#Knight AU

[silvercap]

12) candles - maybe a continuation of the knight au bit with Leon, when they eventually manage to get to someone who can help? even if they make it there during daylight, healing will probably take long into the night...

Yes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (Prompts)

12. Candles (A continuation of this)

Piers' toes are going numb when he finally catches sight of the plume of smoke over the trees, a gasp catching in his chest as his weakening limbs regain their strength. "A little longer, Leon," he promises, the unconscious weight of his companion uncomfortably slack and cool at his side even draped in the cloak hood Piers had pulled up to protect his body heat. There hasn't been a semblance of safety anywhere he's looked, the woods somehow exposed even with their canopy of dark trees. He forces himself to keep going.

It's a small, wooden hut billowing smoke from its weathered stone chimney, the frost-dusted trees planted around it set far enough apart that Piers feels like he can breathe again. It's grown dark in the time it took them to travel through the forest, night falling fast and dropping the temperature from cold to achingly frigid. Piers pauses. There's no telling who could be inside, especially here in the desolate Northern forests, but the sensation of eyes still clings to the back of Piers' neck and his strength is beginning to falter. Does he even have a choice?

His hands tingle with the beginnings of numbness as he raps on the door, a long, torturous moment passing before the locks grate and the slab of wood swings open to emit the smell of herbs and damp earth. A woman hovers beyond the door, her blonde hair braided over a shoulder and icy blue eyes scanning Piers with no small amount of caution. "What do you want?" she demands.

"Please," Piers begs, hefting Leon's slumping form slightly higher upright. His breaths have begun to rasp in his throat lose to Piers' ear, laboured and tight. "Please, my---my knight needs help."

The woman frowns, peering out into the snow. "It's just you?"

"Yes, of course."

She seems to think about it for a moment before stepping back from the doorway in silent acquiescence, Piers' legs carrying him over the threshold before he even registers the movement.

"Lay him on the bed," the woman directs briskly, pointing across the tiny, single room of the shack to where a soft, blanket and fur-strewn bed sits bathed in the warm glow of the fireplace. Piers doesn't wait for help, stalking across the cabin with the rest of his strength and carefully guiding Leon down to the mattress. His eyelids flutter as Piers cradles his head to pull back the hood of his cloak, a breathless groan of agony slipping free of his lips while the woman scoops up his limp legs and places them carefully atop the blankets. His face is drawn in the shadows, patches of fever blossoming pink on his cheeks. Piers brushes the back of a hand over Leon's forehead, flinching back at the fire-hot blaze that meets his touch.

"He's burning up," Piers breathes, unable to keep the panic fully from his voice. "It's his arm, I think he's been poisoned, or---"

The woman isn't listening, pushing past Piers to kneel at Leon's side and unravel the length of linen. Piers gasps as it falls away. The skin beneath is veined black and inflamed, still oozing blood and dripping that strange black fluid all over his sleeve. The woman hums in confirmation.

"Poison, indeed. How long ago was he struck?"

"I---it was a while before sunset, maybe an hour or two? I don't know how long we were out there."

"Hmm. Then there's no point trying to draw it out. Just let me..."

She darts away to bustle around the cabin, muttering to herself. Leon tosses his head with a faint sound of pain and Piers is at his side again in an instant, settling shakily on the edge of the bed and reaching out to carefully stroke sweat-lank strands of hair away from his face. The woman reappears again with a bundle of herbs and fresh bandages, quickly setting to work in making a poultice and smoothing it carefully over Leon's forearm before she covers it in crisp, white linen. A pot bubbles over the fire where she had been only moments before, her legs carrying her over to it with urgency that sends a thrill of fear down Piers' spine. He'd known this was serious, but something about seeing her in action makes his stomach churn.

"Get him undressed," she orders, snapping Piers free of his paralysis. His hands tremble as he reaches out to undo Leon's cloak and the straps on his armour, but he manages to get him down to his tunic and trousers before the woman returns with a small bowl of herbal-smelling liquid. She stirs it until it's no longer steaming, then jerks her head in Piers' direction. "Sit him up."

Piers does as she asks, sliding an arm around Leon's shoulders and helping him upright so that the woman can place the bowl to his lips. His head is tipped back, and Piers fears he might choke for a moment, before glassy blue eyes slit open long enough for Leon to drink down the liquid. He's unconscious again by the time the woman pulls away, and Piers lets his head sink back to the pillow. Leon's brow furrows as he spasm slightly and moans, then smooths in the same breath as his body goes lax.

"Will he be alright?" Piers asks anxiously.

"It's in his hands, now," the woman says in a gentle tone---or a slightly less harsh one, at least---swapping out the pot for a kettle of water over the fire. She turns and wipes her hands on her skirt, meeting Piers' gaze. "Come, sit with me. It's not often that I have company, and there's nothing else that we can do for him right now."

Piers strokes over Leon's hair one last time and does as she says, feeling strangely out of his depth. The dining table in the centre of the cabin has two chairs, its weathered wooden surface scattered with teacups and papers that the woman quickly scoops up and deposits in the washbasin and a nearby shelf, respectively. Piers can't help but fix his gaze on Leon's rapidly rising chest, watching the man's face twist as he turns in his sleep.

"Don't," the woman says, sitting in the chair opposite Piers. She has a lit match in her hand, dipping the fiery end of it into the set of wax candles placed atop a sheet on paper in the middle of the table. "I'll watch him. There is no point in tormenting yourself with worry. He's strong."

"He is." Piers ducks his head, the glow of candlelight spilling across the table to illuminate the room in soft gold. "I just wish there was more I could do."

[esomaniac]

day 18

hhhhgghhhhhhh

[wyyrdplayy]

My knight AU Gideon was lonely so I made her a Lady Harrowhark to flex for

Prints!!

[bugsinmyhoney]

knight nami

[sanguineterrain]

a bloody vow | jason todd

Summary: After the racy encounter with your knight, you seem to lose all progress made in your relationship. You hardly talk, and you're lonelier than ever. But after a house break-in has you running to Jason for help, you're forced to face each other, blood and all.

Pairing: knight!Jason Todd x gn!reader 

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings/tags: violence! Jason kills a man. reader and jason's house is broken into and the thief attacks the reader (but they're okay.) mentions of self-flagellation, religious guilt. reader feels very lonely without their big strong knight :( the eroticism of killing for another person. codependence. partial nudity. probably not the healthiest relationship but whatevs. Jason would do anything for them what more could you want?

the divider

Everything's changed since the morning that you found Jason with the whip.

He won't even eat with you anymore.

He accepts whatever you make and thanks you quietly, then eats his supper in the shed. He didn’t say much before—now you're lucky if you get more than a word from him.

He's also taken to punishing himself regularly. Jason does it far away, so he won't wake you. But you've seen his back and the welts peeking beneath his tunic and the spots of blood. You also see fresh injuries from his training, injuries that could be avoided if he was more careful. You've tried to offer him a salve to heal his back. He always refuses, flinching like a kicked dog if you get too close.

You fear that you'd pushed Jason too far that morning. You replay it in your mind, wondering what exactly had possessed you to act in such a vulgar manner. Exposing yourself to him like that after spying on him earlier—what were you thinking?

You weren't, is the truth. It seems all rational thought leaves your brain when you're around him.

It's truly like living with a ghost. Your feelings are jumbled, caught in a maelstrom of guilt and fear and desire. More than anything, you're unbearably lonely. You'd feared a harsh hand when you first were deposited into Jason's bed. You never imagined that there could be a worse fate than being wanted: being ignored.

So, it's been three weeks of this new routine. Jason has been disappearing at night to the pub. Not that he told you that—you know this because of the incessant gossip that flies around the market. It's not hard to decipher who the 'hulking knight' is when people stare at you.

You try not to think about what Jason gets up to. You really have no right to be angry if he finds someone to warm his bed. You're lucky he hasn't thrown you into the sea after your insolence.

Routine is all that keeps you sane. You do the washing and cooking without complaint. Jason still leaves you money to go to the market, and sometimes you save a couple of coins to buy books. You keep the books under a floorboard in your room. He never asks you for change.

You don't know if this routine will be enough, though. You wish Jason would just throw you out and be done with it. You're certainly not performing the duties that the king expected of you when he brought you here. Jason can hardly look at you, much less touch you.

You eat alone tonight. By the time you wash up and are ready for bed, it's late. Jason still isn't home.

Not unusual these days. You get into bed and blow out the candle. Maybe you won't wake in the morning. Then you'll both be free.

A crash jerks you out of slumber.

You're awake immediately, fumbling under your bed for the small dagger you'd secretly purchased when you first came.

Your first thought is that Jason came home drunk. But if he’s come home drunk in the past, you've never heard him, and it's always as quiet in the morning as it was the night before.

A chilling second thought hits you as the floor creaks outside your door.

Someone's broken in.

You quietly get to your feet, dagger in hand. If Jason were home, he would be here already, dealing with the problem. As it is, you're alone and completely vulnerable without your knight.

Your door splinters open. You stumble backwards.

"Wha' have we here?" A lantern shines in your face. "Look a' this. Pretty thing like you shouldn't be left alone."

You bolt for the front door.

“Oh, no no, you don’t.”

The intruder darts after you and stops you before you can open the door. He hauls you backwards and throws you against the dying fireplace. You land on your ribs and the wind is knocked out of you.

"Too big of a house for a little mouse like you,” the man says with a greasy sneer. 

You turn and lunge at him. You catch him off guard enough to stab his shoulder with the dagger. He howls in pain and shoves you off. Your head hits the wall, and for a moment, you fear you’ll vomit. But you don’t, so you stand.

"You bitch!" he shouts. "I'll fuckin' kill ya for that!"

That's all the motivation you need to run.

You’re aching all over, head pounding. Your legs are cold, being that you're only in a nightgown. You might be bleeding. But you keep running.

You run all the way into town, which feels like miles at this time of night, bruised as you are. It’s easy to find the pub, and it doesn’t even occur to you that you’re not allowed inside. All that’s on your mind is Jason. Find Jason.

You pound your fists on the door of the pub, crying.

"Jason, Jason!" you shout. “Help me, please! Please!”

The door opens. You stumble in, almost tripping on the uneven wood. Men stare at you as you enter.

"Jason!" you yell.

A knight you don't recognize stares down at you, blocking your path. You stumble back, grabbing the wall for support.

"Out," he snarls. 

"Please," you beg. "Please, I need my husb—"

He's shoved aside suddenly, ale sloshing over his mug. He growls in protest, but someone drags him away by the back of his tunic. 

Relief floods you at the familiar face who takes his place. Jason.

He's obviously shocked to see you here, eyes roving over you. His shirt is unbuttoned, a thin fresh cut on his cheek. He says your name. Every inhibition you’ve felt over the last month disappears.

"What—"

You throw yourself into his arms, weeping. Jason catches you, cradling the back of your head. You're surrounded by him, the rest of the world blocked out. He smells like the strong yellow soap you make in large chunks because it’s cheaper than purchasing it at the market. He smells like the home you share.

"What is it? Where do you hurt?" he asks quietly, shielding you from all the pairs of eyes. He rubs your back, bent over you. You cling to his neck, shaking with the memory of tonight.

"A man b-broke in," you say, and Jason's grip tightens. "He said–he said he w-would...k-kill…"

You trail off. Jason pets you, breathing even on your neck.

You know that you hardly have any rights, that the men here would sooner see you die than step into danger for you. Perhaps that includes Jason too. Perhaps it's too late. 

"I understand," Jason says into your ear. He doesn’t waver despite how you tremble. "It's alright. I won't let him hurt you again. I'm... I'm so sorry for leaving you alone."

He exhales, long and slow. You feel him begin to pull away. You panic, digging your nails into his arms. Jason quickly soothes you. He doesn’t chastise you for clawing him. 

"It’s alright. I'm going to handle this, and then we'll go home," he says. "Roy."

A redheaded knight approaches. You slowly turn your head. He smiles gently at you.

"Your Highness," he says, bowing deeply, and you feel a little lighter.

"Roy's going to take you home while I handle the thief," Jason says. "I promise that I'll be fast, alright?"

"You promise you won't leave?" you ask. “You’ll come home right away?”

Jason takes your hand, stroking your knuckles. "I swear. May God strike me down if I don't return."

“Oi, man, get your little harlot out of—”

Jason stands, rising and towering over the angry drunk. He’s immediately cowed under Jason’s gaze.

“Watch your mouth,” Jason says, even and deadly. The man leaves in a huff.

"I'm sorry for causing trouble," you whisper, cheeks still wet.

"You haven't," is all he says, before leading you outside.

You have an audience, which is absolutely humiliating, but neither Jason nor Roy pays them any mind, so you don’t either. 

Roy helps you onto his horse, and in the time that that takes, Jason is already headed back to the house by the time you and Roy start off. You realize then that you trust Jason. You've never met this Sir Roy in your life—Jason's never even mentioned having friends. But you trust that you will get home safely. 

“Jason won’t let him get away,” Roy says. You believe him.

The ride is short. You don’t know if you’ll manage to go back to sleep without Jason there, but the least you can do is host Roy, perhaps. You’re bone-tired, but you ought to be hospitable, shouldn’t you?

But as you get closer to the cottage, you hear voices in the woods. Jason’s horse is out front. You dismount without Roy's help and take off running. He calls after you. You ignore him.

You don't go through the house, not ready to face the destruction your intruder left in his wake. Instead, you go around and follow the stream into the woods. The voices get louder. When you get to the clearing by the shed, you stop.

The lantern has been knocked onto its side, flames flickering. But you can very clearly make out Jason in the dark. His shadow cuts a frightening figure that dances across the trees. Moonlight flickers through the canopy, illuminating him and the other figure. Your attacker.

Your attacker, who’s discovering that he picked the wrong house to rob.

Jason's got him pressed against a tree. Blood drips from the man's head and face. You stay a few yards away, behind a tree. The bark dully bites into your hand. You’re torn on whether you should make yourself known or not. Stop this or not.

"You touched them," Jason says, and does something with his sword that draws out a strangled groan from the attacker. The metal shines with fresh blood.

"I am worse than you," he continues. "I lost sight of my duty. My reason for living. Everything I do is for the star-crossed beauty my king captured for me. It's all I can do to pay penance for my sins. And you come into my house and dare to lay a hand on what is mine?"

The breath leaves you in a punch. You're cold with sweat, but something tugs at your gut. Something frightening. Something that tells you to stay hidden.

"I am worse," Jason says. "Because a good man would show you mercy and let you be hanged for your crimes."

"That fuckin' bitch deserved it," the intruder spits.

Here, Jason loses his composure. Here, he twists his sword.

"I will tear you apart," he says, voice a snarl.

And Jason does exactly that. It's bloody and gory. You feel sick a few times. You can't see everything in the fractured light, but you can hear it all. Bones crack, the man screams, but Jason doesn't relent. He drives his sword deeper and deeper. Blood gurgles from the attacker's mouth.

You watch on, feeling quite like you had the day you saw Jason fucking his fist.

The body drops with a thud as Jason lets him go. You imagine a sword slick with blood. You imagine Jason covered in it.

The realization is dizzying. You are an executioner, and Jason is your axe.

You don't know what you're more horrified by: the fact that it took you this long to look away or that you don't mind the stench of fresh blood.

Jason takes two steps and picks up the lantern. He sees you. He stops.

"He's dead," you say dumbly.

Jason swallows, face otherwise blank. "You... you were not meant to see that."

"I didn't." But you did.

He knows you did.

"Roy should've taken you inside," Jason says.

You can't understand why shame draws the lines of his shoulders. 

"I didn't want to go inside," you say. "Not without you."

Jason inhales sharply. Then he looks away. "I shouldn't have... I pray that you'll forgive me, but I understand if you don't."

Jason is covered in more than a little blood. Red spatters his cheek, though it looks black in the shadows.

He's slick with blood. You wonder if he'll bathe in the river. If you might help him.

You step forward. Jason is still. He watches you steadily as you approach.

You pull down the sleeve of your nightgown and reach for Jason's face. He flinches. You hush him.

"It's alright," you whisper.

He lets you touch his cheek. His eyelids flutter as you wipe the blood from his face. Then you hold his cheeks with both hands. Jason shudders.

"You can touch me," you say.

Immediately, Jason shakes his head, hands curling into fists at his side.

"No. I'm unclean. You shouldn’t touch me either, you’ll—you’re—”

"I don't mind." Your thumbs trace the contours of his face for a moment, feeling the hard line of his nose, the curve of his jaw, his full bottom lip. He lets you, eyes locked on yours.

Then, you pull up your nightgown, revealing your bare thighs, your underwear, your belly. Jason’s chest heaves. He immediately looks away. But you’re quick. You guide Jason's hand with your other hand. He stains your flesh with blood. You picture the sticky, bloody handprint he'll leave on your waist. That frightening feeling returns. 

Jason's hand is hot on your skin. He exhales shakily. 

"I'm sorry," he says again, cupping your waist. His fingers gently knead your skin as if he's testing if you're real. It tickles, but you don't move, fearing Jason will pull away at the slightest jerk.

"Don't sleep in the shed anymore," you say.

"Alright."

"Eat supper with me."

"Okay."

You draw Jason closer. Blood smears your clothed chest. His thighs warm your exposed legs. You will not let him punish himself in the morning. You will sleep on his chest if that’s what it takes. Only you are allowed to draw blood from him. 

"Are you mine?" you ask.

Jason's answer is instant.

"Yes."

[where-is-vivian]

Lily Evans Knight AU

bloody version right under ↓

the rest of the AU here !

[omaano]

"Obi-Wan’s magic had always been at its strongest when he was protecting someone. Perhaps that’s why it was easier to defeat their remaining assailants after Cody went down injured."

I had the absolute best of time working on this illustration commissioned by the wonderful @wanderingjedihistorian for their fic What It Means! If you like a good fantasy setting, swords and sorcery, Jedis as mages and the Clones as knights do check it out!

[stivya]

Knight au...

Oc on the left belongs to @sadibadimadi

[tokiloki]

DEVOTION- Argenti

Character (s) : Argenti (Honkai Star Rail)

Tags: Knight x Princess AU, reader is not trailblazer, implied fem.

Description: Argenti was thorough in his duties, and in his devotion to you.

Words: 2200

Warning; Maybe a bit ooc and self indulgent.

Sugary sweetness slid down your throat after you popped a small, iced delicacy into your eager mouth- the roll of flavour offering a momentary relief from the dizzying and tiring ball.

But alas, all good things must come to an end- as the sudden voice behind you signified.

“My Lady, that is your fifth cake bite of the night” Argenti’s voice bordered on exasperation and amusement at once, his attentive remarks making your heart flush despite their promises of reprimand.

You turned to face him with a pleasant smile

“My dear knight, are you not eager to let me out of your sight for a mere second- so that you may enjoy the festivities of this ball?” This was the same thing you suggested some minutes ago when he found you watching the flame swallowing performers a tad bit too closely.

Argenti sighed briefly and bowed his head

“My lady, an event flourishing with activity and seas of bodies is also the best opportunity for danger” he explained before gesturing forward.

“A number of…interested nobility are actively searching for you,” his hand was vaguely in the direction of a number of gentlemen.

“Let them keep searching,” you muttered. Between the too bright lights and the echoing, drowning sound of heels and boots, laughter and conversation- tiredness cleaved at your bones, and a few gentlemen were not the remedy to that tiredness.

Argenti looked down at you quietly for a moment before lifting his head up to observe the ballroom. He too, was being eyed by several attendees as his red hair, paired with his ethereal visage simply summoned onlookers. You made a movement to walk towards the open doors, hoping that the fresh air outside would bring a cooling relaxation.

Argenti, of course followed.

“I am not going to leap off the stairs, dear knight” You chuckled as he stopped behind while you leaned over a white balcony railing.

“No my lady- you are aware I would not support that decision” he smiled, amusement teasing his voice.

“But I am your knight, and thus I must remain close to you,” he reasoned.

“Ever so thorough in your duty”you chuckled, gazing up at the flickering stars above.

“Duty, yes- and in my devotion to you” he added- the words seemingly harmless had they not caused your stomach to flutter again. You hummed, playing off your internal turmoil as you wrapped your satin shawl around your shoulders when a cold breeze brushed by.

Immediately, two heavy gauntlets fixed your shawl properly around your body, Argenti’s hands quick and easy even in their armour.His breath ghosted over the back of your neck as he ensured you would not be excessively exposed to the cold, but the motion caused your neck to stiffen and goosebumps to rise.

“Perhaps you should return inside, Your Grace” he suggested before pulling away “You may fall ill due to this cold weather” His reasoning was sound but…returning to the loud ball was not an agreeable notion to you.

You expected the scent of a grassy floor coupled with the  pain of a smashed nose- but instead, a pair of arms easily scooped you up and cradled you close before you could meet an unfortunate fall. A flush was already forming on your cheeks as you looked up at Argenti, who’s breath was coming out in quick puffs, his red hair slightly dishevelled while he held you against his armoured chest.

Your gown twirled as you turned to face him, taking a step forward in your tight heels.

“Just- a few moments Argenti” you breathed, his name falling easily from your lips as you stood close together in the balcony. You hardly recognized why you moved closer to him- you could easily take the other side of the stairs to the gardens below.

“As you wish- My Lady?” Argenti’s voice was in worry as he noted a slight twinge in your step, green eyes trailing over your figure before he extended a hand warily.

“Huh- oh, nothing” You laughed, assuring him that nothing was wrong- even though your ankles screeched otherwise. “ it is nothing-ah!” 

You attempted to take a step down the balcony stairs that extended to the garden, but a  heeled foot twisted as you descended down the stairs, making your heart plunge as you  tipped forward into airy horror. 

“My Lady! Do not cause such senseless worry!” he breathed before descending down the stairs hurriedly.

“Are you alright? I specifically asked your maids to not allow you to wear unfitting heels” he sighed while cradling you close- he was breathing heavily and his eyes were widened with worry.

“It’s alright- just a throb” you told him, brows furrowed as you winced when a weaker throb of pain pulsed in your foot, making him hold you closer.

Suddenly the heels felt far too tight and Argenti’s cold, armoured hands were freezing against your bare arms. His gaze softened when he noticed this shiver before he carried you bridal style towards a smaller entry of the palace.

Subconsciously, you held on tighter to him- a habit you had when you were injured as his familiar grip and scent carried the promise that you would be alright. You turned your face over to the armour he wore, even if this was all an over exaggeration of the pain.

“It’s not a serious injury, Argenti” you told him “there is no need to go to a physician- just sit me down on a bench.” 

Argenti began to emphasise that your injury was no light matter but you cut him off

“Please- I can’t bear to have any more fuss around me today.” you breathed so pleadingly that he blew out a long breath and nodded before gently lowering you into a garden bench seat that was hidden from view by the towering flower bushes.

A small pain shot up from your ankle again as Argenti knelt down on the grass, his brows drawn together and his eyes focused as he gazed up at you- it was also an overreaction on his part, but you supposed it meant he cared.

With surprising gentleness, Argenti lifted your skirts and slowly lifted your ankle up, never handling the skin too harshly.

Despite the sensible reason for his action, you found yourself blushing as Argenti focused entirely on your ankle.  He loosened the bands and clasp of your heels that wrapped around your ankle before tugging them off to bare your foot to the cool breeze. 

“Does it hurt if I do-” he pressed a finger against your ankle, but there was no pain “this?”. He gazed up at you intently, apple green eyes searching yours for any pain- but all they found was an unusual flush across your cheeks.

“No-no Argenti, it does not hurt” you swallowed and avoided thinking about why he was looking up at you so closely. “Perhaps it was just a minor twist, nothing to worry about.”

Of course Argenti would be so direct.

Argenti hummed in acknowledgement before lifting your ankle to his lips. His crimson hair brushed against the skin before his lips pressed to your ankle ever so gently before gazing back up at you. At this stage, your heart wasn’t just beating fast- it was a galloping horse or a cage of butterflies.

“My Lady…you seem to be embarrassed” he murmured, a faint hint of amusement in his voice.

That was a very good twist of words, and a wonderful, brazen lie. But it passed the silent understanding between the two of you- under the pretence of ‘care’ and devotion, Argenti would sometimes hug you, hold you close,  and press his lips to an injury now.

“Embarrassed? No my dear knight- it’s just the cool air” you smiled falteringly. 

“I know you too well to know that a flush, accompanied by a widening of your eyes is not the result of a shiver” .His words backed you into a corner, much like his precise eyes.

“Ah…is my lady perhaps embarrassed because I kissed her ankle? It is only a comforting touch” he smiled and repeated the gesture again.

“Yes- yes I am- that is not something you do usually..” you breathed, causing Argenti to tilt his head.

“Have I not been clear in my affections, Your Grace?” he wondered aloud with amusement before slipping your heel back on. “Do not fret, I am not doing something untoward, I am merely showing my care to the princess.”

“You are a distinguished liar” you smile, leading him to match your expression, lips curled up as he presses boundaries further by taking hold of your hand and bringing it to his lips.

“Do you doubt my devotion to you, My Lady?” He kissed your knuckles again

“I believe there is a personal motive, disguised as devotion that lurks in your actions”. 

A hushed silence fell between the both of you after you spoke, and Argenti looked up at you with a faltering expression.

“Would you prefer it otherwise?” he questioned. Would you? Would you be as comfortable with him if he was strictly your knight, and not Argenti?

“...No.” 

Argenti smiled and kissed your hand again

“Then I believe we are in understanding”

Argenti moved up to sit beside you on the bench, turning his face to whisper in your ear

“Would my Lady allow me to continue displaying my devotion?” His words were honeyed and sweeter than any delicacy, raising a shiver in your body as he spoke.

“You know I do not like to speak in riddles,” you turned to look at him as well. 

Argenti’s eyes lowered to your lips, his gauntlet covered  hand holding yours before he spoke again;

“Then would my Lady allow me to display a show of treason? To act on my most…closeted and ardent desires that have been most arduous to restrain?”

How could anyone refuse him? Your throat tightened and your heart nearly stopped as you searched for any amusement in his eyes, but there was nothing but the expression he wore in serious times.

Even the night air stilled around the two of you, and it almost seemed like the flower bushes were leaning closer.

“I.. I allow you.” There. You stamped his treasonous request with approval, moments before he cupped your jaw and kissed your cheek.

“For so long, I have guarded you with nothing but pure devotion,” he whispered against your cheek before kissing your forehead. “But one can only withstand so much in the face of your beauty”

“You…exaggerate” Your voice came out breathy as your free hand dug into the bench you sat on.

“It is impossible to exaggerate your beauty, but describing it with this unpracticed tongue is a disservice as well”

A shiver trailed down your spine and you swallowed as he kissed the bridge of your nose and your hairline.

“May I?” he breathed, the cool air and the heat of his breath turning you into a puddle of nerves as you spoke; “Yes.” 

Argenti wasted no time, angling your jaw so that your lips met his sweet kiss, his free hand securing the small of your back while he kissed you. The two of you shifted on the bench and he held you closely, gently lowering you into his embrace. Every fluttery sensation you felt in the past exploded into a million stars, splashing across your heart as he embraced you so firmly and gently at once when he pulled away.

“I fail…I fail to describe you, My lady- My princess, the object of my yearn and passion” he whispered before kissing you again, closing his eyes and breathing in your sweet scent.

The night breeze turned into a feather caress against your body and you were certain no sweet or bliss in the world could compare to the fulfilment you felt as Argenti embraced you with his flowery kiss. 

This was, on one hand a horrific image of treason and shame, a princess and her knight engaging in unrestrained yet improperly guided affection- but on the other hand, it was the sweetest bliss to be held in the arms of a lover beneath a canvas of stars, curtained with roses and flowers on either side. Your heart sang it’s desire strongly in the face of worry- for now, it was best to hold Argenti close- the world could wait a few moments or so, and even if it couldn’t- the sweetness you felt was a wonderful momentary bliss that you couldn’t abandon just yet.

AN: I have not written a fic in like...years.

Reblogs appreciated! <3

[evyltalks]

Lowky obsessed with knight Remus

[voidcat]

assigned knight!mithrun x royalty gn!reader – hcs and blurbs

a/n: this was supposed to be just some hcs but ended up as a 2.7k beast... nsfw content by the last third/half so minors do not interact ! and to clarify mc is one of the youngest of their family but age wise they're close to mithrun.

renowed hero mithrun, one of the big talents who fought bravely during the war. mithrun who is left broken afterwards, losing all his purposes, all his senses, the deaths he witnessed, the news he received. at the frontlines, he receives news of his brother and his beloved marrying– no longer his beloved now, is she? he feels something inside him break but has to ignore it all away. he was never meant for the throne, not when his brother is in such a state, unable to wield a sword, when there is war raging at all sides, when people need to be led and to be supported at the frontlines.

mithrun who resembles an empty shell now, unsure how to carry on from then on, until one of the kings he fought side by side invites him among their ranks, their kin. "let us be your new home, and you can spend the rest of your days at ease, come now, honorary knight mithrun of house karansil, the leading hero, finishing slash of this war." no reason to refuse, he simply accepts, he agrees to becoming one of king's younger kids' assigned knight. maybe another task like this, this need to watch and protect will give him a sense of purpose, an excuse to keep on living.

and here enters you, the young royal, so oblivious, so unknowing to all those happening around you, not a single care and isolated from the world, you spend your days at the castle, strolling gardens, sketching and reading whenever you can, make a face at the slightest topic of future and marriages. aware of the unstoppable future that awaits you, the fate no royal can escape– save for those who are unelligable, those who fall ill and die or those like mithrun, no longer a part of their own kingdom. the young royal and their knight joint at the hip soon enough, days and weeks pass, years come by and you two never seperate.

loyal knight mithrun who always walks by your side, tailing behind like a shadow and the young royal, they still call you, that walks without a care in the world; who helps him to stop and smell the flowers again, talk over red poppies and shed tears together in seclusion, sneak desserts from the kitchens and taste the sun on berries while taking shelter in the shadow of great oaks, whom he chases after literally and figuratively– he agreed to become a knight, because by default they live by a single purpose, but mithrun notices himself finding his purpose again in the shape of your smile. how your chest moves up and down at night, how you tense and whisper to yourself when plagued by night horrors.

loyal knight mithrun always found next to you, holding your hand when you climb down the stairs, wrapping an arm around and pulling you closer to him when you cannot sleep at night. your breathing a lullaby to his ears, and you a source of comfort to him, as much as he is to you. as goal oriented as he is, and with the war dulling his senses and entire being, he was in a way, the perfect knight, just a man crafted of his duty and nothing else. And with abilities like his, he could come to your aid in no time, carve out the eyes that look at you the wrong way.

Yet as you nurse him back to reality, intentionally or not, he finds anxiety and guilt eating at him with each passing day. The same acts you once performed, he feels himself unable to respond with the same nonchalance now. When you bring another berry to his lips for him to eat, he does his best to take it from your hands without his lips making contact with your fingertips. He does his best to look away when you lick off the excess nectar dripping from the peach you’ve just eaten, even just standing outside your door grows harder and harder, his keen sense of smell betraying him and his body.

You should be guilty too, for not noticing how you’re tormenting him.

Preparing for bath, you take off your clothes, let your private garments drop to the floor like it’s nothing. Stepping into the bathtub, taking your sweet time as you do so, leaning your head backwards and letting out a content sigh— “Mithrun!” You call up to him in a sudden, eyes wide open, “can I ask you something?”

In fear of words betraying him, he settles for a nod. Making a gesture with your hand reachimg out, you signal for him to come closer. Hand diving into his hair like always, stroking his face, his cheeks and over his eyes, “when was the last time you have taken a bath?” You ask, giving him a curious gaze.

As he tries battling for an answer to give you, because if he knows you, he knows what will come after this and he is unsure his poor heart can survive it. “Ah, usually at night when you’re—“ “stop lying, I know you wait by my side every night too.” You cut him off.

Bringing a finger to your lips, you pretend to think. “Oh, I know! There is plenty of space here, why don’t you take a bath with me? Maintaining appearances is important, it keeps you refreshed and ready for everything, no?”

When you stare at him with big, begging eyes, words laced with concern adn worry, and all of it just for him, he finds himself unable to move, until he catches sight of you trying to take his armor off and drag him into the water with you.

There is plenty of space for more than one person, but you stand glued to his side, your warm body pressed up against his, fingers in his hair massaging his scalp, your fingertips tracing over his old scars. Mithrun finds himself vulnerable to your touch, soft and laced with love, colder than the water, sending electric down his spine every time.

Your father, the king, dotes on you and always brags about his trusted knight Mithrun at banquets. Raising a glass in honor of the man who saved his life and protects the life of one of his treasures— not knowing the same man is guilty of growing an attachment to the said treasure. every time the king or an elder praises him for not just past accomplishments but for his current post, he feels guilt beginning to bloom and grow– the knight supposedly in charge of you, protecting and shielding you from bad eyes strrugles to stand by your side at night.

should you really be wearing a nightgown see-through and light, he wants to ask, with just a little breeze you'd catch a cold in no time, he tries to rationalize his thoughts; trying to wipe off the images, how the moon shines down on you, how the thin material sticks to your skin, presenting you before him. he feels the guilt toward you most of all, after everything he has lived through he has gained a bit of instincts and senses and yet he is still the same despicable man of the past; how he repays your kindness, your love and care– why, he remembers it like yesterday when you stroke his cheek and prosthetic eye, placed a kiss there and looked at him like he is still whole. as his affection for you grows, he wishes more and more to return to just the end of the war, when he was still hollow and indifferent toward you.

Mithrun realizes in many ways he is your first witness. First to see you get stung by bees, at which you asked for him to kiss it better, usually the first to see you getting sick, immediately calling in a medic to prepare for you a brew; first to cuddle you to sleep at nights, your head buried into his chest and your legs wrapped around his; first to guide you, first to help you explore the castle grounds, the city, banquets to come and even your body, at your request.

right outside your bedchambers one night, mithrun muses whether should he make a quick trip to his chambers. with the change of weather his usual armor and undergarment feel too thick. before he can teleport himself, muffled sounds of someone reaches his ears– out of breath and erratic, coming from no other direction than your chambers, the voice belonging only to you. frozen in place, he teleports himself into your room without a thought and finds himself nailed to his spot. the sight of you under the pale moonlight, a hand between your tighs, eyes closed shut and your face an expression he can only describe as 'pleasure'. mithrun has no clue for how long he stands there, stuck, feet glued to the floor, until you turn your head toward the door, eyes finding his and before he can see how you'll react, he teleports himself out– for hours he feels his beating frantic, threatening to burst out of his chest.

for the following days, he tries putting a distance between the two of you, replying with few words at most, avoiding your gaze, your touch like the plague. he can stand his guard only so long until he gives in, defeated by the sadness that takes over you after his sudden change of behavior. as if reading his mind, you do anything but drop the matter, eventually what he walked into coming to the surface as well. battling on the fields is easier, he thinks, there is only instincts, sharp and calculated moves, kill or be killed, conquer before you can be defeated– such is not the case outside war, and certainly not by your side, you always find a way to make things twice as difficult for him somehow. the scent of your body still haunts his senses and you have the courage to ask him what was going on with your body exactly!

you complain about all those people you see on castle grounds, exchanging gazes, holding hands, in the narrow hallways or the gardens, stealing kisses and using terms of endearment when conversing. not jealousy but yearning is apparent in your voice and he notices that much. it is not easy spending your whole life confined to a castle– even harder when you are a long life species, the hidden hallways remain a mystery only so long, few decades in and they lose all interest. "i couldn't sleep" you pout, "i was just lying down, must've thought myself in those scenes i often witness, and my hands were wandering around." your voice begins to drop with each word, "it was just trailing my fingers around until it felt... funny, and... ah... some sort of wetness, or so to speak." you finish shyly, turning your head away.

at your confession mithrun doesn't know how to react. such topics aren't exactly welcomed to be discussed so openly among your kind. burrowing his brows, he decides to take a simpler approach, from general to specific. "you see... our bodies have certain reactions reserved for certain situations." he does his best not to stammer over his words, does his absolute hardest to not make contact with those big, bright eyes of yours. "when we enter puberty, certain systems of ours go through changes to accomodate for new things we might experience in the future." one thing you have said bothers him though. "that was one of them. take that sensation you have described for example. it occurs so the act itself might take place easier and without causing discomfort for both sides." you seem to find his explanation helpful, judging from the smile slowly forming on your face. he can see the gears turning in your head, he hopes you reserve those new questions for the books you read.

"your highness, may i ask you something?" he blurts out, now or never. his formal way of addressing seems to catch you by surprise, he continues when seeing you nod. "if i won't be crossing any lines..." "there is no such thing as tha–" you say almost instinctively. "you said you were thinking, who was it?" he asks bluntly. "I..." your mouth opens and closes, head turned to the side, you cast your eyes downwards; he can see a blush creeping up. his ears pick up on you mumbling a 'no one' but he knows you are just deflecting now. if you are uncomfortable, he won't pry further. seeing him walk, you qucikly rush to his side, taking the arm he has offered you. "come now, what was it you said you wanted to do today? the greenhou–"

"could you lend me a helping hand actually!" you claim loudly in a sudden, fists clenched in excitement. "you know i would never refuse you as long as logi–" "i mean it, literally." you cut him off, emphasising on the word, and take his hand in yours, moving it in the air while giving him a determined look. considering the topic of conversation the two of you just had and now that... it doesn't take him long to connect two and two together. "a- absolutely not! i-" you will be the death of him, that's for sure. coughing few times, he tries gathering himself and catching breath. "your highness, acts such as the one you accidentally tried, are private matters. done by one's self or with a special one. you cannot just ask anyone that."

you bring your face closer to his, "i am not asking anyone, mithrun" you speak word by word, "i am asking you." the pronoun rolls off your lips like honey, poisoned. "when i say 'special', i mean a significant other, your highness." he adds the title at the end, already sounding defeated. you know exactly what he meant, why must you make things so difficult for him? "or a spouse, in our cases." he adds on, his gaze cast down, "though i doubt the same still applies for me." his voice comes out in a whisper, the unevitable future of an awaiting marriage haunts you both, and he wonders were he to return home, would he regain his title, be elligable for your hand after all.

in the end, he gives up. knight mithrun finds himself more vulnerable than before. lying in your bed, your body pressed against his with the both of you awake. bringing his hand to his lips, he licks his fingers and trails down your chest, your abdomen, down to your groin. feeling every crook, inch and curve of you, fingers moving smooth and slow, he drinks in your expressions, how your lips slightly part, pleasure taking over your entire body, how you grow wetter with each touch, each movement. he has to bring his other hand to your mouth at one point, it wouldn't be wise to have passerbys hear the sounds you make for him now. how you begin to whimper under his hand, small moans soon saying his name like a plea, 'more, more, more' you begin to chant– a symphony to his hears, he watches how your body begins to spasm in pleasure as you reach your high, coming all over his hand, making a mess.

bringing his hand to his lips, he licks his fingers, savoring your taste. with hazy eyes, you barely catch sight of him, your hand trying to make way to him. Mithrun sees your exhausted attemps and brings his cheek to your palm, the all-too-familiar gesture you grace him with on a daily basis; though rather than stroking, you try to pull him towards yourself. "oh? curious as to how you taste?"

the question leaves his mouth without a second thought, though you don't seem to register his words, too focused on his lips. giving his hand another, long lick; mithrun leans into you and for the first time his lips meet yours– your saliva mixing with his, your soft lips eagerly biting into him with wanton need, how that hand tries desperately to pull him even closer, you taste just as sweet everywhere, his taste buds decide. his lips meet yours once and does not let go ever, even when the two of you gasp for breath, oxygen loses all its purpose and though the thought should horrify him, he realizes and accepts easily: mithrun meets his demise at the mercy of you, far exceeding the point of no return.

[qdkdraws]

Lute has no idea what this gesture means, but Adam often used it when he was angry about something, so….

This particular scene from the knight AU has been living in my head rent free and damn I had to draw it.

[wyyrdplayy]

Some more doodles of my Griddlehark knight AU. Gideon would duel for Harrow's honor and Harrow would (secretly) love it and then they'd make out about it

See the rest here !

[bugsinmyhoney]

old knight law doodle :]

[sanguineterrain]

I am FERAL over your knight Jason thought. FERAL!!! Okay check this out: so Jason's ignoring reader because he feels guilty right? Maybe he tried to give them back but the king wouldn't allow it. But maybe the reader misunderstands and thinks they're not doing their "duties" so they make dinner and breakfast and wash his clothes and basically act like a perfect spouse. How would Jason react? 👀

Dear god... I feel another series coming on...

Idkidk, their dynamic is just really interesting to me! it's probably gonna be a bit of a slow burn here. Feel free to send more thoughts about them. I am rotating these two like a rotisserie chicken in my brain.

knight!jason todd x gn!reader. ambiguous time period but just assume it's olden times *gestures vaguely*. tw arranged marriage/forced relationship but it's complicated! jason is full of angst and self-loathing but he's a sweetie as per usual. original post for context.

****

The soldier—Jason—has said four words since you've arrived.

The first was "here," which he said whilst handing you a mug of milk. He didn't look at you as he said it, and that morning, he left for a five-day long station. You only know that because he said, after handing you the milk, "I've been stationed."

You realized it was five days when you heard his horse galloping towards the house... five days later.

You haven't initiated conversation because though you're a commoner, and no one ever had much hope for you to become anything but an old spinster, you know not to challenge knights.

But this is fucking ridiculous.

"Do you like veal?" you ask on your fourteenth day here.

Jason is about to leave, his boots half laced. He freezes at your question and looks up.

You stand tall, chin up. This is a normal question. A question a wife would ask her husband, except you're not a wife, and you're pretty sure this soldier isn't a husband either.

"I like veal," he says carefully, slowly. "Would you like me to fetch some from the market?"

Now, this is where it gets tricky. When the king summoned you, he made it clear that you were expected to care for Jason under his rules. You don't know how to navigate this world. You know what couples in your village do, but you don't know what's expected of you here.

"Actually, I..." Jason looks at you. His eyes are very green. He has a surprisingly sweet face under his helmet. "Actually, I was wondering if I could go. On my own."

"Oh."

You brace yourself for arguing or yelling. True, he hasn't raised his voice once, but he also hasn't said much at all. It's like living with a ghost.

"Yes, of course. Of course you can go." He fishes out a pouch of coins and gives them to you. You take it slowly, waiting for him to realize his mistake. He doesn't.

"Thank you," you say.

He nods and watches you walk.

"Wait."

You stop. Here it comes.

"There's a cargo ship in port today. The guards rotate at noon."

He leaves before you can form a thought. You hold the coins, watching blankly as the door shuts behind him. His horse whinnies, and then he's gone.

The market isn't far from the cottage. It's fantastic to be outside again. No one's noticed your absence, clearly, but that's alright. You've never expected more.

You buy a good cut of veal and potatoes and carrots and apples. Jason gave you more money than any cut of meat would cost, so surely he assumed you would buy other food. Why else would he give you so much?

A ship's horn drones in the distance. You're feeling some oranges when you remember his words. A cargo ship.

The sun is almost at its highest point.

"Oi! Either buy 'em or stop feelin' 'em!" the seller snaps.

You roll your eyes and move on from the orange stand. You can see the horizon of where the sky meets the sea from here. Any moment, the guards will change, and the ship will be...

You stop. Was Jason hinting at your escape?

No, he couldn't have been! That's preposterous. Why would he want you gone? The king took you for a reason.

And where would you go anyway? Once you leave, you'd be a criminal forever. You couldn't make a home on your own. And who knows what could happen in between? Pirates, enemy soldiers, anybody could snatch you up.

This must've been a test. A test to see if you would run. That's why he agreed to you going so easily.

No, your escape can't be planned now. Not when you're so obviously uncomfortable, and Jason knows it.

You ignore the ship and go home with your purchases. You spend the rest of the afternoon preparing veal stew. You warm leftover bread over the fire and set a pot of butter on the table.

Jason comes in louder than he has before, humming quietly. You perk up at the sound, happy for the lack of silence.

You set a bowl of stew at his chair and wait by the fire. As soon as he enters the kitchen, the humming stops.

"Welcome home," you say, wringing your hands. "I made supper."

Jason glances at the table, then back at you.

"You came back," he says.

"Why wouldn't I?" you ask, face neutral as you cut the bread into chunks.

"That—did the ship come?"

"Yes."

Jason sits. His face is dirty from training.

"I bought more than veal," you say, and hand him the pouch. "I hope that's alright. We—there were no more potatoes."

He takes the pouch, rubbing the string tied around the top. "You went to the marketplace... and came back."

It's not a question, but it sounds like there might be one behind it.

"Certainly," you say. "I'm loyal to you, Jason. I serve you."

He looks up, blinking rapidly. Then he looks back at his stew.

Oh, right. He's waiting for you to ask permission to sit.

"May I join you?" you ask.

Jason flinches. "You don't... you don't have to ask. I would never stop you from eating."

The words hang in the air. It's like neither one of you can speak right.

You watch him, and he watches you as you serve yourself and sit on the opposite side of the table. Jason takes the first bite, and you eat right after.

"Is the supper satisfactory? Have I done well?" you ask.

Jason stops chewing and sets his spoon down. You're struck by his shift in demeanor. You worry for a moment you've screwed up something as dim-wittingly simple as stew.

His eyes are sad as they fall on you. It's akin to grief, the pain he wears, but you don't know why he's grieving. You silently offer him more bread, pushing it toward him. He takes it.

"Yes," he says quietly and eats another spoonful. "You did. Thank you for supper."

Jason cleans his bowl three times. You have no stew leftover, which pleases you.

But as soon as Jason finishes eating, he gets up, rinses his bowl, and wordlessly leaves.

You don't see him for the rest of the night.

Somehow, you feel lonelier than when you weren't speaking.

[fernkeey]