#princess x knight au
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knight vi ⚔️
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JILY ; Princess x Knight AU
⌦ .｡.:*♡ In where one of them tries to rekindle their spark in order to save their love but one of them lets their partner's go for that person's own good.
Cross-posted on Twitter @jfleapotter
A/N: Hi guys, I haven't uploaded in a while so this might not reach as much. And I know this isn't like any of my usual works (social media aus) but I will be uploading more of those still! I just wanna ask you guys how you have been, it's been so long. I'll start to be more active again. That's all, thank you <3
_________________________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐
Lily walked through the empty dark corridor. She had snuck out of her sleeping chambers to go to the barracks after such a long day. The exhaustion was washing over her but she needed to see a certain person before she went to bed. After not seeing him all day, she craved for his touch, longing for the sound of his voice.
She was already by the garden when she heard him call out to her.
“Your highness,”
She turned to see him jogging towards her, a smile forming in her lips as she saw him for the first time that day. Despite the serious expression on his face, she couldn’t help feeling her heart furiously beating.
“James, hi,” she said, sounding breathless as he came nearer.
“What are you doing out here, princess?” he asked, touching the hilt of his sword, something he did when he was nervous. James wasn’t someone who gets flustered easily, but there was something about Lily that made his heart race abnormally in a way he didn’t hate. If anything, he looked forward to the familiar feeling.
“I was heading for the barracks,” she simply said, taking in his appearance.
The knight’s eyebrow couldn’t help itself but raise, “Oh? What for?” Though he already knew the answer, he wanted to hear it come from her.
“To see you,” said Lily without hesitation. Causing a small smile to flash on James’ lips for a moment before his expression returned to being stoic.
He tried so hard not to let his emotions slip through the crack. “May I ask why, your highness?”
Lily pursed her lips, she hated it whenever he addressed her so formally. It felt like he was trying to distance himself from her on purpose, instead of just being too busy like how she tried to convince herself he was doing.
“Did his majesty ask for me?” James asked, trying to act clueless, causing the princess to grunt in annoyance as she muttered something under her breath.
“No, I just wanted to see you,” she said, trying to stop herself from smacking him in the face.
James’ eyebrow shot up, “Is someone giving you trouble?”
The princess wanted to judo flip the cluelessness act he’s trying to feign. “You know why I want to see you, James.”
He let out a sigh of defeat, turning away for a moment. He couldn’t bear to look at her frustrated expression, especially not when he was the cause of it. “Your highness, we’ve talked about this,” James said.
There was an awkward silence between them. Lily didn’t know why James seems so persistent in avoiding her, acting like they didn’t spend a period of their life in love with each other.
“I know–”
“Then you should know that we’re not supposed to be near each other right now,” James said softly, not wanting to come off as harsh. Lily huffed, feeling offended when he cut her off.
“Why not? You’re my personal bodyguard,” she retorted, her stubbornness not fading. And James would find it endearing if they were in a different situation than now.
He simply gave her a stern look, “I was. But not anymore. There’s a reason I asked to be reassigned, princess. You have to understand that. You need to head back, it’s getting late.”
To her dismay, James went out of his way to contact the other guards to escort her back to her room instead of doing it himself.
Lily sulked in her room later that night. How could James change so much in just the span of a year? It was as if he bewitched himself so he could unlove her. But then again, he started acting distant months before the king announced Lily’s betrothal to another Prince from another kingdom.
Did James know about her engagement before her? She hadn’t thought about it before. Maybe he did. Was she the last one to know? Why didn’t James tell her as soon as possible?
Her mind flooded with so many questions, overwhelming her enough to drive her to sleep. Where she dreamt of the blissful life she shared with James before all this.
The rest of the weeks didn’t help Lily, as she kept seeing James escort another princess other than her, the sister of her betrothed.
Lily wasn’t one to get jealous easily, but something irked her seeing them together. What was that princess doing with her James? Lily thought to herself.
“Are you okay?” a voice interrupted her thoughts. It was the Prince. “You’re a bit red. Is it too hot?”
Lily snapped out of her trance, shaking her head. “Uh..do I look a bit red?” she asked, feeling herself up by her neck. “Sorry, I was just..”
It was a good thing the Prince was too busy with himself to follow her gaze. “Here, a fan,” he offered.
She mumbled a thank you before turning her gaze back to where James stood with another girl. He had a stoic look on his face but Lily could tell that he was enjoying the girl’s company. She knew his signature smile too well. His smile was barely noticeable if you didn’t pay attention.
Lily had everything about James engraved to her mind. They both grew up together, him being the son of the loyal and well-known knight across the kingdom; he lived in the palace with his father.
He had followed his father’s footsteps. He was a stubborn kid, while Lily was quite the opposite, but they were great friends regardless. And their friendship grew into something more over the years.
That night, Lily let the best get a hold of herself as she waited for James in the barracks. She knew where his chamber was, she had memorized it like the back of his hand. Because this was where they spent most of their nights together, gushing around and talking nonstop until dawn.
She sat in the corner on his bunk.
By the surprised sound coming out of James, she knew she caught him off guard.
He stared at her, mouth agape as he didn’t expect her to be here. “Your highness, what are you doi–”
She cut him off, “James,” she said, but she didn’t know what she should say right after.
They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, and awkward silence falling over them, before she moved closer.
And James didn’t move away. He couldn’t, not when she’s standing so close for him to examine her beautiful face.
“James..” she swallowed a lump in her throat, her hands finding their way to his cheek to caress his cheek, cupping his face gently. She had so much more she wanted to say, but the only words that had escaped her mouth were, “I want to know that you still want me as much as I want you. That..that you’re still in love with me.”
She couldn’t take it anymore, she needed to know if he still felt the same way he did before. And to say that she’d lose her mind if he didn’t was an understatement.
He didn’t hesitate to lean into her touch, the heat reminding him of the past they had spent together. Her hands felt soft against his skin, feeling the gentleness of her caress, he felt himself starting to blush. Closing his eyes he felt his heart race with every beat, mind swirling with thoughts about her, their past, and present, and it became clear.
“You need not worry, your highness,” he whispered softly, leaning in closer, “I am still quite in love with you.”
Lily froze, was he? Or was he just saying that to appease her? After all, he hadn't bothered to look her way ever since her betrothal was announced. Except to James, that wasn’t the case at all. He always looked her way whenever he had the chance. But most of the time it hurt because the prince was by her side.
“Lily,” James said, sounding breathless as she got closer. “We can’t—” he didn’t know where to begin. Meanwhile, Lily was stunned for a moment. It had been a while ever since he addressed her by her name.
Her frown deepened as he sighed. “I love you. So I can’t let this go further, Lils.”
“Why not?”
He never gave her an answer that night. He just escorted her back to her room. Feeling frustrated with himself and their situation.
Months later...he stood with the crowd as the Lily stood in the altar with her groom. He could tell she was searching for him when it was time to seal the vows.
James chose a spot where he knew she wouldn’t be able to see. His thoughts ran back to the question she asked that night in the barracks. Why not? Why couldn’t he let himself indulge in her touch? Because he was afraid he might lose control. Afraid that he may never let her go again.
And he couldn’t let that happen, because he knew that with him, she had no future. James won’t be able to give her a good life, unlike the Prince she was to be wed now.
The love Lily and James shared was beyond beautiful, but it wasn’t something that was meant to last. And James himself knew that from the very beginning.
Months later...he stood with the crowd as the Lily stood in the altar with her groom. He could tell she was searching for him when it was time to seal the vows.
James chose a spot where he knew she wouldn’t be able to see. His thoughts ran back to the question she asked that night in the barracks. Why not? Why couldn’t he let himself indulge in her touch? Because he was afraid he might lose control. Afraid that he may never let her go again.
And he couldn’t let that happen, because he knew that with him, she had no future. James won’t be able to give her a good life, unlike the Prince she was to be wed now.
The love Lily and James shared was beyond beautiful, but it wasn’t something that was meant to last. And James and Lily both knew that from the very beginning.
And they both had very different ways of trying to reserve it.
✧˖*°࿐ End ✧˖*°࿐
#jily#james potter#jily fic#lily evans#james potter x lily evans#marauders era#marauders#alternative universe#princess x knight au#princess x knight trope
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https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi6959 here’s my fanfiction guysss<3 check it out!
#catra#adora x catra#adora#catra fanart#catradora#adora fanart#Fanart#SheRa and the Princesses of Power#shera#shera netflix#shera fandom#princess of power#princess x knight au#knight#elf
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Medieval knight!Jason Todd who's a long-lost son of the Wayne earldom. He took up a crusade when he was younger but was believed to be dead. Only to reveal himself several years later during the swordsmanship tournament hosted by Wayne family. Just as Dick was lying in the sand coughing up blood next to his discarded sword, his unknown challenger took off his scarlet helmet and the entire court erupted in chaos.
That was years ago now. Since then, Sir Todd made amends with his family, but they are by no means close. Jason managed to gain a title and a fief on his own, independent of his family and he takes no small pride in that. These days he and his merry group of loyal warriors take up mercenary work and guardianship if the person has enough coin.
When the local baron hired him to be a personal guard for his daughter, Jason was sure that would be an easy job for a good amount of gold. The red knight soon found out that being your bodyguard is not as easy as he thought. You were quite the escape artist. Whenever a banquet or an audience was too boring for your liking, you simply vanished, and Jason had to search for you high and low to drag you back. It made him grind his jaw and caused his temper to flare more than once.
You were thrilled and appalled that someone spoke to you so crassly and brazenly. Other soldiers your father assigned to you treated you with the utmost respect and gave up after a few months. Not the red knight. He proved himself to be just as stubborn as you, if not more. At this point, it wasn't about money anymore. He just couldn't stand the thought of some spoiled daughter of a noble getting the better of him. Jason had no qualms about throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you back to the castle, while the plate of his armor dug uncomfortably into your stomach.
After six months of this, Jason was fed up with your nonsense and was ready to collect his gold and disappear for good. You were hiding from the baroness, some nonsense about dress fitting or a dance lesson. Jason was just returning from the training grounds when he saw you sitting on the ground near the barn, playing with a fresh litter of kittens. You knew the cat and the kittens well, and judging how other animals treated you it wasn't your first time there. You met his gaze and winked at him, placing a finger to your lips. Your first shared secret.
After that day, your personal guard Jason somehow became your partner in crime. He looked the other way sometimes or followed in a safe distance. You fascinated him, and somehow, before he even knew it, he started to fall for you. He wanted to deny it. Jason reminded himself time and time again why it was a horrible idea. However, he couldn't keep himself from falling more and more for you.
Another day, another one of your daring escapes. This time was, different, though. You took some of your belongings and your horse while leaving a letter to say your goodbyes. Jason did not care for exploring the feelings of absolute horror that grasped his heart at the thought of you disappearing from his life. He immediately set out to search for you. You couldn't escape too far and he knew where to go. He knew you better than anyone.
When he caught up with you, you were residing in a tavern in a small cozy village near the edge of your father's land. You were always annoyed and scathing whenever he came to bring you back home, but this time, you were just sad, almost tearful. Jason demanded an explanation for your unusual disappearance, and the one he received almost made him shatter the pitcher in his hand. The courting season was swiftly approaching.
He knew of your fear and unwillingness to get pawned off for alliance and title. He was also aware that your parents were adamant in marrying you off before grow out of marrigable age.
Which is why your loyal guardian made you an offer. You stay in the village for its upcoming festival, relishing in last days of freedom without responsibility, before returning home. This offer served not only you, but Jason as well. He wanted to revel in your presence before returning to your old life where he was the knight and you were the noble.
In hinsight, he should've realized that was a mistake, because in these last few days he became aware of how smitten he'd become. It was all too easy to forget his duties when you were pretending to be a simple village girl.
You peroused the stalls, gawking at everything you saw and chatting his ear off. He watched you trying to eat the commoner food with your bare hands, hilariously failing. When they arrived in the square where the dance was held, you haven't hesitated before grabbing his hand and pulling him for a dance. Jason wanted to protest, but your bright smile convinced him. He twirled you amongst the townsfolk before he noticed familiar faces heading your way. The baron's soldiers, no doubt they were looking for you.
Quicker than you could react, Jason pulled you into a darkened corner, covering your body with his, pressing your lips together. He kissed you until he knew the guards were gone. He pulled away to apologize but before he could say anything you grabbed him by the lapels of his cloak and pressed your lips together again. You kissed him with sweetness and desperation that stole breath from his lungs, and Jason had no choice but to melt into you. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing you impossibly close to him, your hands slipped from his cheeks to his hair.
He indulged little longer before letting voice of reason win, pulling away. Jason reminded you that you shouldn't be doing this, reminded you of your respective postitions. You didn't listened, instead, you uttered words Jason both wished and dreaded to hear.
You loved him.
He asked of you to never say these words to him again, and without another word he took your hand and led you back home as he tried to ignore your quiet sobs.
Despite your promises, he catches you trying to climb out over one of the garden walls during your courting ball. Jason wanted to strangle you, not that he enjoyed watching you dance with all those idiot nobles while all he wanted to do was to take you and carry you somewhere where there only be the two of you. This can't go on much longer, he has to end things tonight. Jason takes on a quest, to slay creatures in the southern forest. Surely you'll understand eventually...that the distance is good for both of you.
Months go by, and the pain the red knight felt when leaving you felt bearable. The other soldiers in his unit were curious as to why the infamous red knight left such prestigious position. Some speculated it was because the position was too peaceful and the dead son of Wayne was hungry for blood. If only they knew the true reason he left, but it was for the better. No one needs to know. One day, a messenger arrived, bearing a letter that stated there was an attack on the baron's family. The baron and his wife were badly injured and you were missing.
How was this possible?! You were supposed to be safe here! Without missing even a single second, Jason rode his horse tirelessly to the city. He will find you, and whoever took you will pay for every scratch he finds on you with their life. When he rescues you from your kidnappers, you're barely conscious. Gently, he pics up your weakened body and carefully carries you over the dead bodies lying everywhere. When he brings you back home, as he always done, he is adamant to never leave your side, no matter what takes. With heart full of determination, he asks, no, demands your hand in marriage. His name, his fief, his sword and his hearth, all of it is yours.
The baron is wise enough to give Sir Jason his blessings. After all, who's better for his daughter than a man who is able to set the world ablaze to safe her?
Art: Crown; Katerina Kirillova
Tags: @thinkingofausername, @fir3flytv, @ivysangel, @cherrrysstuff, @xxgoblin-dumplingxx, @mostly-imagines , @applejuicebegood , @sanguineterrain
#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd medieval au#knight!jason todd#knight x princess#medieval au#red hood x reader#red hood x you#jason todd fanfic#jason todd fanfiction#jason todd drabble#princess reader#the art is so cool you guys
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Your Devoted Knight Turns Out to be a Pervert
Pairing: Male!Knight x Fem!Reader
Tags: nsfw, smut, masturbation, stealing clothes, pillow humping, fingering, quiet sex, slight dub-con, crushes, knight x princess
A/N: It's always the most loyal ones.
There's been rumors of someone sneaking out of your room at random times so your knight had to be by your side more often
He was always the romantic sort, bringing you gifts and trying his best to make you feel safe
Offered to guard your door at night in case anyone broke in
The first night went fine, nothing odd happened
However it didn't take long for you to notice your dresses going missing, then being returned the next day perfectly clean
The King, your father, began to worry even more, fearing that you might be taken next
He ordered two knights to guard your room while your most loyal night would stay in your room in case the culprit tried to get in through the window
On that night you saw it, you woke up to his moans, calling your name while silently jerking his cock off into one of your pillows, it was your knight
You woke up fully, demanding and explanation, ready to scream but he was faster, covering your mouth with the semen covered hand, making you taste cum for the first time
Can't even begin to tell you how sorry he is for this, he knows what he's doing is wrong but he is in love with you
If you really want him gone after tonight he will go
But at least let him have you for this one night, to run his fingers under your nightgown and feel your pussy around his fingers
This is wrong too, he's breaking so many rules, you are too by letting him touch you without marrying you
And yet... you know he won't hurt you
He has to remember to keep his voice down too, make slow movements with both his hands or there will be other types of noises
If you can't keep quiet you can bite a pillow
Then again if you do choose to keep him around, and keep this affair going then you'll both need to learn to stay as quiet as possible
#boyfriend x reader#boyfriend x girlfriend#knight x princess#knight x reader#boyfriend imagines#boyfriend headcanons#boyfriend scenarios#boyfriend smut#royalty au#original writing#x female reader
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I am begging on hands and knees please write something about knight Ghost being sick and princess reader taking care of him.
PLEASE
OOOOOH ok maybe not sick, but how about injured?
Ghost hisses as you pull your thread tight, your needle held between deft, if shaking, fingers. You've read about wound treatment, even seen Ghost stitch himself up, but you've never had to deal with it yourself. He hardly looks at you, eyes glued to the pull of your needle through the skin on his side. His arm raised out of your way gives you a clear canvas to stitch, even as the wide expanse of his ribs expands and contracts with every loop. Your fingers are coated in his blood.
He's so firm under your hands. Well built and maintained muscle covers every inch of him. It's a shame to count the scars that litter his torso, or it should be. You have to keep yourself from running your fingers over the soft white scars that cover him like constellations of a life lived dangerously. It's too bad that this is your only moment of pleasure(small as it is) in this whole excursion, and it's coming at Ghost's expense.
"I'm sorry," You tell him for the hundredth time. This whole trip has been a nightmare. Diplomatic your ass, the next time someone needed to visit a warring neighbor you weren't volunteering. And now Ghost is hurt because you were wearing what was supposed to protect him.
"Don't be," He tells you, also for the hundredth time, "it was a lucky shot, won't happen again." You nod and tie off the last stitch. Ghost grunts, letting out a pained breath as you snip the thread, and tries to lower his arm. You stop him.
"I need to bandage it," You remind him.
"Beggars can't be choosers Princess, we gotta get moving." He pushes himself up onto his knees, and you wince watching his skin tug at your stitching, his wound oozing between the looped thread. You're quick to grab the hem of your dress as he stands, finding one of the seams and ripping it. Ghost freezes at the noise, looking down at you from his half stance.
He sits heavily back on the ground to watch you tear a length of cloth off your skirt. Almost curious, his eye heavy on you. He raises his arm again when you reach to loop the expensive fabric around his middle. The blood on your fingers hardly seems to make a dent in it when you see the way it clings to his wound, already soaking dark with his blood. You wrap a few more layers of it and tie off the makeshift bandage.
You stand when you've finished, Ghost's arm dropping back to his side as you enjoy the sway of your much shorter skirt as you do. This is nice, more ladies should wear their skirts at their knees. Ghost keeps his eyes on yours as you stand, unwilling to look at your immodesty. His hand however... His hand grips the back of your calf, slides up behind your knee, rough calloused fingers just grazing the back of your thigh so improperly far up your skirt. Well, up your usual skirt, here it seems he's just dipped above the ripped hem.
"I'm sorry," He rasps. His hand squeezes your soft flesh, enjoying the give of your skin the same way you enjoy the heated drag of his fingers.
"Don't be," You breathe. You keep your hands to yourself, though you ache to touch him. You don't want to sully your precious knight with any more blood than has already been shed. Ghost's hand moves from your leg to hold the tattered hem of your dress. He bows his head to kiss it, his eyes hot on yours. You feel a pang go through your heart, he looks good on his knees like this.
You do your best to control your breathing, school the heat on your cheeks, as he pushes himself to stand again. He leans carefully to grab his undershirt from the ground, and you watch the interlocked planes of muscle over his chest work as he pulls it over his head. His pain is quieter now, short breaths when he moves too quickly. Beautiful, you think as you watch him move.
"There's a stream nearby," He grunts, pulling his bloodied longsword from where he'd thrust it into the earth, "let's see if we can't get you cleaned up."
"I'm alright," You insist, your heart clenching tight at his care. How can he think of you when he's the one that's hurt?
"Got more of my blood on you than I do," He chuckles, holding out a hand for you. You hesitate to take it and his expression softens. "Come on sweetheart," He entreats, "A little blood won't scare me off."
He must be delirious, you tell yourself taking his hand. To call you something so affectionate so casually, as if he's called you that his whole life. You tuck it away in your heart to touch later when you're feeling especially masochistic. For now you let him lead you through the forest towards running water, so you can wash your hands of him before continuing your journey.
#cod x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#x reader#ghost x reader#ghost mw2#ghost call of duty#ghost cod#simon riley x reader#simon riley#knight!Ghost#princess!reader#medieval au
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before the flora.
knight!ellie x princess!reader teaser. beginning is essentially just lore. bonus excerpt with ellie and princess interaction below the sketch. wrote the intro in january. no warnings tbh. illustration by @trackinglessons :P READ THIS . PALESTINE MASTERPOST
When the universe was born, there was only fire; a slowly waning blaze. And so hence when death begins to unfurl its low, groaning bloom— there will only be ice.
Yet the heavens and earth are nay alike, as death— and life, are interwoven by the timeless nuptial that is humans, and Mother Nature. Cordial and tepid heartbeats meet with her frigid and frightening marrow this season. Flakes are falling, a howl swells in the wind, and hearths stay an undying tongue of flame in the province of Istenad. Isle of riches and hedonism gone rampant amongst those who proved meritful of a conversation spat over gilded chalices. Or those who wiped a famished tongue stroke over the sole of His Majesty— The King's tan leather boots in entreat, declaring the hide a tenfold more gullet–watering than their stale, daily spare of bread. Where high life reins, low life is there to scrub their steeds.
The wintry pearlescent tundra fringing around uncharted woodlands hums your name— it carries by gale, an airy reed of vowels pulled through your ears.
Tut, tut, tut, the pecking of bark.
Everything seems to resound much heavier over the windows thick limestone sill. Woodwinds, the sough of pine boughs— a chorus wafted. Woodpeckers, they beat rigid timber with their sonnets of calling. The echoed tut starts to sound awfully kindred to a beckoning call of your name. And at daybreak, when the tangerine sun dips its head under the coast, you feel a magnetic lull to traverse your truest passions and slip away into the night, arctic chilled steel in hand. The quantity of hay sticking beneath your shoes collected by skittering across the night–doused thoroughfare was well enough to concern your maids on duty to dress you, brows fuddled at the streaming of straw near your door come morning.
Loop of your knuckles, bend of your wrist, a hand flexed on the hilt of a meticulously poached sword. A swing 'round your waist, a cold hale grip the air could taste, fighting off many mythic brutes of moonlight, however only conceived where dreams are airtight. The mind, it plays. The play it perceives, a viewing spread like tawny butter. Ghouls and ghastlies encircle a quaint pond, chanting away in cryptic grumbles and beastly bumbles, enraged with their slobber frothing at the fangs you tore from their sockets— deeper than artless, juxtaposed to the blinding ruby reds and dyed paper sunflowers of the theater. Your mind’s play felt real.
Unfortunate to your heart, dreams will stay dreams.
Nary a princess was meant to tune into melee, especially at your courting age. Nevertheless, your psyche has spurned from what a maiden is expected of and is completely in a haven of your own structure, your signature sanctuary.
In the farmsteads, a forthcoming soldier harvests not just crop— but dexterity. Derived and nurtured in the faraway prairie village of Dunwich, where the fertile seasons prove flaxen of corn and the trickling sweat of every farmhand turns to gold. Any newborn granted to this quaint village is fated to form calloused hands with labor written in their palm lines as time unfolds. In their— well, her— adolescent years, the yearning for practices of gallantry in knighthood swiveled her sights to the colossal stone castle way.. way far away. Sprouting beyond the earth line, far as the eye can see.
So, she learned, she trained, she slept, partaking in a ranged cycle taught by her ruthlessly departed father: Sir Joel. Reprisal became her nemesis; never able to rend the barrier of hesitation and cleanse her shut eyes of revolting imagery. The horseman of death was not omitting the trauma of this hazel-haired soldier. A weight so burdensome, her speckled skin remembers the tales of every scar clawed into it. Like how the lips of a bard cling to an everlasting ballad.
Every knight knew well to exile any lingering ties to the past. It's been years since he passed, she understands that. Though, the heart never lies, and certainly never covets forgetting.
Ambitions stemming from legions of knights in waiting have fallen short, submerging within the moat of the castle and sinking deep into the catacombs with no elegy sung. An allegory for dreams long since vanished. A domain so valued longs for those biding life with rigid bones, such as she. Tempered by the hardships, endured like metal meeting the blacksmith's chisel.
A vividness to her movements, flowing like a river. For it is water that soothes the most cosmic fires, carves veins into the earth's soil, descends from the heavens above and proves iron soluble. A knight so pinpoint and poised like a painter, yet so daring and baneful like a warrior of evenfall. An artisan of her craft, this knight-to-be is. Born to thrive in matters regarding protection of their kingdom and its nobility. By the sheer tenacity of her skill, she will excel. From the self–instructed lessons in a verdant pasture, basked by undying light in her hometown— to the ordained priming within the royal court.
They were forged to be dutiful.
You are a daughter of the illustrious King, Sagard, and swan–grace queen, Sagard— maiden name Adela, and sister of your highly revered and cherished kin, Prudence. Subsequent to her fabled rise, was your fall. A pratfall you plainly turned a serene ear from, for you foresaw its coming. Clandestine adventures and lollygagging in the marketplace earned you right in the clasp of consequences. You knew that, knowing it kept you on the balls of your toes before you'd be caught suiting into an act more repugnant— be it, no.. befogging yourself in a peasant boys' dire–in–muck rags, merely to play "boy" games as a young one?
Sacrilege!
Prudence was there, at every occasion, scolding with her youthful finger at the palace fore, sucking her fingertip wet of spit and dragging a stroke over your soot–strewn cheek, just before scuttling the halls in search of father, cawing, “Father, Father! My sisters become a boy again!” until it rang his fucking ears to a pulse. Hmph, father even countered his own remark of squawk, pouring through the walls, “Hah! The second son I wish I reared! Tell me, what peasants skin does she clad: butcher's boy, or of the farmer?”
Rebuking the role of royalty isn't your entire bastion of vengeance. You purely long for a world of your own color. Your self-brewn arcadia of art. In a concise phrase, desire for sovereignty. And your family chastised you curtly for every scant display of free will, short of the Queen, she is fair.
Daughter of the King, Princess of the thicket. You retain your fortunes. Modestly.
“Why don't you resemble your sister more?”
A ruby crested box designed by the best of goldsmiths is lodged at the margin of your beds footboard, safekeeping of your esteemed regalia. You possess a bedazzled amassing of circlets, veils, brocade and velvet tunics of long lengths within this box. But do any of them revel in the blessing of being worn on regal skin? Never. You opted for garbs of less gilding and jewels, so that you might taint it with whatever adventures mold under the ribbing of your foot. That shit offended your skin with its indelicacy of forgetting a human will don its fabric golds and woven jewels.
Even— court gatherings. You don the likeness of simplicity and temperate elegance. This morning's virginal aurora, a broach of light swoll from the windows arch, to the footing of your bed, made the wake of your eyes begin upon a lighting behind sheer skin. Your box of regalia shone in that incandescence momentarily. It danced, fleeter than you, irkingly so. You had to squint whilst flipping the clasps and hauling the heavy lid slanted against your bed, or else you may be heaven–blinded. “Every inch of Princess,” you intoned in quietude at the sight of glamored fabrics, “—whom I shant mirror.” and reached for the homelier fabrics, scratch of cobalt-blue linen delight brushing under your prints, you grasped your reserve tight.
“I was not made aware that there is a village wedding to be, dear sister— from what river does this dress of rags hail from?”
“It is not a brides dress, nor rags, leave me Prud—”
Prudence had blocked the shut of your chamber door with her hand flattened, pursuing, “You glum your gems. Rotting in that chest, tasting no light, no glory.”
You kept your lips thickly sown shut, casting dimly eyes to the ground.
“Shall I send for the steward so he may sell—”
“No need.”
“Hmm, most stubborn, are we? Then I—”
“I am least stubborn,” you wedged your fingers beneath her palm, prying the door loose, “—it is you, who strays your own counsel, unmoving as a mountain.” ending with the trudging shut of your door, ceasing in silence.
[++ bonus excerpt from act 2, scene 1]
“Uh–huh..” she draws out. Legato; a sarcastic reply, and wipes her tongue through the press of her lips together, “This far out? You must rebel quite often to have made a friend, I bet?” she tilts her head, a bit playful.
“You bet well— a lot, I assume?”
Cannily, she winks, “Indeed I do.” and aligns her face onward. Gesturing to her horse's rump a second— third? Eh, whatever time— she jerks her brow with a head cock back, “Hop on, I'll take you there.”
Both brows fall, and you flinch bemused, “Wh– uh,” as you hem and haw for words, grating a stutter, “But not a moment ago you spoke of the roads recent perils—”
“Surely it's not far?” she spoke presumptuously, “I mean, you've come this far, My Lady. Nobody would travel the woods past sunset, besides you it seems.” now a matter–of–fact vocal barricade that shoves itself into your ears and winds the cogs to think cleverly.
You shan't know my transgressions, sweet Knight. You may talk.
Trust is sparse as a puddle marched in.
“‘Tis but a mile out. Bravo on your convincing, Williams.” you wry and scoff.
“Can't fumble that name, huh?”
“I would not want to dishonor your knighthood.”
“You honor me with your coincidental presence, Princess.”
“Honor in your mind.”
"Hmph," her breathy chuckle, a sweetness you luckily caught with ears even numbed by the snowsquall. Do not blush. Do not smile. Fuck. Guess you'll be visiting Malina after all, the gale of a displeased sigh icing your lips over as you approach that dangling stirrup.
#౨ৎ. born of flora and fauna#ellie williams#ellie williams x reader#ellie tlou#lesbian#sapphic#ellie x reader#knight!ellie#knight!ellie x princess!reader#tlou ellie#ellie williams au#ellie williams concept
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Going crazy stupid for sapphic stolitz …
#helluva boss#stolas goetia#stolas#blitzo#blitzo x stolas#stolitz#stolas x blitz#digital art#blitz#art#my art#sapphic!stolitz#my babi girls#i need them to be in a incredibly medieval knight x princess au#but first boobis
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Dragon!Pyrrha: Guardian
Knight!Jaune: *skipping through a field of flowers* 🥰
Dragon!Pyrrha: *holding knight’s hand and skipping along* 🥰
Knight!Jaune: *pauses* 🫤
Dragon!Pyrrha: What’s wrong, beloved?
Knight!Jaune: I just feel as if I’m forgetting something important…😕
Dragon!Pyrrha: …that’s odd, I was thinking the same thing! 🤔
Back at Dragon!Pyrrha’s former lair…
Princess!Weiss: Hello? Brave knight? Dragon kidnapper? Is anyone there?
Next: Renora
#rwby#jaune arc#pyrrha nikos#weiss schnee#dragon!pyrrha#knight!jaune#princess!weiss#arkos#jaune x pyrrha#jaune arc x pyrrha nikos#you both had one job#fantasy au
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something for the knight!price x princess!reader that I had to write before I went to bed
How could he do this to you? Were you not important enough to be informed by him personally or did you have to be told by every servant you had come across that the knights were leaving today?
You stomped through the courtyard of the castle, unable to keep yourself as composed as you should've. You weren't sure why you were angry, this wasn't uncommon, in fact the knights were more than often gone from the kingdom than they were at the castle and yet you couldn't help but feel hurt.
It was because you would be stuck at the castle, having no one to escort you anywhere when the knights were gone, leaving you in a horrible state of boredom.
You had the right to know you were going to be left alone and that had to be the only reason why you were so angry.
"You were going to leave without saying anything to me." You snapped when you found him, Sir Price, captain of the knights of the royal family, getting his horse ready in the stables.
"I didn't think it mattered, your highness." Price glanced at you with his usual scowl, the one he always had on his face when he looked at you. "I thought you would've loved to see me leave."
"Of course I am happy but I have a right to be told when my bodyguard is leaving."
Price rolled his eyes and you scoffed. He continued to pack his things away on his horse without looking at you, which made you want to stomp your foot on the ground.
"What am I supposed to do while you're gone?" You wondered and he shrugged.
"What you do everyday, your highness," He looked back at you with a smug smile. "Nothing."
"Oh, funny."
You crossed your arms and watched as he finished packing everything away onto his horse.
A pit fell into your stomach as you watched him ready his horse. He was leaving and you should be happy about it. You should be happy that he was no longer breathing down your neck and watching your every move. You'd have little freedom, unable to go where you pleased but at least you wouldn't have to deal with his snarky comments or jokes.
Yet you wondered if maybe this would be the last time you'd ever get to see him. Maybe this would be the last time you'd ever hear his gruff voice or see his beautiful blue eyes.
You detested him and yet the thought of never seeing him again made your stomach turn.
"You will come back." You demanded and when he didn't say anything you balled your hands into fists. "Tell me you will come back."
Price looked at you with slight confusion. His eyes bounced around your face and you watched the way they softened, the crease in his brow disappearing while he gripped the reins tightly.
He stared at you in silence for a long moment and his breathing became heavier.
Your mouth felt dry under his intense gaze and you felt the need to look away from him as heat washed over you. It was too much and you clasped your hand in front of you as you swallowed hard.
"If you don't, I think I'll be stuck inside the castle forever." You told him weakly.
When you glanced back at him, he sucked in his lips and averted his gaze from you. You watched he rubbed his chin before he nodded.
"I'll come back to you."
Your breath hitched in your throat.
To you...
Oh.
You didn't have faith in your voice so you only nodded. You watched as he wrapped the reins around his hand and his face fell back into that scowl you had grown accustomed to.
"Now, if your highness allows it, I must be going." Price gave you a look and you rolled your eyes.
"Go." You dismissed him with a wave.
Price bowed his head and turned, waking away with his horse in tow. He didn't look back at you, even when you followed him from behind at a distance.
You watched him mount his horse and join the other knights who were waiting for him, unable to take your eyes off him as the pit in your stomach grew larger. You weren't sure how long he'd be gone for, but you hope it wouldn't be a year or longer.
You're not sure if you'd survive.
As the knights rode towards the front gates, Price turned back and saw you. He didn't wave or indicate that he saw you, though he knew you saw him look back when you raised a hand to wave.
Oh, how you hate one another.
A/N: short makes no sense but here
#captain john price x reader#captain john price x you#price x reader#price x you#captain john price#knight!price#princess!reader#knight au#princess au#au
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I'm in love with Rose guys ! I love her style I love everything about her. She's probably one of the best kids Catradora have in this book❤️😺
#catra princess au#adora x catra#catra#fanart#love#catradora#shera#adora#shera and the princesses of power#catra fanart#rose#adora knight au#princess x knight au#knight#princess of power#princess royal#queen
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White Horse, 1. (a.a.)
pairing: knight!abby x princess!reader
cw: fantasy!au, fem!reader, eventual displays of fighting and violence bc it’s fantasy, kind of slow burn?, tension, reader has an attitude, tall af!abby bc size difference, royalty!au, mentions of arranged marriages, some mentions of au politics, abby in armor is a warning in itself
synopsis: you are the youngest princess of the royal family that rules over your kingdom, Aphrynia. now a young adult, you’ve come of age in a tense time, and your personal protection is of utmost importance — which is why the resignation of your previous personal knight means a rushed reassignment ceremony with little to no preface. That being said, why does the name of your new knight sound so familiar?
word count: 2.8k
a/n: this is gonna be so trope-heavy and romantic and cheesy and i don’t even care i’ve been giggling and kicking my feet this whole time
⊹ ⋆｡˚ ————————— 𓆩♡𓆪 —————————⊹ ⋆｡˚
“Princess, you really do need to get up.”
You groaned, rolling over in your excessively comfortable bed as your lady’s maid, Nina, started forcefully pulling the many blankets you had covering you off. Your proper mind knew that she was right, that you needed to get ready, but the pounding in your head begged otherwise; and right now, the pounding side was winning. You tried to sit up and open your eyes, but the bright sunlight instantly blinded you, causing you to groan and fall back again. Nina sighed.
“Either you get up, or I’m calling George and he can drag you out himself.”
That made you sit up. You’d had enough of your second eldest brother ripping you out of bed throughout your childhood to last a lifetime. Your legs already felt a phantom soreness at just the thought.
“Okay, okay, I surrender, I’m up…” you grumbled, swinging your legs over the edge of the mattress and tenderly standing on the cold floor. Nina rolled her eyes as she started gathering materials for you to bathe.
“I told you to ease up on the wine last night,” she scolded as you started shedding your nightclothes and trudged to your washroom.
You rolled your eyes in response and yawned. “Don’t judge me! You would let loose a little too if you knew it was your last night before getting assigned another overbearing knight,” you replied dramatically. These were the times that you both loved and resented that you and Nina had known each other since childhood; sometimes she knew you a little too well. Nina just chuckled and followed you.
A while later, you were clean and dry. And cold. You shivered as Nina helped you slip layer after layer of your intricate clothing on your body. “Why is it so frigid in here this morning? I can literally hear the fire going,” you whined as another shiver made your arms shake. Nina shrugged as she picked up another layer.
“The mornings have been getting colder lately,” Nina remarked thoughtfully. “Perhaps an off the shoulder dress wasn’t the best decision the seamstress could’ve made for today’s gown.” She grimaced as she eyed the off the shoulder masterpiece waiting to be adorned.
Your pout spoke for you. Even so, you had to admit the gown was rather lovely. The gauzy pink seemed to shimmer in the light, and you couldn’t help but stare at it in the mirror once you had finally put it on. Nina, however, still anxiously watched the time and rushed to finish getting you ready.
For whatever reason, one you weren’t exactly keen on understanding, being assigned a personal knight was something of a ceremony in the royal family, and was therefore to be treated as such. And ever since your former knight, Mattheo, had resigned not even a fortnight ago to wed and begin a life outside of his knighthood, you had been assigned a rotation of lower knights while a replacement was decided on. While you couldn’t blame Mattheo for wanting to have a different life and a family, you couldn’t help but resent his leaving just a little bit; he had been your personal knight since you were young, and you had grown to trust him like an uncle or a father. Whatever young, overconfident knight you would be assigned now would not be nearly as tolerable, of that you were certain.
Nina’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and reawakened the pounding in your head. “Princess? Princess, we’ve got to go,” she harped, placing a guiding hand on your back. “Wouldn’t want to keep everyone waiting.” You nodded in agreement and started walking, trying your best to hide the grimace pulling at your face.
You could barely keep up with Nina’s quick steps as you navigated the corridors of the palace, your shoes clicking on the polished stone floors. “Nina,” you muttered through panting breaths, “You know you can slow down a little bit, right? It really isn’t that serious,” you pointed out. Nina shook her head.
“Sorry, princess, but I’m under strict orders to get you there on time. Promised the queen,” she replied with a wink sent your way. Your mouth gaped while your brows furrowed.
“Seriously? For a knight assignment? The fuck…” you muttered back, still grumpy from your hangover and unending headache. Nina clicked her tongue at you in disapproval.
“Princess! Language!” she scolded, holding back a giggle and not quite managing to suppress a tickled smile. You made an amused face in response and you both had to struggle to hold down your laughs as you passed knights and members of the court in the long corridors.
As you finally turned onto the corridor leading to the throne room, Nina cleared her throat to get your attention. “Please try your best not to seem hungover, princess,” she muttered through clenched teeth, “lest the queen come for my head.” You both stifled one last giggle before the doors to the throne room opened, and your arrival was announced to the small crowd standing inside.
You took a steadying breath, blanking your face as you delicately walked forward, desperately hiding your fight not to wobble in these godforsaken shoes. You kept your gaze steady on the front of the room, not wanting to risk an offhand glance at the crowd interrupting your focus.
You breathed a quiet sigh of relief when you reached the front and stood in place amongst your siblings, ignoring George’s knowing smirk and Elyssa’s disapproving look. Like always, your eldest brother, Philip, stayed as stone-faced as ever, and Henry, the fourth sibling, gave his best attempt at matching Philip’s ever-serious mood. Although he was closest to you in age, only being 18 months older, the two of you couldn’t be more different. He never seemed to possess the itch for mischief and adventure that you did, and instead followed your eldest brother like a puppy and tried to copy his every trait. You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes and turned towards the rest of the room.
Glancing at you to acknowledge your arrival, your parents rose as one, and your mother’s voice rang out in the spacious throne room. “Welcome, esteemed guests and friends, as we conduct our youngest daughter’s knight reassignment ceremony on this lovely morning. As many of us know, our youngest has quite the…lively spirit, and as she reaches marrying age, we’ve found it impertinent that we find a unique knight to ensure her safety amidst the happenings of that lively spirit.” A soft chuckle carried through the room, and you had to suppress another eye roll as your mother – the “ever-esteemed” queen – basically called you a burden who needed watching. Great. Exactly what you needed this morning.
Your mother continued her speech. “While the knight we’ve chosen for her assignment may not have the age to match her rank, her experience and accomplishments make her quite the perfect match to guard our lovely daughter. Thus, Knight Anderson, will you please approach?”
Your mind came to a sudden stop. ‘Her’? Your new knight was to be a female knight? Well that certainly makes things more interesting. And her name…Anderson. It sounded oddly familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on it. A young female knight, a respected, high-ranking one at that, was to be Mattheo’s replacement? Certainly she wouldn’t be quite as easy to slip past. But you had gotten creative over the years…
Your racing thoughts mixed with your eyes searching the crowd for this ‘Knight Anderson’, but came to a sudden halt when the knight finally stepped through to the front of the crowd, and the sight of her left your mouth hanging ever so slightly ajar. Although it had certainly matured since the last time you saw her, you would recognize that face anywhere.
9 YEARS AGO
Abigail Anderson was going to be the death of you. No matter where you went, she was somehow there, ready to show off and drive you up the fucking wall. Since her father was the royal family’s physician and a childhood friend of your father, and the two of you were so close in age, the two of you had been shoved together since you could read, and you couldn’t resent it more. She never failed to take an opportunity to prove herself against you; whether it was her intelligence in tutoring sessions, or showing off her strength and size outdoors while exploring or riding, if the chance was there, she took it.
You were both twelve, and while you were able to spend more time apart, tutoring and riding lessons were still spent together. You had started spending your free time with the daughters of the court members, while Abby spent her time training for knighthood or whatever it was that motivated her to sweat in a dirty training ground for hours a day. It wasn’t like you paid it too much regard; you were perfectly happy spending tea with your friends that you could actually relate to before retreating to the palace library to spend afternoons reading and exploring different worlds.
On one sunny spring day, Abby had shown up late to your joint riding lesson, and you were already annoyed since George had ruined your favorite riding boots by dropping them in a boiling, soapy wash basin while the maids weren’t looking, only for them to be found hours later and sorrowfully returned to your chambers. The twat. So when she came jogging up to the stables, your glare was already set upon her, and she preemptively rolled her eyes.
“I know, I know, training went over,” she retorted to your glare in an annoyed voice, raising her hands apologetically at your instructor.
You continued glaring as she saddled her horse and mounted the steed, flipping her braid behind her shoulder. Sensing the tension and not wanting to be a part of it, the instructor casually instructed the two of you to take a simple ride through the naturalistic grounds surrounding the palace during your normal lesson time. You nodded curtly and took off in a simple trot, Abby quickly following and settling into a matching trot beside you.
“Heard about what happened to your boots,” she remarked casually, not even glancing your way. But you knew what she was doing, and you already weren’t in the mood for it. She kept pushing anyway.
“What a waste,” she continued, clicking her tongue. “You poor thing, how will you ever survive?” You could feel her smirk without looking. Trying to be the bigger person, you only sighed and kept ignoring her.
She laughed. “What, don’t want to admit that you’re upset over a pair of boots? It’s okay, you are a princess, after all.” Even though she was right, it wasn’t like you wanted to admit it to Abby, of all people. You really liked those boots! Princess or not, you were allowed to be upset about it! You could say that, but it’s not like Abby would care. She’d just keep teasing you about the boots, or poking you about some other stupid thing that was sure to push your buttons. So you kept your head straight forward and kept riding. She wasn’t satisfied.
“Too good to talk to me now, are you? You’d rather be at a prissy tea party with your prissy friends?” she said, mocking a posh accent and expression as she spoke. And you just snapped.
“You know what Abby, just because you don’t like me or think I’m shallow or spoiled for whatever reason, that doesn’t mean you have to go after my friends too! You don’t even know them! You know, I don’t think you even know me like you think you do, so why don’t you just shut up already,” you exploded, taking off on your horse like a bullet and leaving Abby shouting after you in the dust. You heard her call your name after you a few times, but you ignored her, clenching your teeth as your resolve hardened and you quickened your pace even more.
By the time Abby started galloping after you, you were too far ahead to hear her. You just kept riding and riding, not stopping until you reached the creek that bubbled along one of the far edges of the palace grounds. Hopping off your horse, you gently smoothed the mare’s chestnut hair as you watched the clear water run up and over the rocks in the creek. Remembering what Abby had said, you clenched your other fist and loudly groaned in frustration, holding back the urge to go as far as to stomp on the ground.
You took a deep breath to steel yourself as you heard hooves approaching quickly from behind you. Abby called your name again, but you barely even turned your head, fist still clenched. She scoffed and dismounted, walking up to you casually.
“You know you can’t ride off like that,” she remarked. You continued to ignore her. “C’mon, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” she continued, leaning to try to get in your line of sight.
You only scoffed in reply and turned away, speed walking along the creek bed. Abby kept following you, reaching out to grab your arm once she was close enough. You gasped angrily and whipped around, hair slinging from side to side. You tried to pull away, but her grip was tight. And you panicked. No one had ever grabbed you like that, and you were so shocked, you couldn’t help but go into panic mode.
“Will you– let go– get your hands OFF of me–” you shrieked, starting to flail and struggle in her grasp. Abby also began to panic in response to you, and before you knew it, you were slipping on the creek bed, and the two of you tumbled into the creek, a tangle of limbs and shocked exclamations as you fell into the surprisingly icy water.
As soon as you hit the water, you gasped, inhaling water instead of air and immediately choking. You floundered, desperately coughing and trying to eject the water from your lungs. Finally, your flailing arms found a large rock to land on, and you started pulling yourself out of the water. At the same time, you could hear Abby climbing the water as well, and you got distracted, your hand slipping as you crashed back down into the creek. Another breath of water infiltrated your mouth and throat, and you continued to choke and cough, unable to gain enough footing to grab back onto the rock. Finally, a pair of stronger arms latched onto your own, stopping your flailing to pull you out of the water and onto the creek bed.
Flopping onto the ground, you coughed out the remaining water from your lungs until you could finally take clear breaths, anger returning with the consistent oxygen. You shot up suddenly, cutting Abby off as she opened her mouth to ask if you were okay. “You are despicable, Abby Anderson! Despicable!” You shouted as you pushed hair out of your face and straightened your soaking clothes. “I am leaving. You need to give me time to return my horse and escort myself inside, lest I see your despicable face and decide to strangle you once and for all!” You continued as you mounted your horse, giving her one last dirty look before riding off as fast as you could.
It wasn’t until the next morning when Abby wasn’t present at your lessons that you discovered that she had left for official training. And no matter how angry you were at her, you couldn’t help but be at least a bit disappointed that she hadn’t said goodbye.
THE PRESENT
Your mother’s voice was all but muted background in your head as you watched Abby – apparently now known as ‘Knight Anderson’ – approach you and your family at the front of the throne room. A lump settled in your throat, and your mouth felt impossibly dry watching her armored form get closer and closer. You barely registered your mother reciting practiced phrases as Abby knelt in front of her and bowed her head towards the queen. It was like you were outside your body, watching everything happen, only an observer as Abby stood and she and your mother approached you. You were sucked back into your body as Abby knelt in front of you, taking one of your polished hands in hers and bowing her head towards it.
“Knight Abigail Anderson,” your mother began, her voice confident and steady in contrast to the nerves that rocked your body, leaving you lightheaded. “Do you solemnly vow to dedicate your life to the protection and safety of the princess?” Abby looked up at you through her lashes, and you felt like you could faint.
“I do.”
#abby anderson#knight!abby x princess!reader#knight x princess#abby x reader#abby tlou#abby fic#fantasy!au#royalty!au#princess!au#knight!au#wlw#lesbian knight#lesbian princess#matchamilkislover
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Cordially Invited
Pairing: Modern Knight!Bucky Barnes x Princess!Female Reader
Summary: You're in need of a date for an upcoming wedding.
Word Count: Over 1.9k
Warnings: Pining, flirting, slight feels (it's me okay), could be considered fake dating (or is it? 😏), protective Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?), future smut.
A/N: Again, I need another AU like a hole in the head, but here we are. @11thstreetvigilante, thank you for letting me scream about this. ❤️ Beta read by the beautiful @whisperlullaby (thank YOU as well!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Bucky edit by Nix, divider by @firefly-graphics and moodboard and banner by yours truly.
Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications and please reblog or comment as it means the world!
Modern royalty is both a wondrous and strange concept. As the only child of the King and Queen of Brooklyn, your parents raised you with a blend of tradition and modernization. They taught you to speak your mind while stressing to follow certain customs. You did your best to make them proud.
The picture-perfect princess.
Except, you didn't have a prince by your side.
“Something wrong, your highness?”
You turned in your chair to look at your personal knight, James “Bucky” Barnes. Standing tall at 6’4” with a muscular build, he served as your bodyguard when he wasn’t fighting for your father. Like his father before him. You worried in the beginning that he’d resent you for having to be your personal guard, but he took his duties seriously. He watched over you as if it was an honor to do so. Though he intimidated most because of his size and strength, he displayed kindness toward you. He quickly became one of your closest confidants.
A knight in name, but a prince in my heart.
“Nothing to concern yourself with.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, not moving from his spot in the left corner of your large bedroom. It was the perfect vantage point for him to see your window, the door, and you. “You dismissed your ladies for no reason, you’re not dressed for the day, and you’ve been staring at that invitation for the better part of an hour.”
You turned back toward your vanity and picked up the ornate invitation with a sigh.
Her Majesty Queen of Waverly requests the pleasure of your company at the Marriage of His Royal Highness Prince Clinton of Waverly with Her Royal Highness Princess Natalia of Volgograd.
You RSVP’d to Clint and Natasha’s wedding weeks ago and said you would bring a plus one because that was the expectation. Your parents asked every day since the invitation arrived who you planned to have on your arm. They gave you the option of choosing instead of making the decision themselves. With the wedding around the corner, you were running out of time.
“I still haven't chosen a date and my parents want an answer today."
"Forgive me for saying so, but you have been dodging the King and Queen's question."
"I know, I know. They're already disappointed that I've dragged this out."
Just like they're probably disappointed that they didn't arrange a marriage for me once I was old enough to wed.
"I highly doubt you could do anything to disappoint them or anyone else. You’re Brooklyn’s beloved princess through and through," he said.
Blood rushed to your cheeks as you set the invitation down. His praise felt good. "Thank you, Bucky. But why do I have to bring someone?”
"Tradition," he replied, crossing his arms. “You know, I figured the princes would be knocking down your door at the chance to be your plus one.”
“As if you’d let them get close enough to ask,” you said. "You don't even let Sir Steven near me and he's your best friend."
As your knight, one of Bucky's duties was to keep you safe from any possible threats. He took it to the extreme. If anyone got within a few feet of you, he was there to keep them away. Most didn’t try to speak to you once they caught a glimpse of him.
“It is my job to protect you,” he reminded you. “Especially from handsy princes.”
"Does that include Prince Nicholas?"
Bucky's jaw twitched as he nodded. It was a bit of a low blow to mention Nick’s name considering your knight couldn’t stand him. The prince was one of the few men not afraid of him.
"Especially Prince Nicholas," he grumbled, not hiding his disdain for the man. "What gift did he send you last week?"
"An emerald necklace. I almost felt bad sending it back."
"Insulting. Doesn't he know diamonds are a girl's best friend?"
You narrowed your eyes at him in the mirror, which made him chuckle. The sound sent a jolt between your thighs. Between that and the earlier praise, you prayed he didn’t notice how it affected you. Your knight was not only brave and trusting, but so handsome. Staring into his eyes was like getting lost at sea. Too many nights, you imagined how silky the brown strands of his hair would feel against your fingers.
And how the scruff on his chin would feel between your legs.
“Emeralds, diamonds, it doesn't matter. You don’t let any man get close enough to give them to me themselves,” you muttered to distract yourself from getting aroused. “Some days I wonder if you take pleasure in making sure I’m alone.”
Bucky frowned as he unfolded his arms. “You think I want you to be alone?”
"You tell me. My parents want me to wed eventually, but how will that happen if you won't let any suitors near me?" you asked, toying with one of your makeup brushes to keep your hands busy. “Or are you punishing me for constantly being on babysitting duty?"
"I'm sure the right man can court you without being in close proximity to you," he said, even though he didn't sound pleased. "And we both know I want to watch over you, so why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”
You looked away, embarrassed. You had no reason to speak to him like that. But how could you admit that you didn’t want any suitors when you had him right in front of you? He wasn’t just your knight, he was everything to you. It upset you to think he didn't want you. It scared you more that he’d resign from his duties to settle down and have his own family. You didn't want that day to come.
Is it selfish that I want him forever by my side?
“I’m not trying to pick a fight,” you said, turning in your chair to face him. “And you know I don't care about any suitors. I'm just frustrated."
That includes being sexually frustrated and the toy I named after you is calling my name.
"I'm glad you don't care about those suitors because if you married one soon, I might be out of a job."
"You're stuck with me no matter what," you smiled. "I'm sorry for being rude."
“Give me a hug, princess, and I’ll forgive you,” he said as he held out his arms.
“No,” you said, but you were already on your feet. The robe you wore didn't do much to cover your body and you wondered if you imagined the hunger in his eyes. “I don’t think you deserve a hug.”
He placed his left hand over his chest, which drew your attention to it. He lost his left arm in battle years before and the kingdom had a state of the art metal prosthetic fashioned for him. To some, it was a sign of sacrifice and bravery. It showed you that he was a fighter and survivor.
“You wounded me with your words and you’re hurting me more by denying me a simple request.”
You fought to keep from smiling as you walked toward him. Knowing that he wanted to touch you, even in an innocent form, was a heady feeling. You wanted his touch, too. You craved it like nothing else.
“I’m only going to hug you because I love you,” you said, wrapping your arms around him once you were close enough.
He inhaled as he hugged you close and you allowed yourself to melt in his strong embrace. It made you feel safe and cared for. “I love you, too, my princess,” he whispered.
You closed your eyes and hid your face in his shoulder. Whenever you said you did things for him because you loved him, he always replied that he loved you, too. You dreamt of falling asleep to him whispering that in your ear.
I wish he loved me the way I love him.
“If I could, I'd be your date for the evening."
You lifted your head and pulled free from his arms as you considered his words. You couldn't stop the grin from spreading across your face. Bucky as your date? Why didn't you think of that?
“What’s that look for?”
"Sir James, would you do me the honor of being my date to the wedding?"
His eyebrows shot up. "You called me James."
"That should tell you how serious I am."
Please, don't reject me. I'd feel like a fool.
He cleared his throat and you tried not to feel anxious as you waited for his answer. "I’m not a prince.”
“Who said I have to bring a prince? It may be tradition for a princess to have someone on their arm for royal functions, but it should be a person of my choosing. Who better than the man my parents trust with my life?”
“But-” he began before you held up a hand to stop him.
"Isn't it your duty to serve and protect me? Your princess?" you asked.
“It is,” he answered, looking down when you took his left hand in yours.
“Bucky, I’m not just asking you as my knight. I’m asking because I want you to go with me,” you said, your voice soft as he lifted his head to look at you. "There’s no one else I’d rather go with."
You felt a slight burn in your eyes from unshed tears, but you held your head high. If he sensed your vulnerability, he kindly didn't call you out on it. You didn’t want to command him to take you nor did you want to beg.
“But if you don’t want to, I understand. I can ask Prince Nicholas instead.”
Bucky stopped you before you could turn away from him. "You'll do no such thing," he said, bringing your hand to his lips and softly kissing it. “It would be my honor to be your date, your highness."
"Really?" you smiled as he lowered your hand, but didn't let go.
"Only because I love you," he smiled back.
Your heart raced as you playfully hit his arm, letting your touch linger. "That's my line," you teased, looking over your shoulder to check the time. "Let's go tell my parents."
"You're in your robe," he reminded you as you tried to pull him across the room. "I don't think the other guards need to see you like that."
"I'll change later," you huffed when he planted his feet firmly on the ground. A wall of muscle, he was nearly impossible to move. "Bucky."
You gasped when he gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His enormous hand could crush your bones if he chose to, but the gentle hold reminded you that you were in his care. There was no mistaking the hunger there this time.
"Get dressed, princess," he gently ordered, his voice deeper than before.
I'm going to have to change my panties since I'm soaking wet.
"Then we'll tell your parents."
"Yes, Bucky," you whispered as he released you, having to put some distance between the two of you. If you didn't, you'd be too tempted to kiss him. And if you kissed him, you wouldn't be able to stop.
"Good girl," he smirked, moving back to his spot in the corner as you tried to calm your pounding heart. "I'll be right here waiting."
Good girl?
You weren't sure if he was teasing you or trying to rile you up, but you could play, too.
Oh, this wedding is going to be a lot of fun.
Let's hope it's nice and easy for them. We'll see how it goes. 😏 Check out Part 2. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️
Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi
#navybrat writes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#modern knight!bucky barnes x princess!reader#bucky barnes#knight!bucky barnes#modern knight!bucky barnes#bucky barnes imagine#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes au#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan x female reader#sebastian stan x you#sebastian stan#royalty au
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THE LION AND THE LAMB, PART ONE
Forced to leave your home land for the hand of the man your sister had previously been wed to, you find yourself travelling from heaven to hell. Fallen angels couldn’t really be beautiful, could they?
warnings: reader is barb’s sister, explicit themes of death, gothic genre, vampirism, arranged marriages. r’s father physically and mentally abuses her. slight NSWF themes within. you are responsible for your own media consumption.
kinktober day one my angels!!! enjoy!! 18+ only.
main masterlist ! series masterlist ! kinktober 2023
Unbound cobblestone lurches the carriage side to side once more, like an abandoned ship far out at sea, taken captive by the powerful hold of Poseidon. It wasn’t much long ago that you were sea sick from the choppy waves, accompanied by your father and his men on your travels from the bright light of your home, to the drizzling haze that was cast over the country of Hawkins. Oh, how it lived up to its reputation. Hawkins was a dark and dreary place, constantly overcast and damp with the rain that fell upon stone homes and muddied roads. The people of the country watched your bright golden carriage with an unsettling known certainty, a grimace which they all shared under the rule of their king. Draped in their dreary colours of grey and stained white, as though all colours were banned from the land. It haunts you, the undead look in their eyes as you clutch at the windowsill whilst rolling past.
These were to be your people, your devout servants of the kingdom.
No life shimmered in their eyes. No hands raised in warm welcomes and waves of the sight of their new queen-to-be. The people of Hawkins were used to this parade, used to the shining golden riches come from afar, accustomed with the cycle that would meet their new queen. For it happened on repeat, to every suitor that King Edward was engaged to marry. You knew, too. For it had been your sister, only months ago.
Forcing your eyes away from the rain sodden faces of the kingdom’s people, you turned back to the other lively body in the carriage. Your father, crown tall and proper upon his head, paid no attention to the villagers as you rolled on past. His sharp gaze was unwavering on the scroll in front of him, the one composed by the King of Hawkins himself. A proposal of marriage to the King, your father, for the hand of his second eldest child, the last daughter in the line of succession. You.
Of course, despite what happened with Barbara, your elder sister who was sent mere months ago to be wed to King Edmund, your father had been delighted by the offer, and had readied your things to leave within the hour. You had faced treacherous oceans and sinking roads to get here. All signs to turn back, to rid yourself of this fate, to run and never return. And, yet, here you sat, dress full and far too outlandish for the style of the people here. The sweetheart neckline of your glimmering, ballet-slipper pink dress seems foolish for the weather, as do the puffed sleeves that fall upon your shoulder. The corset is tight and restricting, but the ribbons that cinch the back of the gown are simply delightful and princesslike. You stand out like a sore thumb in a land like this.
Nerves prickle under your bare skin, and suddenly your tiara weighs heavy. You see the way that your father eyeballs the number of riches that King Edward has offered for your hand and have to force yourself not to sneer at the all too familiar look. The same look that he got when King Edward had written for Barbara’s hand. As your time as princess you have come to learn many things, but one in particular.
Men will do anything for power, glory and riches.
“Must you go through with it, father?” Your voice is softer than intended, has none of the strength and authority that your mother once had. You had hoped to plea with him, to present a case like the sinners in court, though you truly were an innocent in all of this.
There’s barely even a look of recognition as your father’s dull tone fills the emptiness of the rumbling carriage. “The relationship of two kingdoms is not something I am willing to endanger for your personal happiness, daughter. You will fulfil your duty as your mother did, as did your sister.”
“And look what happened to them both.” You interfere, small hands bunching at the tulle of your dress, one of the most expensive in your collection. Only the best to impress your husband-to-be. “They are dead, father. Cold as stone and buried six feet under. Are you not convinced that the same awaits me? Awaits any girl that is forced into the clutches of a powerful man?” There it is; the passion, the fire, the dare. It's the very thing that makes your father’s nostrils flare and has his hand swinging towards you. His jewelled, golden ring pierces the delicate skin upon your pigmented lips and has your face barrelling towards the small window.
Your surprised gasp is overthrown by his tone. “It is that very attitude that surely killed them both. You will do well to remember your place in this world. You are nothing but a pawn. You are a peace treaty between lands. If your blood is the one that is spilled, so be it. My sons are becoming great men, and they are to be my legacy.” He leans forward, glaring into your tear sodden eyes. He traces the stains that run down your cheeks, sadistic pride fills his bones. He is no more family to you than King Edward. You may share blood, but he is no father of yours. “Nobody will remember the losses of a few princesses. King Edward has ruled for a glorious lifetime. You are not his first wife, and you will surely not be his last.” The words sting at your heart, to know that he is willing to bury you under a gravestone for gold, for numbers on parchment. “That is your fate, daughter. Loathe it, spite it, I do not care. But you will obey it.”
Of course you would. That was your duty. But the truth bares no kindness, no comfort in the depths of its sadness. You force your gaze away, force yourself to stop the rapid rise and fall of your chest, and dab the wound upon your lip with the handkerchief halfheartedly thrown at your lap. Your glossy eyes watch as the bumpy hill rises, and the stone walls come into view. The castle is magnificent, tall spires piercing the swirling skies and mighty defences standing proud as protection, though no one has dared to invade Hawkins in almost two hundred years. The thought had your stomach churning. Gossip of King Edward told a thousand different stories, some say that he is hypnotically handsome. Some say that wives fall dead because they grow jealous of his untimely beauty, one that they could never parallel. Others say that they drop dead at the sight of him, for he is so old that they would rather die than bed him. No one could tell you the age of the king, even when you had offered a satchel of gold.
Once more, all good fates called out to you, begged at you not to exit the carriage and not to follow the path to the chain strung doors. And yet, a part of your soul yearned for the dark wood cast in iron. You ached to find out if the rumours were true, ached to be wed, ached to live as queen, as you had dreamed as a little girl. Subconsciously, as your father’s men knock repeatedly at the wood door, you raise your hand to the dried blood upon your lip, camouflaged with freshly applied rouge. In the depths of your heart, you hoped your fiancè to be a kind man, a man that did not strike, a man that gave you the best in life, a man that adored you. All you had was hope.
A great groan comes from the pushing of the heavy doors. King Edward’s men appear either side of the growing gap, heaving with all their might to open the doors. The inside is dark, much darker than the outside of the castle, only the flickering flames of tall candles are enough to lighten the walkway. The carriage is opened for you, yet you await your turn. Of course, your father barges past you and steps on the once pristine fabric of your dress. A muddied footprint stains it now, and reflects the notion that your father will always be one step higher, one step in front, and he can easily kick you back down again. With a shaky breath your hands raise up, adjust the tiara that sits heavy upon your head, and you force yourself to take the hand of the footman awaiting outside of the carriage.
Drizzling rain falls onto the sapphires of your crown, the very same shade as your father’s surcoat. He talks as though he is the most important man amongst them, his words directed to a very uninterested looking Viceroy. He’s tall, unusually tanned for the people of Hawkins and the constant coverage of clouds. He’s also rugged, knightly looking, with mid length hazel tassels of hair falling at the back of his neck. The King’s second in command bears scars upon his forehead and upon his cheek, and yet the most noticeable thing about him was how simply bored he looked to be listening to your father. And then, he catches sight of you.
Timid little you whose dress is stained at the bottom from the mud on the ground. Timid little you that looks up at the magnificent castle with saucers for eyes. Timid little you who bares her neck and chest, all dressed up to appease her future husband. Timid little you, who is absolutely perfect for his King.
“Princess.” The man calls, voice smooth as he side steps around your father, who does not seem best pleased to be interrupted. You, on the other hand, seem startled to even be addressed. You stand a little straighter, as though all the lady-like lessons that our maid had taught you growing up all came rushing back to the forefront of your mind at once. The Viceroy walks towards you with ease, his outfit a deep murky brown, adorned with the glimmering of shining golden buckles. They each hold the crest of King Edward’s court. He bends at the waist at the same time that you curtsy in greeting, bowing your head and begging that the tiara does not fall off. The chestnut haired man stands tall once more, one arm over his chest, the other proper behind his back. “My name is Steven, your majesty. Sir Steven, and I wish to make your stay here as pleasant as possible. It shall be my name you call if you ever face any difficulty. The king wishes you to have an exquisite time.”
Sir Steven’s smile is enough to have you enchanted. It distracts you from the meaning behind his words: stay, time. As though none of this is permanent. He smiles at the mere sight of you, pretty in pink and so juxtaposing from the environment around you. The only other signs of colour come from the members of your court, your father, your ladies stepping out from the carriage behind your own. So much alike many of the brides that have come before you. Steven outstretches a white gloved hand towards you, beckoning you to walk alongside him. As you walk, you cannot help your full of life eyes to cast one more glance down the slopes if the mountainous hill that the castle sits upon, and down onto the villages below. You almost feel that if you squint hard enough, you can see where life meets death at the horizon.
The halls of Munson Castle are dim and dark. The only sounds available in the dinginess are those of your ladies’ shoes upon the wooden floor behind you and the flickering of flames from the torches mounted to the walls. It seemed as though every magnificent window was guarded closed by large drapes of fabric curtains. No sunlight entered the halls, and the flames were just about strong enough to illuminate the paintings upon the walls. Great murals of battles from hundreds of years ago, some even considered myths, aligned the walls. Victors and losers alike, some of your ancestors were pictured in the paintings. Hundreds of years on, you wonder if your marriage to Edward would disappoint them, for he too was an ancestor of many people in the paintings. Thousands of years ago, your two kingdoms had been at war. No more, not with a marriage that came long ago, yet another wife that had died the night of their wedding.
The thought propels you into memories of Barbara. This place was going to be her home, her beginning, her kingdom to rule as queen. Your heart rate spikes at the thought of how she would react, to your stealing of her husband. Would she get angry? Would she warn you of what had happened to her? She may even haunt these halls, dead in her pristine white wedding dress. For the Kingdoms of the Old, this was an extremely uncommon practice that only King Edward insisted upon. Usually brides-to-be were coated head to toe in gold, silver, bright colours of riches enough to show off the status of the family. King Edward only ever dressed his brides in plain white dresses, the only sign of riches coming from the measly tiara he would have them wear. A flimsy, silver thing with absolutely no jewels whatsoever. At least, that's what the servant’s gossip had said. None of your family had attended Barbara’s wedding, far too at a loss with the death of your mother. Your father had shipped her away without as much as a goodbye. At the very least, you still had his presence. There was always something to be thankful for.
Your hand still laid delicately upon Sir Steven’s palm as he walked you through the halls.
“King Edward wishes to convey his deepest apologies for not being able to meet his bride-to-be, princess.” Spoke Steven, motioning for guards to open up another set of large and heavy doors. This one led directly into the throneroom, large enough to host magnificent balls and could just about fit the whole population of Hawkins inside. “You see, His Majesty deals with the court in the daytime, he spends his hours locked up inside of the Place of Arms. He holds his meetings there, you see, and that is your King’s only rule.” Steven suddenly drops your hand, his face deadly serious. You're sure that the expression on your face reflects the swirling inside of your stomach. “King Edward is a kind King and an even kinder husband. He only forbids you from ever entering the Place of Arms during the day.” Slowly, you nod in acceptance of Steven’s words, of your future husband’s wishes. Is that who he is to be? A man you never see in the day, a man who only ever wishes to bed you at night, who does not care for what you preoccupy your time with? “It is imperative that you understand, princess. There is no entrance to the Place of Arms. Never within daylight hours. What goes on behind those doors are for the King’s knowledge only.”
It’s nothing more than a whisper, your voice. A gentle, “I understand.” And a subservient bow of your head. Just as you had been taught, you are appeasing your husband before having even met him.
But it is this very moment that Steven takes notice of the state of your bottom lip. His voice gently beckons you upward, encouraging you to look him in the eyes. He does not meet yours, however, chocolate irises far too entranced at the dried blood. “How did this come to be?”
The gentleness surprises you, and in a fleeting heartbeat, a moment of misjudgement, your eyes betray you. They fly towards your father’s figure, watching as he scrutinises the two thrones upon the raised flooring of the great hall. Though they are far more magnificent than those of your home, the ones that your brothers will surely kill each other to sit upon, he stares at them as though they are nothing but a spec of dust, floating through the air.
Steven notices immediately. “I will have word sent to the King.”
“No.” You instantly reply, eyes growing wide at the brashness of your tone. You sputter, “Forgive me. I-I just mean that it is nothing worth consulting his majesty over.” Your eyes tell a thousand stories, rhymes and riddles of all the times you have had to cover up injuries before. “Please.”
“He will find out, princess. Either through me, or the gossip of the servants.” Steven is sincere in his words, only looking you in the eye. “Let me soften the blow. He won't be best pleased, your grace.”
Something aches within you. Had he taken a keen interest in Barbara like this? Does he pretend to care for all of his wives before they are cursed with untimely deaths? You wish not to know, face pale and hands shaking.
“Would you be kind enough to take my daughter to her quarters, Sir Simon? She ought to ready herself for the ball tonight.” Your father approaches with his loud voice and his even louder footsteps. You are quite sure that if it were practical enough, he would have shoes of gold. “A perfect bride takes hours to perfect her beauty for her husband.” slowly, he takes a stand of your hair and curls it around his finger. An act which would seem harmless for some, yet you know its true meaning; a warning. Do not disappoint him.
In your mind, the idea of your father’s obnoxiousness makes Steven more likely to tell the King that he had been the one to strike you. Perhaps that is what possesses you to speak so harshly. “His name is Sir Steven, father. You will do well to remember it.”
Regret will surely come soon enough. But for now, you allow Sir Steven to escort you out of the ballroom, and all the way to the east wing, to your new quarters.
Everything is ready for your arrival. The room is simply divine, despite its darkness. The sun is soon to set, so you believe. Everything is magnificent, the four poster bed, the mirror tall enough to be a giant, a great vanity and even soft, plush chairs for your relaxation. You gaze at it with fearsome admiration, a look that your ladies lining the walls have never seen before. Steven watches you with a growing sadness from the doorway. For you hold the same look in your eye that your sister had before you. And he knows that you too should await the same fate. But for now, he lets your girlhood run wild, and allows you to bask in all things prenuptial.
“I will be back to escort you to the ball, your majesty.” He turns to the girls that watch you adoringly. “Ladies, this could be the most important eve of her life.” He turns back to you with a smile. “Make her feel like the fairest of all.”
And he disappears, closing the door with an unknown swiftness. It takes a mere moment before the act of your ladies drops, and they too fawn over all that is around you. You each squeal and laugh, completely enamoured by the riches and the newness of it all. Ladies Nancy, Robin and Erica gush over the luck you are presented with, and they tell you that you are destined to be the one true love of King Edward, that this marriage will be different to all those before. They speak whilst undressing you and leading you through a little side door into a spacious room, one with a sparkling golden bathtub at its centre.
For the hours that follow, you are simply girls. The best of friends, readying one for a night of parties and celebration. New beginnings lay ahead of you, and yet they look at you the same way that they always have. With love, the same way that you used to look at Barbara. They tell you the quickly acquired gossip as they scrub underneath your nails and rake their fingers through your hair.
“The King’s maid said that he is of fine beauty.” Nancy giggles, lightly fingering at one of the crimson rose petals that float on the surface of the water. Her sapphire coloured sleeves are rolled up as she leans over the tub, head resting against her arm. “And he is most kind, treats his people with only the best.”
“Am I the only one who saw the villagers as we rode in?” You murmured, watching robin as she fiddled with your fingernails. “They seemed so… lifeless. They bore no excitement to have a new queen. Everything here, it’s so different.” The words fall slowly and riddled with anxiety, and your ladies share a knowing look. “I wonder if she felt the same, coming here. If she were as scared as I.”
“There can be no man worse to wed than your father, princess.” Erica speaks from behind you, gathering water to push away the soap in your hair. “The king, though his lovelife has been misfortunate, appears to be a good man. He has restored peace, it has been years since the last war broke out. The maids say that he is compelling.” You sigh quietly. “You cannot allow yourself to live in fear of what you do not know. The future is exciting. You ought to breathe, and forget about everything. Tonight, you are nought but a princess, a fiancé, about to meet her husband-to-be.” You can hear the way that she smiles through her words. “And we promise to make you look so saccharine that you take his breath away.”
They do. They always do. You almost can’t believe yourself as you look upon the mirror. The dress that had been brought up to your room was a deep blue, the blue of your court. Its neckline delved into your chest and dropped into ruffles of timeless lace that led straight to your waist, cinched by the strength of three girls and a corset. It fell all the way to your toes, where you had grown a few inches from the heeled shoes presented to you. As before, a mighty tiara sits pretty upon your hairline, glimmering in the candlelight. The ladies had pushed half of your hair up and styled the rest to cascade down your delicate shoulders. Nancy had insisted upon your collarbone being visible, insinuating that the show of skin would have your betrothed hardly able to control himself.
You weren't so sure that you liked the sound of that.
“He will not be able to breathe when he gazes upon you.” Robin gushes, lightly adjusting the pearl necklace upon your neck, right over your pulse point. “He will wish to move the engagement from a week long to no more than a day.”
You roll your eyes.
“It is true!” Nancy murmurs from behind you, her dainty hands laying delicate little forget-me-nots, the flower of your kingdom, into the flowing locks of your hair. Thank heavens that they had thought to preserve and bring the flowers, for the land of hawkins was half dead, You haven't seen much more than overgrown shrubbery on the way here. “We have truly outdone ourselves, though it helps to have such an exquisite canvas.”
“You ladies are really working hard to ensure I have you in my favour.” You laugh, adjusting the tiara in the mirror. Your ladies had also changed into their ball gowns, though nowhere near as regal and outlandish as your own. “Once I am wed I assure you that finding you the most perfect Lords will be at the top of my list of priorities.”
If I live past the wedding night, you think, but do not speak. There is no purpose in killing their uplifted spirits.
“Tonight is about you. Do not fret upon us.” Erica grins, shooing away Nancy and Robin, helping you down from the pedestal in front of the mirror in your larger-than-life room. Her hands are warm against your skin, despite the ever growing chill of the castle. You grip onto her for life, holding on to something so valuable, something of home. Erica turns you slightly, giving one last adjustment as Nancy and Robin both come to stand by her sides. They each hold a matching grin, watching you with a lifelong earnestness. “Our princess.”
“Your future Queen.” Comes another tone, much deeper than possible of the three girls that stood in the room with you. You each turn to the now somewhat familiar man, Sir Steven, as he lingers upon the doorway. He still bears the dull brown colour, though now his uniform is much more exquisite. His tunic is stark blue, matching the colours of your Kingdom. He also wears brown and red on his overcoats, the colours of his kingdom. It is a peaceful statement, the joining of two kingdoms.
You wonder if he wore that to Barbara’s engagement ball.
Steven looks at you with his big brown eyes, taking in the sight before him. Even you have to admit, you feel like a glowing star. “You look divine.” He murmurs, lifting his arm and outstretching it towards you. Your dainty hand falls into the crook of his elbow effortlessly. “The king shall admire your vision for years to come.”
And it suddenly hits you. Tonight is about you, this is all for you. You and your future husband, who you will meet in mere moments. He is mere rooms away as Steven escorts you towards the throne room, and you suddenly realise that these could be your last living moments. If the rumours about King Edward are true, this could truly be your last eve alive. You could fall dead at the very sight of him. Perhaps he is a terribly old man who wants nothing more than for you to bed him and give him heirs. A pretty plaything. A pawn to another man’s game.
You shudder a breath, one that has your chest pushing harshly into the unforgiving corset. There’s a burst of light in the depths of the dark hallways. It comes from the cracks in the ajar door of the trone room. There is a faint tune of music, great orchestral music alike. Your footsteps sound faintly as you grow closer, no match for the chatter and music and dancing. Steven can feel the sudden sharpness of your nails through his overcoat, and murmurs lowly. “Relax. You will be perfect.”
You wish you could.
But the nerves do not die as you stand with Steven in front of the great double doors. Your heart pounds wildly as the herald by the door announces your name in a great bellowing shout. You tense as the double doors begin to widen, and the light becomes ten times more eminent. Steven drops his arm, and your weak arm falls limp at your side. The dancing and chattering has stopped, and the music has become mellow, gentle to welcome you into the room of your new kingdom. The first thing you can see is the bright glowing lights, candles everywhere, and suddenly the room is anew. There is no darkness, no shadows creeping down your spine. The room is alive. As are the faces that stare back at you, so many Lords and Ladies, perhaps even royalty of different kingdoms. It is easy to spot who is of Hawkins, their red emblems pinned neatly to the breasts of both tunics and dresses. They part like waves of the sea, and the aura inside the room bides you in without thought. Some greater nature pulls you in, tugs you by force, and has your feet moving one step after the other into the middle of the room.
You stop in the middle of the ballroom, beneath a magnificent golden chandelier. The gold flickers and shimmers with the flames around it, like stars overhead. You hope that all good fates and gods are watching you now, and will bless your soul. For right now, you feel like a fox against a pack of archers. Every person in the room stares at you, at only you, and yet they do not whisper a word. You turn, spinning on the spot, trying to identify someone, anyone. To find some familiarity amongst strangers. It does not come, the sense of relief that you so desperately sought. Instead, as you stop turning, a group of people in front of you begin to move, parting once more from one another. And then, the music begins to pick up, something deep and meaningful, a tune of the kingdom. Your eyes do not part with the scene in front of you, and still no pair of eyes stray from your figure. Scared. Alone. Until you see.
Black polished shoes graze against the wooden floor. They dazzle in the light, leading to an obsidian pair of breeches, belt loops adorned with hanging golden chains. A flowing material flutters behind the figure lightly, connected to his shoulders, hung by a golden chain to his frilled tunic. The sleeves of his shirt are long, yet his arms are defined enough to be conveyed. The figure that your eyes rake up is tall, taller than any man you have ever known. Your heartbeat impossibly quickens as your eyes meet raven curls, twisting up towards the most handsome face you possibly had ever seen. Sharp jaw and cheeks, dark features enhanced by his pale skin. King Edward looks celestial in all of his grace. He stops a foot or two in front of you lightly trembling form, and he’s so tall. Not lanky, built enough to convey his strength and he fills out his clothes. But that is not what captures your attention most, no, your future husband’s eyes are something of a fairytale. He stares at you softly, despite the sharpness of his eyes. They're brown, yet so much deeper and darker than Sir Steven’s. You swear that something swirls within the depths of those irises, and you are sure not to be mistaken when there is a flicker of gold and blood red, at the closest points to his pupils.
The King is magnificent.
Suddenly you feel as though you might fall to the wife’s curse, for his looks and beauty are far too fine to be of this world.
He could be an angel, or he could be the devil. His motivations seem unclear, for if he were just marrying for the nations, he would never stare at you the way that he does in that moment. King Edward looks at you as though you are the rarest jewel in the land, something to be cherished for millenia to come. He looks at you how the most adoring, caring husband would to his dearly beloved wife. It burns your chest. What is all this for? Is he merely just a shining actor, ready to do what he will to get you into bed?
But the King does not speak, he only moves. His eyes remain the same as he slowly circles around you, soft, gentle, yet observant. He is vetting you, ensuring that you would be the perfect wife, the perfect woman. You can remember the way that the maids in the castle back home had gripped at your hips and told you how a king would adore them, what they could do, what they could create. They saw you as a baby making machine. It’s not the same now, for you can feel the icy cold tingle left in the wake of King Edward’s stare. He observes your hair, fingertips grazing the ends lightly before he plucks one of the clusters of forget-me-nots out, and pockets it next to his neck tie. Blood red and sapphire blue. His eyes continue around you and his hand falls back to your hair, slowly pushing it away from your shoulder and neck as he comes back towards your line of vision. He seems to take in the sight of your pearl necklace, and Nancy was right, for you swear that his eyes darken at the sight. You flush at the realisation; The King wants you. He finds you more than pleasing, and you seem to have passed his evaluations. Relief floods you – the poorly hidden cut upon your bottom lip had not deterred him.
You feel tiny under his gaze. You can barely breathe, and you feel as though your heart is trying to escape from your chest. It would be impossible to match him, to be acquainted with his wealth, his power. You would surely forever be known as the princess who did not deserve such a man.
And yet, King Edward falls down to one knee. He lowers himself, far lower than you. At first, you believe him to be bowing. But the reality is far different. The King produces a golden ring, a deep, dark ruby red jewel encrusted with a halo of darling diamonds. It sits proudly between his own ringed fingers, presented to you, and is probably worth more than anything you have ever owned. Across the room, you can practically hear your father encouraging you to take the ring, to take the King as your husband.
“Princess,” his voice is so unlike anything you have ever heard before. So rich and smooth, yet intoxicating and deep He speaks as a King, with power and authority. His voice can be heard over the orchestral music, he is so respected. So adored. “I present you with this ring as a symbol of our unity. Of two kingdoms. Take this ring, and I will give you anything you could ever ask for, anything your heart could ever desire. Swear yourself to me, as my wife, as my Queen, and you shall have eternal glory.”
You raise a trembling hand towards him. Words cannot convey the sudden compelling that you have, the need to take his hand, to fulfil what he has promised for you. You feel air-light as you speak almost breathlessly, “I swear myself to you, King Edward.”
The pressure of your corset seems to have faded. You can breathe freely as soon as the ring slips onto your finger. His hand is cold as he reaches for your finger, chilled as the winter’s snow. You jolt, though do your best to contain it as your skin makes contact with his own. You’ve surely never felt something so cold before, and yet never felt so warm. Heat and bliss dance around you as the ring slips over your knuckle, and falls perfectly into place against your skin.
You admire the jewel for a moment, take in the fact that it now resides there, upon your very own finger. You take in the fact that King Edward had not seen you and rejected you in a moment, instead fallen to his knee and presented you with a glistening ring. Your heart soars, and your eyes travel to meet his. Those around you have began to dance once more, shouting their cheers for their king. You are certain that you heard Robin’s squeal in there somewhere. He watches you intently, as though a creature so beautiful had never existed before. He seems mystified, perhaps even as much so as you are. The King looks at you as though there is a halo upon the crown of your head, and God had delivered you here on a silver platter himself.
Edward raises your entwined hands, presses his cool lips against your knuckles, and drags you further under his spell. You spin and spin, until you realise that it isn’t only in your head, and the two of you are dancing, hand in hand, his other at the curve of your waist. You can feel the way that his thumb glides over the fabric of your dress, the subtle admiring of such fine clothing. King Edward is a force that hits you like a storm.
“You are a rarity.” He murmurs to you, eyes flickering golden. His lips entrance you as they move, something so compelling yet familiar to you. Did those lips ever meet Barbara’s? How many of his past wives has he held this way, presented such fine jewellery to? King Edward has ruled for a glorious lifetime. You are not his first wife, and you will surely not be his last. It is as though he can detect a disturbance within your aura, the King moves to pull you closer. Your breath hitches as you feel the solid wall of his chest, the brushing of his thigh against your dress. “A fine jewel, something men like I could only ever dream of.” The forget-me-not in his necktie sways with the movement of his dancing. His voice lulls you, but his hands have you more alive than ever before. “The stars are shining down upon me tonight. Being King has brought me many fortunes, but you, my heart, are the most supreme of them all.”
You can almost hear your maids back home, telling you what to say, how to bat your eyes, how to smile. Yet it almost comes on unconsciously as you speak to your newly betrothed. “I wish nothing more than to prove myself to you, my King. I will serve you well as your Queen. Forever, I am indebted to you.”
There is an incessant presence between the two of you, something that shifts in the air and pushes the blood through your veins. Though you have never felt it before in your life, you know what it is – arousal. Something you only learned of after one of Barbara’s ladies was caught in the stable with a young knight, and Robin spent the eve explaining the ways that people come together to procreate. You wonder how soon after the marriage King Edward will want to consummate. It is a clear thought in his own mind, for he looks at you as though you are the most divine meal, served on a silver platter.
“I am the luckiest man in the whole kingdom.” He murmurs, eyes flickering from your neck to your eyes. “Sir Steven often overexaggerates, but he did not lie when it comes to your gentle beauty and charm. You are the finest bride-to-be.”
And, suddenly, something stirs within you. His words push you head first out of the trance he had gently swayed you into, and now you remember the absurdity of it all. The fact that Barbara was here, in your place, and now dead. The burn of arousal turns to a burn of fire, churning deep within you. You blaze.
“Finer than my own sister?” You do not allow yourself to physically sneer, not in front of all these people, but your tone is enough for the King. He watches as you lean yourself away from him. “Or even the wife before? Will you say the same to one of my nieces, when they turn of age?”
But Edward does not falter. He does not grow angry, he does not shout, he does not strike. His eyes remain that same calm and cool. Golden, brown. His gentleness is suffocating. “I understand how–”
“The girl forgets herself.” A drunken tone interrupts. One you are all too familiar with, one that you avoid with great caution. Your dance with King Edward falls apart as you both turn to the stumbling figure of your father, who just happened to be passing as you spoke out of tone. A goblet is gripped tightly between his fingers. He drinks enough for half of the ballroom. Your father sneers openly at you, raising the goblet. “Nothing a simple drubbing won’t fix. She will take it, your highness, she will grow to understand her place.” Your father grumbles, swigging his mead. “Just as her mother did.”
The king straightens beside you.
You can feel his energy change at the mention of harming you, the idea that he should be the one to set you right with a physical hand. The King towers over both you and your father, and in the short time that you have known him, you are determined in your knowledge that he has far more power and authority than your father.
“I hope you make jest,” the raven haired man speaks your father’s name lowly. Said man lowers his chalice, waveringly glancing between you and Edward. “The princess knows her place…” King Edward steps forwards, his dominance unmistakeable. Your father gulps. “She is the future Queen of the most powerful kingdom in this corner of the globe. She is my bride-to-be. I had hoped that my loyal servants had lied about the cut upon her saccharine lips. Perhaps, you forgot your own place? I would loathe to have to prosecute you ‘pon means to harm the future Queen.”
Your heart soars. Your lip stings dully. Your eyes are glassy and the shape of hearts, because nobody has ever, ever stood up for you like that. It is clear to you now - Edward is a fierce lover, and a loyal man. He works to protect you, protect his kingdom. You ache for the harsh words that you had previously spoken, how you had intended to harm his feelings. Here he is, protecting you from the torture of your own flesh and blood. Forget the rumours, the curses. In front of you is a human man protecting his newfound love. Perhaps you are different to all of his past queens, for you are sure that he cannot fall this quickly each time, cannot care so.
Your heart begins to beat for the King of Hawkins.
Your father breaks the stare between them first. He is no match for the pale, tall and built figure in front of him. Not to mention the sword-clad guards lined up against each wall of the ballroom. Sir Steven has drawn closer at the scene, his fingers grazing the metal of the hilt of his sword. His eyes are dangerous and dark, watching intently as your father begins to stumble backwards, his aged brows pulled together.
Edward watches him go with a blank stare, yet still so intimidating. Most of the crowd around you are still dancing their hearts out, feet uncontrollably moving. As though they are destined to never stop, not unless their King tells them to. Perhaps it is not you that is a pawn, but them.
A cold, gentle hand falls at your elbow, gripping lightly. Your eyes reach those of King Edward’s, but they are suddenly unfamiliar. There is no gold, no hint of red. They are almost obsidian black, the same tone as his curly hair. You can feel the invisible string pulling your brows together as you take in the sight, dainty hand moving up towards his face. The warmth of your skin caresses his cheek, thumb ghosting across the skin under his eye.
“Your eyes…” you murmur, wracking your brain for a logical answer. “They have changed.”
“They have not been the same since I set my sights on you, princess.” The King’s free hand meets yours, sandwiching you between his cool skin. “They will never be the same again.”
You believe him wholeheartedly. You can see the meaning of his words within his eyes, and your heart bleeds for him. In fact, you are sure that you have already passed over your heart to him, pushed your hand inside your chest and dug around until you reached the beating organ, your vessel of life, and handed it over to him.
The feeling lingers, once more underneath the spell of King Edward, throughout the eve. You are enamoured by him as he walks you through the throne room, introducing you to the strange people of Hawkins. Some of them look at you as though you are a piece of meat, and you are sure that you can feel the King’s grip on your waist tighten. They all seem to have a similar aura about them, like they share a hidden secret. They stare intensely, but you assume it is because you are an outsider. Still, King Edward puts you at ease. He speaks so freely, so smoothly. He shows you your future throne, shows you the deep, red ruby set at the crescent of the golden chair. It matches your ring entirely, and the King does not comment when you speak on their likeness. What else could you expect? It is the colour of his court, after all. You are still enamoured when he sneaks you away from the courtroom, when he steals you from the knowing stares of your ladies, who happily let him take you away. They steal your chalice of wine and usher you with shooing hands, winking wildly.
You grin like a child, unable to contain your excitement, in a way that you haven’t in so many years. Not since the last festival of light, back in your home kingdom, with your mother, when she had sang to you, span you in dance, braided your hair. You had not known a giddiness quite like this in such a long lifetime. You cannot help the way that you giggle as you run hand in hand through the flame lit halls. Your hair sways behind you, flowers surely falling from their neat positions. The clipping sound of your heels fills the hall, and King Edward’s somehow fall silently. You suppose in hindsight that it is due to his meticulous battle training, his tactics.
The King takes you out to a courtyard, one that is filled with some of the first signs of life that you have seen since arriving in Hawkins. Flowers bloom in the midnight moon, something exotic and unseen of your land. Some are bright red, others variants of orange and yellow. They hold so much life, so natural and yet completely supernatural at the same time. He speaks their names slowly, guiding you through them with a gentle hand against your spine. You have never heard of the plants before, never been so in awe of the world’s beauty.
King Edward watches you. His eyes take in the way that you kneel to be closer to the horticulture, the gentleness of your fingers as you test the leaves. He grows to quickly adore the soft nature of your voice, the inquiries of your genuine questions. He answers them with the same love in his eyes that you hold in yours, and suddenly you feel as though you could be his wife blind. Help him rule his kingdom without as such as a hiccup.
“You will make the most beautiful Queen.” He speaks to you towards the end of the night, when the two of you have tucked yourselves away in a corner of the ballroom that Sir Steven made you return to. King Edward looks down at you as he speaks, large hands holding a chalice which he tips towards your lips. Obediently you open your mouth to him, the red wine burning upon your tongue as it slips past your healing lips. “So adoring, so fine. I wish for my people to serve you as they do me. I will arrange for you to visit the townsfolk with Sir Steven tomorrow, to see how they live.” You try not to think of their solemn faces, the death in their eyes. “You will grow to love them as your own, Princess.”
“Anything you wish, My King.” The words come after a swallow of the alcohol, the King’s eyes following a falling drop of crimson as it cascades down your chin. His eyes flicker once more, a new sort of hunger hidden behind them. “Will you do me the pleasure of accompanying myself and Sir Steven?”
His gaze shifts again, and something swirls in his chest — you can almost see it happening.
“My duties lay elsewhere in the daytime, Princess. I did ask Steven to assure you of this,”
“He did.” You’re quick to interject. “It was merely wishful thinking, my King. I apologise.”
“You never have to be sorry.” He murmurs, dark eyes injecting a cooling sensation into your very veins. King Edward has put a spell on you, a spell that would surely soon have him chasing after you.
A spell that will have you running from the daylight.
#<3 eddie munson#eddie munson! abby’s version#abby’s kinktober !#dark! :0#multiple characters#vampire#vampire!eddie#stranger things fanfic#stranger things au#knight!steve#eddie#eddie munson smut#princess!reader#Eddie Munson au#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson angst#eddie munson x reader
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(Not here for) You
Words: ~3k
Tags: Knight!Ghost x Princess!Reader, politics, discussions of regicide, König causing problems on purpose, period typical misogyny, knight!Keegan
Summary: König asked to speak to you privately, and you are eager to hear what he has to say. Though once he opens his mouth you wish he hadn't. You detest men like him.
Prev Part and Master List
(art: Sower of Temptation by Seb McKinnon)
A/N: This chapter will not make much sense without reading the rest of the Knight!Ghost au. We're getting into the actual meat of the story, and this is not a one-shot style fic as I usually do with my chapters. This is a plot heavy chapter, lots of exposition, but it's important so... you know where the ask box is to complain...
You’re the first one out of the dining room, though you can hear König close behind. It takes everything in you not to run, would he chase you? You hope he’d think you too much trouble to even bother. One measly princess is hardly worth a chase. You pass Ghost and see his fist clench. There’s a part of you that cries out for him, that begs for him to follow you. There’s another part that knows you’ve already dismissed him, that knows if you look behind you, you’ll see your new guard not your most loyal knight. You pause at the garden entrance, König’s long strides having easily caught up to you, now you’re simply contemplating your next move.
“There’s been a miscommunication,” König tells you lowly, again you find he isn’t looking at you, his eyes search the garden instead through the window, “I have no desire to marry you, or really anyone who seems so distressed by the thought.” You cringe.
It feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Thank God. “I’m not distressed,” You lie. His eyes dart down to look at you, hard and uncaring. What a pathetic princess you must seem to him. You would have thought a man like him would prefer easy prey.
“Please, you are like a rabbit-” His hand reaches towards you, “-trying to escape a trap. Frantic. Pitiful.” He stops just before touching your cheek, you hold your ground, set your shoulders and stand a little taller. “Already caught by someone else,” He grumbles under his breath, his eyes narrowing with annoyance. He clenches his hand beside your cheek, his knuckles just brushing your skin. His hand is huge, you wonder how many ladies have broken under it. You think about the blood soaked into his skin.
He wouldn’t hurt you here, not with witnesses. You glance over your shoulder and see Ghost, meet his eye, watch the heavy movement of his shoulders as he breathes. Your knight stands beside him, his hand on his stretched across Ghost’s chest.
“What are you doing?” You whisper, your breath catching as you feel König lean closer. You watch Ghost’s jaw clench tight, his fingers gripping the hilt of his sword like a lifeline.
“I haven’t had anyone try to kill me in a while,” You can hear König’s smile, “I’m interested to see how he’d do it.” Your eyes widen. You know how he’d do it, just how you know if he failed you’d lose Ghost forever. You push König away from you, swat at his hand, and he grabs your face tight to turn you, forcing you to look him in the eye.
“Stop it,” You plead, your voice a flinch above a whisper. To have Ghost taken away from you a second time is a crime you wouldn’t be able to survive, a thought you can’t stomach.
“Would he go for my throat?” König wonders, his fingers still hovering, trailing from your cheek to your throat, reenacting his own demise on your skin, “I wonder, if I held a knife to your pretty neck would he plead for your life?” König’s head tips, the mask he wears moves with him, clinking metal, and you realize it’s mail. Impossibly small and well made, flowing like fabric. How many men have gone for his head that he’s had to protect himself like this. “You pretty things, you make men weak, give me the chance to add their heads to my wall while you cry.”
“Bastard,” You spit, push König away from you, swat at his hand. He grabs your face tight to turn you, forcing you to look him in the eye.
“So you do have some fight in you,” His eyes blaze with something that makes your stomach churn, you push at his chest and his grip tightens, “you will never get what you want like that Prinzessin. Useless, pathetic thing.” He shakes you, and you hear a sword being drawn, the clatter of armor moving, your knight's low voice as he speaks to Ghost. “Your man can’t save you,” König promises, “you have to do it.”
“You’re hurting me,” You tell him, he’s squeezing your jaw too tight, the inside of your cheeks cutting against your teeth. König’s breath hitches, and you think your heart stops with it.
“Then tell me to stop,” He commands, “This is your palace,-” another shake, “-your kingdom,-” and another, “-your right to command me, so do it.”
“Let me go.” You order, your voice breaking a little as you push at him. His grip releases with a shake in his fingers, quickly clenched into a massive fist. You swallow, resist the urge to look away from him as König rolls his shoulder back and takes his full height.
“You must always take what you want,” König advises you, “Or someone else will take it from you and you will be left with nothing.”
“And what about you,” You ask, holding the cold gaze that still regards you like an insect to be crushed, “what are you here to take?”
König hums, you can see his mouth working under his mask, considering your question. “You would do well to find your spine before you promise something you can’t take back,” He says finally, "but rest assured, I'm not here for you."
-
Ghost couldn’t stomach leaving you, couldn’t pretend he loved you if he was so willing to throw you to that… animal. He drags his feet, searching for reason to stay near the dining room, near you. Your new guard, Keegan, is well trained and quick with a knife, but he isn’t him. Ghost is better by leaps and miles. The only reason to replace him is because the king is not so much of a fool as he looks, and is trying to marry you off without Ghost around to persuade you otherwise.
He paces the hall like a bear in a cage, feels his blood rushing in his veins, hot and heady. His armor is heavy, his gloves creaking with the strain of his clenched fist. The doors open and you pass him, your eyes lingering on him, pleading. He knows you like he knows his own heart, follows your command even when you can’t give him a word. He falls in line beside Keegan and notes the knight’s glance as well as he notes his silence.
It’s good of him to say nothing, it would serve no one to go making a scene now.
König raises his hand to touch you and Ghost feels his pulse jump. He takes a step forward, hand reaching for the hilt of his blade on instinct. Keegan’s arm stops him, his breath shakes his armor, his eyes trained on König. The man glances at him, his eyes crinkling just slightly at the edges. Bastard.
You look back at him and Ghost feels his heart rate jump, trying to judge whether that’s fear or panic or what in your eyes. You don’t even need to give the word, he’d cut this man’s hand off just for trying to touch you. King or not, Ghost hardly thinks status matters in this. Seeing your tears earlier was enough reason to strike him down. Losing a hand would be nothing.
You swat at König’s hand, and he grabs you roughly, shakes you like a toy. “Useless, he calls you. Ghost growls, feels the weight of his sword as it leaves the sheath.
“Her highness can take care of herself,” Keegan hisses at him. His hand pushes firmly against his chest, Ghost hardly thinks he has the strength to stop him.
“She doesn’t have to,” He growls. A hand isn’t enough, he should have his throat slit. Ghost thinks a kill like that might put him back on your service. Ghost’s vision tunnels when you push König again, one twitch of your hand and he’d set his blade to everyone in this hall. Starting with König.
"He's baiting you," Keegan presses, his voice low and even. The knight hardly glances at König, doesn't need to, Ghost knows he's right. You're nothing but something to play with to men like König, nothing but a pretty gem to wave about and make other men jealous.
With grit teeth Ghost sheaths his sword. He won’t leave you, not yet, but he’ll stay his hand. “Remove your hand sergeant,” Ghost tells him, a reminder of his rank, and a dangerous warning. Don’t interfere, he means to say. Keegan gives it a beat before returning to his rest position, his eyes trained on you for orders. A good soldier, a good knight, a worse dog. Ghost watches you like he could carve his name into your skin with just his glare. He wants,
He wants too much. He wants what he can’t have. He wants,
He wants you to run to him, he wants you to call his name, he wants you to give him an order, any order. He wants,
And in the end he’s left with nothing.
Left to watch you walk through the garden with a king who could never care for you the way you deserve.
-
He isn’t here for you, and that’s all that matters. It tastes like bile on your tongue that you could be so selfish, that you could behave in such a way, hope against such a thing. It should be an honor to be considered by a king, and yet you dreaded the thought enough to run from it. König is right, you are useless. You have no command, hold little respect, you are a princess in name only. You’re a prize set out for the highest bidder, and you would promise anything to keep yourself from being stolen off your throne. Not because you want the throne, but because it’s safe there. Because Ghost is there.
Take what you want he says, like it’s as easy for you as it is for him. It’s so easy for men. They take what they like and think nothing of the hurt they cause. If you were to truly take what you liked your reputation would be in tatters, your name dragged through the mud and your legitimacy, the monarchy’s legitimacy questioned. Divine right rests on your parent’s shoulders, not your own.
“You didn’t answer my question,” You press when you feel you’ve been silent too long, “Why are you here?”
“Why should I tell you?” König hardly looks at you, seemingly a perfect gentleman as you walk. He doesn’t look, doesn’t touch, hardly seems to notice you at all, but his eyes sweep the castle walls, with military focus. He makes you shiver just standing close.
“It’s my kingdom, as you pointed out, and my command that you tell me.” You dislike the way your authority draws his attention, the way he responds to commands with all the interest of a rabid dog. The world would be better off if he were put down. You hold your ground when he looks at you, though the raw malice makes you want to run and hide.
“You would do well not to poke bears little girl,” He warns you, before returning his gaze to its previous hold. Your heart falters, but he speaks again. “My kingdom’s generals still hold allegiance to the former king, Idiotin, and I need a replacement before I take their heads the same as his.”
“You’re bringing in outside allegiances,” You may as well be talking to yourself, but he nods. It feels good to talk politics with someone, your father certainly never entertains the idea that you could have a brain in your head. “They’d be reliant on you, aggressive towards dissenters, disposable and scared,” another nod, “that’s quite smart.”
König hums, agreeing with your assessment, “and your father has a rather talented knight he’s eager to be rid of.” Your heart stops, you very nearly stop. König’s hand grabs your arm and urges you forward, you don’t stumble, but you want to, dragged along the walk as you try to pick your heart off the ground. “Dogs should not bark at their masters,” König continues, pulling you along the path, “and this one, seems confused as to who his master is.”
You jerk your arm from his grip- no, he allows you to jerk your arm from his grip. There is no strength you could exert against this man that would measure up to his own. It’s a kindness that he releases you.
“You can’t have him,” You tell him and König rounds on you. Stops to stand in front of you, leaning low and quick like an animal as he spits,
“Wrong.”
You recoil, take a step back away from the beast and he follows. “I can and will have whatever I wish for,” He impresses his will upon you. Your eyes dart away from his, back to Ghost and Keegan, your knights watching their spineless princess. Your word is only a command as far as it is amusing. You are not König, don’t have the raw strength and intimidation. You can’t take what you want the way he can. Not when you’re taking from men like him.
“You don’t want him,” You tell König, your eyes locked on Ghost.
“Why not?”
“He’s-” you search for something, anything wrong with Ghost, but for you he’s perfect, he’s always been perfect. He’s a traitor to the king for kissing you, he’s mad for sticking by you despite being taken off your service, he’s a knight that serves no king. He’s skilled, he’s a hard worker, there’s no one better in the kingdom, no one you would recommend more highly, no one you would more sorely part with. “I don’t know,” You admit.
König’s shadow leaves you as the man straightens up. Somehow you think that was the right answer. He isn’t watching you when you look at him again. “Your father is holding a contest and when your dog wins I will take him.” He doesn’t pull you after him this time, but he doesn’t have to, “find a reason to stop me Hasse.” He pauses, looks back at you, his eyes crease at the edges and you feel a chill run down your spine, “Or kill your father, I find that works just as well.”
-
It’s dark when Ghost pulls his door open and finds you. You must be freezing in your nightclothes, wrapped in a thick robe and staring up at him like you hold all the stars in your eyes. It’s just the flicker of candles making your eyes sparkle, but it stills his heart. If he were a better man he might turn you away. Instead his eyes dart to your lady-in-waiting, she’d do well to keep her mouth shut.
“Princess,” He leans against the door frame, crosses his arms over his chest, anything to keep from touching you, “it’s late.”
His eyes feel heavy when they rest on you, he can’t pull them where he wants, can’t rest them where they’re drawn. There’s a weight in his chest that could be lifted only by your hands. You’re quiet, pensive, he keeps his eyes on yours and not the way your chest moves with each breath you take. It’s late, and in his exhaustion he imagines laying his head against your breasts, imagines the warmth of your skin.
“Do you love me?” You ask so quickly that he hardly has time to tear his eyes from your chest. Damn things keep drifting.
“I’m your knight,” Ghost tells you, it’s his duty to love you, but he knows that isn’t what you’re asking. He can see it in your face as you swallow the doubt in your throat. You nod, and he wishes he could take it back, that he’d said the words you wanted him to say. If he were a better man…He wouldn’t reach to cup your cheek, wouldn’t brush his thumb against the soft skin and ask, “Are you alright, princess?”
You push into his touch like a frightened animal. He wonders if you are, if you’ve been spooked into a corner. He wants to ask, wants to pry into a life he’s no longer a part of. He doesn’t. Instead he lets you hold his wrist tight, and watches you turn your head to kiss his palm. He feels flames licking at his rips watching your pretty plush lips push against his calloused flesh, too rough to receive such delicate attention.
“I don’t know what to do,” You tell him, your voice watery, desperate.
“Do what you do best,” He wishes he could draw you close, wishes he could pull you into his room and shut the door, wishes you were his the way he’s yours, “give me an order.”
You shake your head, your smile could break his heart in a million ways. Give me an order, he silently pleads, let me take the pain away. I love you, he wants to say. You move his hand away from your face, and he drops it to his side. The walls have ears, and your lady-in-waiting is not as tight lipped as he would like.
“I should go back to my room.” Ghost nods, he wishes you wouldn’t. He knows you have to. He catches your arm when you turn to leave, pushes down the words that rise like bile in his throat.
He can’t be saved, not from this, not when he knows what he’d do for you. What he’d do to you. You have to understand what you do to him, how he burns for you. There’s no one safe from his blade if you command it, no man that can touch you without him allowing it. If he doesn’t love you- If he doesn’t love you then he doesn’t know what this is.
“Of course I do,” He says lowly, feeling the breath of it rasp in his throat. He holds your gaze, sees your eyes soften for him.
“Good night Ghost,” You whisper. He drops his hand to squeeze your finger, once, gentle as he can, and lets you go.
“Good night, my lady.” If he were a better man...
#cod x reader#x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#ghost mw2#simon riley x reader#simon ghost x reader#simon riley#simon riley x you#knight!Ghost#princess!reader#medieval au#ghost cod#ghost x you#f!reader#könig
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HEAR ME OUT-
Knight Ellie slaughtering her enemies then slowly walking towards the reader like this to make sure they’re safe ??? LIKE R U KIDDING ??
broo knight!ellie would act so damn tough in front of you. esp in a sudden ambush.
paying not a worry to the throb of pain rendering her torso slouched and her hand pressing to the wound, she trudges herself over with the loops of her weary fingers hooked on the hilt of her blade, dragging it, crouching down to a certain princess whose been cowering beneath the lengthy cover of a fallen tree, you, and just speaks with the dimmest, softest tone ever— a cadence one might hinder into from exertion or sickness, "bandits are a hassle, huh? take my hand in yours. i will escort you back to the horse in wary that no lurkers tarnish your gown or skin, my lady." and she specifically removes one glove for you, preferring the skin-to-skin contact over sullying your pretty fingers with the marks of battle. rejects any of your worries surrounding the blotch of crimson peaking through small gaps of armor, ushering you from the thin canopy of bark, "no no, you are most mindful but i have no immediate need of tending, princess. c'mon, your father will wonder what escapade has taken you this time if we do not hurry." and even with her grasp of callouses and scars aplenty lining her palm— she is tender. she is lush of loving touch and something miles and miles from anything you'll get from someone else. which is a bit of lore for born of flora and fauna cause mannnn the reader/princess in there is TOUCH STARVEDDDD. oh yeah and i hc knight!ellie grips you by the waist and elevates you atop the saddle before anything else. takes off both her gloves for that <3 wouldn't want to transfer doodoo stains onto your dress now would she?
blehhhh knight!ellie series is COMING!!!! she has me on a leash hold
#ellie williams#⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras asks#ellie williams x reader#ellie tlou#lesbian#sapphic#ellie williams fluff#ellie x reader#ellie williams fic#ellie williams fanfiction#ellie williams x fem!reader#knight!ellie#knight!ellie x princess!reader#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams au#ellie williams x you#ellie williams blurb#ellie williams drabble
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