His fingers reward you, circling your clit. Once. Twice. Three times… A steady but slow pace.
Your hips lift, gaining a temporarily added pressure beneath his fingers. You still hold his wrist, your fingers twitching in the grip. Another deep breath in.
The sensation leaves for just a second, his fingers sliding back down your folds to gather more of your wet. Then, back to your clit. His pace is just slightly quicker. Once, twice, three times.
"Are you enjoying this, clever girl?" Baelor's head tilts as he watches your every move.
"Yes," you utter with quickness, chest falling with a pleased sigh. "Very much so."
"Wonderful." He kisses your cheek.
The butterflies in your stomach go wild. His pace steps up again, building momentum in his own time. Your hand lets go of his wrist finally, instead holding the plush cushion of the lounger beneath your body.
The friction on your clit adjusts again, his thumb taking over the job. He applies a slightly deeper pressure, too, earning a gasp from your lips. He smiles at his own success.
"Already making such pretty noises for me." He kisses your parted lips, his thumb giving you more of that pressure you so highly desire.
"Just think… think of how I will sound when you are in me." You grin at him through half lidded eyes. Always a challenge. Even when your words are broken up with a whimper.
"Let's see, then." He gives a swift nod before pausing his circular rhythm.
Your body attempts to follow his hand, but his free palm is pressing you back down. His thumb beneath your shift pressure into your clit, and just stays there. Then you feel his finger, pushing into your interest with consideration. Slow. Taunting. Something to pull the best of reactions.
Your knee lifts, seeing as your waist is still held down. He is only one knuckle deep, finger curling to tease you even there. You take your bottom lip between your teeth, a soft hum rolling in your chest. And he is fucking smiling down at you.
"What more can you do?" His eyes flicker down for a split second as his fingers dive deeper, hitting his second knuckle before beginning to pump in and out.
"Hmm… whatever… whatever you want…" you try to murmur.
He tsks, shaking his head and quickening his pace. "Now, darling. This is about you. What I want is to illicit your genuine reactions."
Is that why his thumb began to circle your clit again? And his fingers curled inside of you before continuing on— inward, outward-dragging out a moan that he hopes came from your soul.
Your hips try another time to lift, or your body tries its best to just move. Your brain isn't sure what it is, you just need to have more, more, more.
"Beautiful work, my darling." Baelor fawns over you, his own lips parting at his observations of your undoing.
He watches the way you writhe beneath his touch. Desperately seeking any bit of contact you could have. The way it caused more of yourself to be revealed, hot cunt being hit with cold air as your dress skit pooled over your stomach. He revels in seeing how wet you had become.
The butterflies in your stomach have all melted now, or abandoned you in your pleasure. As his fingers rapidly work on your core, you cannot help but let another moan escape you.
"Baelor, just… keep…" your mouth falls with a gasp. "Mhmm…"
It only takes two more drags of his fingers before you are turning you into goo beneath Baelor's touch. Your body relaxing, ecstasy coarsing through you. His fingers slip from their success.
"Look at me," Baelor speaks softly. His hand leaves its hold on your hip, finger beneath your chin to turn your gaze to him. "You did wonderful."
Your breathing is deep, slow. You smile at him, knee relaxing too and your dress skirt covering the mess he had made. "You give me far too much credit."
He chuckles, holding up his glistening fingers for a curious inspection. "I have proof that says otherwise."
He jokes, but means it entirely. His eyes are with yours again as he gives a small wave of his fingers covered in… you. Then, eyes still connected, his fingers go to his mouth, tongue cleaning himself off.
He hums, a soft pop as his fingers come out clean. "Now I cannot help but wonder, wife… what sounds will you make when you take my cock?”
