#The past and present|Royal Knights| | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solxamber · 9 months ago

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Knights and Oaths - Leona Kingscholar x reader

You come from a long line of knights that have served the rulers of the Savannah. But sometimes traditions are meant to change and the second prince is looking like someone worth changing them for.

The sun hangs low in the sky, painting the Savannah in golden hues as you approach the ceremonial grounds. It’s been years leading up to this moment—years of training, discipline, and growing up side by side with royalty. Your mother serves Falena’s wife, and your father serves the king himself. By all accounts, it’s expected that you’ll follow suit and dedicate your knightly oath to Cheka, the five-year-old prince. That’s just how it’s always been—loyalty passed down through the generations, swearing fealty to the rightful heirs of the Sunset Savannah.

But you’ve never been one for following expectations.

Not when you’ve spent your childhood in the shadow of two princes, one of them your closest companion and sometimes, greatest annoyance. Leona Kingscholar—second prince of the Sunset Savannah, the man who always seemed just a step away from what he could have been. Too lazy to reach it. Too proud to admit it.

When you were kids, Leona’s idea of "training" usually involved you chasing him around, trying to get him to spar when he’d much rather nap beneath the acacia trees. "What’s the point?" he’d grumble, arms folded behind his head, the sun casting dappled shadows across his face. "No matter how hard I try, Falena's the one everyone cares about."

Yet somehow, despite his best efforts to seem indifferent, you always found yourself drawn into his orbit. There was something about Leona that you couldn’t ignore—a pull, a desire to prove himself despite his constant veneer of nonchalance. You saw him in a way others didn’t. And maybe, somewhere along the way, he saw you too.

That’s why today feels different. Your whole life, everyone assumed your path was already written. You’d swear your oath to Cheka, Falena’s son, just as your parents had sworn theirs to Falena and his wife. It was expected, anticipated. But they didn’t know the whole story. They didn’t know about you and Leona, the time spent laughing, bickering, and—more often than not—arguing over ridiculous things like who could run faster or who could climb the tallest tree.

Now here you are, stepping into the hunting grounds, your sword at your side, ready to make your choice.

The hunt is a time-honored tradition. Whoever brings back the most impressive game gets to make their dedication. You can almost hear the whispers as you prepare—"Cheka’s knight," they call you. It’s been assumed for years. But they don’t know what’s coming.

The ceremony itself is simple enough. Each knight pledges their loyalty by dedicating their game to the person they swear to serve. It’s a public declaration of fealty, one made before the entire royal court. But there’s more at stake than just loyalty. The knight who brings back the most impressive game is awarded a golden rose—a symbol of something far deeper than duty.

Love.

Hours later, when you emerge from the hunt with the largest bear the kingdom has seen in years, all eyes are on you. The whispers grow louder, anticipation thick in the air. Everyone knows you’ve won the rose, and with it, the right to swear your loyalty. They’re expecting you to kneel before Cheka, the adorable five-year-old prince bouncing with excitement. Even Leona’s lounging nearby, watching the whole affair with that bored, half-lidded gaze of his, looking as if he might fall asleep at any moment.

But you? You have different plans.

With the golden rose in hand and your bear presented, you walk right past Cheka—past the gasps of the court, the murmurs of confusion, the stunned faces of your parents. And you kneel before Leona.

Leona’s eyes snap open, and for the first time in ages, he looks genuinely surprised. His eyebrows raise, just the barest fraction. "What are you doing?" he asks, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You grin, because of course he’s trying to play it off like this doesn’t matter. "Swearing my fealty, obviously," you say, loud enough for the court to hear. "I dedicate this hunt and the rose to Prince Leona Kingscholar."

The silence that follows is deafening. You can practically feel the jaws dropping across the Savannah. Even little Cheka’s mouth forms a perfect little "o" of shock.

For the first time all day, Leona stirs, the mask of indifference slipping just enough for you to catch the flicker of something beneath it—surprise, maybe, or something deeper. His eyes meet yours, sharper and more intense than ever, and for a moment, the world falls away.

Leona’s eyes narrow, a mixture of suspicion and amusement flickering across his face. "I thought you’d be on your knees for someone else," he drawls, his lips quirking up at the corners.

You shrug. "Everyone else may have decided my fate, but I make my own choices."

“For you, Leona,” you repeat, your voice steady and loud despite the pounding in your chest. “I dedicate my loyalty to you, and this rose... to the one who has always held my heart.”

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you, his expression unreadable. It’s Leona, after all. He doesn’t do grand gestures, never needed to. But you notice the way his fingers twitch, like he’s resisting the urge to reach out and take the rose immediately. When he finally speaks again, his voice is low, a bit rough around the edges, but there’s an unmistakable thread of satisfaction laced through it.

“You really know how to cause a scene, huh?”

There’s a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, and his gaze flicks down to the rose in your hand before meeting your eyes again. “A bear and a rose... For me?”

The teasing tone doesn’t hide the way his chest seems to expand just a little bit, like someone had finally acknowledged him for the first time in years. He reaches out and takes the rose from your hand, his fingers brushing yours in the briefest of touches. It feels electric, like every unspoken word between you is packed into that fleeting moment.

He twirls the rose once between his fingers, his smirk growing. “Guess I should thank you,” he says casually, though there’s a weight to his words, something you’ve rarely heard from him—appreciation. Real and tangible.

Leona stands up slowly, stretching as though this whole event is just another inconvenience, though the pride in his stance is unmistakable. He knows exactly what this means, both for you and for him. No one can dismiss him as just the second prince anymore, not after this. Not when someone like you, bound by honor and tradition, chose him. Over everyone else. Over Cheka. Over the kingdom’s expectations

He leans down, close enough that his breath is warm against your ear as he speaks softly, for you alone to hear. “I never thought you’d choose me. But I can’t say I’m not... pleased.”

Your heart does a strange, fluttering thing in your chest at his words, and you dare to meet his gaze, only to find a look there that you’ve never seen before. Something softer. Something real.

Before you can react, he tugs you in close, his arm settling around your waist in a way that feels both possessive and protective. The world narrows to just the two of you, the warmth of his body radiating through your armor. The smug grin he wears is softened by something deeper in his eyes—something that makes your heart skip a beat.

His hand lingers at your side, thumb brushing lightly against your hip, like he's claiming you just as much as you're dedicating yourself to him.

Before you can respond, he turns, still holding you close, and faces the crowd. The murmurs have turned to outright whispers of shock and disbelief, but Leona seems entirely unbothered by the spectacle you've made. In fact, he revels in it.

“This knight is mine,” he declares, his voice steady, ringing with finality. There’s no hesitation, no doubt—just that lazy confidence and a quiet triumph that says he’s more than pleased with your choice.

And in that moment, you know that, despite everything—his pride, his laziness, his gruff exterior—Leona Kingscholar is proud of you. Proud that you chose him, that you saw him, really saw him, when so many others didn’t. And as his arm tightens around you just a little, you can feel it too: the quiet, unspoken promise of what comes next.

A lifetime bound to the second prince—exactly the way you both want it.

Masterlist

he's so special to me :(((

#Leona x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #twst leona #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar #leona x you

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kazucee · 3 months ago

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.ᐟ 𝐐𝐗𝐂3: I actually love the trope royal knight x lady in waiting. Now imagine that with our favourite loser—Phainon.

Didn't count the words since I just wrote it on tumblr on a whim TT + it's a pretty short drabble teehee. I've been having a huge writer's block so apologies if the entire thing came out clunky and unnatural.

Not proofread- If you see any mistakes, no you don't. Possibly ooc. Yeah okay...

Being captain of the Royal guard sure had its perks, while the rest of them suffer under grueling training and the constant clamour of metal against metal, he gets the liberty of attending to the beck and call of the royal family. Phainon wasn't one to complain when presented with mountains of work, in fact he handled everything with an easy smile on his face, as if there was nothing he would rather be doing. To be a knight was to serve, just like how the sun was made to shine.

To serve the kingdom, to serve the family, and to serve the darling that has managed to capture his heart. So it was no surprise that he could always be found by the princess' side.

The rumor mill has conjured up yet another amusing one: Sir Phainon seems to fancy a certain princess. He wanted to laugh, wanted to tell everyone that although he accompanies the princess constantly throughout the castle, his gaze remains perpetually fixed on someone else entirely—her lady in waiting. You.

So did he just happen to be lingering on the kitchen doorway as you mander about just to catch your eye? Maybe. As he stood by peaking his head into the kitchen he recognizes the scent of lemon meringue pie, he assumed it was requested by the princess, you always seemed to have a certain fondness when it came to the bubbly lady and Phainon couldn't help the small smile that would grace his lips every time he saw you two with arms intertwined as she chatters on about the latest gossip.

When you did finally put down that iron fist of yours and turn to see an amused Phainon your face would give a twitch of surprise before morphing back to its usual indifference. "Don't you have troops to order around, captain?" You remarked as you pushed past him to make your way towards the princesses chambers.

"After seeing your performance in the kitchen earlier, I'm thinking of handing that task over to you, you seem to hold an astounding amount of authority over most people." Phainon revelled in the way you scoffed to hide your smile. You didn't even notice that he was trying to match the pace of your walk with his long legs, hands folded behind his back, the epitome of carefree saved for the way his heart hammered against his ribs.

"are you suggesting we switch roles for the day?" You supply an answer to his ridiculous banter.

"I think you'd look lovely clad in armour and the royal knight uniform." When you glanced at him, he looked sincere, like he was actually considering the idea. You managed an eyeroll at the notion.

"I share your sentiments. I'm sure you'd look lovely in my uniform as well, or better yet a dress with many flounces and frills perhaps." Now it was Phainons turn to snort.

You see some maids pass by the two of you with a gleam in their eyes, a gleam that gives you the feeling that a new rumor would spread tonight, one that rang partly true.

"where are you headed to?" Phainon asks, eyes drifting towards the many portraits hung across the hallway, distracting himself as to not stare at you. He thinks it's a shame that you wouldn't have a portrait of your own, a beauty like yours needs to be framed in gold and adored by anyone who walks by. He decided that he would learn to paint.

"why are you asking?" You raise a brow at him.

"what if it's dangerous?" Phainon mimicked your look, raising a pale brow of his own. You honestly wonder how this man became the captain of the Royal guard, the famed sun born hero, the revered knight of the kingdom. To you he looked like the boy you had known all your life, frost bitten hair paired with warm cerulean blue waves, with a grin that held a certain amount of charm and mischief. It was hard to imagine that the young boy was now a man.

"you do realize that we're in the palace. The most safeguarded place in the entire kingdom." You reply, voice flat as you try to keep up with his antics.

"danger never sleeps" was his reply, shrugging his shoulders. Although he has a point, you thought him ridiculous, as always.

"I'm the safest I can be right now" your voice was like a breeze, easy and light. You turned to face him halting your walk making Phainon pause mid step to fix his stare on you. His stare held a certain intensity that made you nervous.

"how can you be so sure?" Phainon challenged, crossing his arms as he leaned against the marble walls. There was a look he had on his face, one that made you want to knock it off. Which you successfully did once he heard your answer.

"I'm accompanied by the captain of course" you said without thinking, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. What you didn't realize was how true those words were. How at this moment, there is no one in the entire kingdom—not King, nor Queen or Princess—who's more safeguarded than you. How Phainon was willing to do anything and everything in his power to guarantee that you'd be safely escorted anywhere, even if it was just around the castle. You didn't realize just how much Phainon was ready to put on the line just to make sure that you would go out unscathed, unharmed.

Facing him, you could see the way his form shifted and his expression had changed into something unrecognizable before he broke off his gaze to look at yet another painting of some king that had died a long time ago. At the angle he presented you, your eyes trace against his sharp jawline, his adams apple as it bobbed upwards when he swallowed, and the faint dusting of pink across his cheeks.

What an unexpected reaction you thought as you continued to stare daggers into him. It was at that very moment where the captain of the Royal guard was rendered completely defenseless despite his sword being sheathed within reach.

//Sigh// I love lover loser golden retrievers boys. Hope you enjoyed~

#pen.ceel📰#—stellaronhvnters.#phainon x reader #phainon x you #phainon x y/n #phainon #hsr phainon #hsr fluff #hsr fanfic #hsr x reader #hsr x you #honkai star rail x reader #moots look away from my subpar writting *withers*

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inwithrin · 2 months ago

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ᓚ₍⑅^..^₎♡ an oath whispered by the river

ᯓ★ knight!abby and princess!reader

cw: abby is injured while protecting reader.

wc: 5820 ₍^. .^₎⟆

the halls of the royal court are too clean for abby's liking—everything reeks of rosewater and fresh fruit. she knows she doesn’t belong here, and it makes her jaw tighten.

the guards bring her to the throne room at dusk—torches flickering as she walks across the polished marble floor. abby’s steps echo loud and graceless—but she allows every person present to hear and look.

then there’s you—sitting at the end of the hall, raised above it all, draped in white lace and soft lilac silks. your gloved hands rest delicately in your lap, posture pristine—making you look like a portrait. but it’s your eyes that stop her—still and sharp. they find her across the room, and abby feels the shift in her gut like a punch, but she keeps walking.

a week ago, she saved a dying baron from a bandit attack—and the royal family had set her eyes on her. that earned her the title of royal guard, protector of the crown’s most precious thing—you, the only daughter of the king and queen. it should feel like an honor, nevertheless, it feels like a weight around her throat.

they tell her to kneel, so she does—one leg to the floor, her sword laid across her thighs. “i, abigail anderson—” she says, voice clear. “—swear fealty to the crown’s princess. i swear to protect her body with my own, to stand between her and death.”

a haunting silence blooms in the room. then, you raise—your footsteps are as quiet as snowfall. abby looks up at you, hating how untouchable you seem from up close—no scars, no calluses, not a single hair out of place. you lift her sword with both hands, struggling with the weight of it, and abby sees it. she should feel superior in some way, but instead, it only reminds her of the differences between both of you.

you touch the flat of the blade to her shoulder, left, then right. carefully, you lean in. “i don’t need anything from you,” your voice is low as you murmur. “only your strength.”

abby says nothing as you hand her the sword. when you step back, she stays on her knees—not lifting her gaze to look at you.

now, her life is set. she will rise. she will follow. she will guard. she will pretend not to see the scorn in the nobles’ eyes. she will obey.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

the evening air has the scent of honeysuckle—or maybe daisies. abby can’t tell since she doesn’t care about flowers—they always reminded her of graves.

you send for her with the simple invitation of meeting you by the garden, and she obeys.

abby follows the stone path behind the castle, past the hedges and into the royal gardens where ivy coils up marble statues. the second she steps past the gate, she sees you—standing in a simple, soft pink gown, one that seems weightless and sheer. your hair falls loose, and your crown is gone. that alone unsettles her more than she wants to admit.

the two of you walk without speaking. she watches you from the corner of her eye, how the pearls you are wearing catch the sunlight or how your fingers graze a few flowers. eventually, you lead her to a clearing she hasn’t seen, past a small bridge—where a river that glints under the sun is. without a word, you slip off your heels, and step into the grass—the hem of your gown brushing dirt and dew—only to sit on the muddy bank.

abby’s brows draw in. “you’re ruining your gown,” she mumbled.

“it’s only water and mud,” you don’t look up.

“you’re wearing royal silk,” she steps closer, boots squelching in the earth. “if anyone sees you like this—if the king knows about this—he’ll have my head.”

still, you don’t turn—fingers tracing patterns through the water, slow and thoughtful. your dress is soaked to the thighs, clinging into your skin, translucent in places it shouldn’t be.

“princess, you’re ruining your gown,” she repeats, tone sharper.

“i’m the king’s daughter,” you say softly. “nothing i do is by nature ruinous.”

she stares—abby wants to grab your wrist and drag you out of the water—but she doesn’t move, she just stares.

the river murmurs between you as the sun disappears beyond the trees—the wind is cool, and so is abby’s blood. she does not speak, she is still staring at you—helplessly drawn. the hem of your silk dress floats like a pale ghost in the shallow water—until you get up, stepping deeper.

abby’s breath catches in her throat. “princess,” she warns, but you don’t look back.

you move slowly, deliberately, into the river until the water laps at your waist. then higher as your dress clings to your body like a second skin. you pause only once—and then, in one smooth motion, you vanish beneath the current.

she tenses, taking a step forward, hand on the hilt of her sword. “god,” she mumbles. “what are you doing?”

the river stills as you rise. water pouring from your hair, streaming over your skin, glittering in the last light of the evening. you sweep your hair back from your face, eyes calm and unbothered, like this is where you belong—not in the throne, not in pearls, not wearing a crown. but here, soaking wet, half-myth, half-human. for a moment, abby swears you’re not entirely human—maybe you’re a mermaid crowned in pearls, silk trailing like fins. you glide back toward the river bank without ceremony, the soaked fabric spills around you.

“sit,” you order, expression unreadable.

abby doesn’t move. “princess—”

“i said sit,” you don’t raise your voice.

she exhales, glancing toward the hedges as she sits—expecting it to be a trap. her armor clinks faintly, placing her sword across her lap. you step behind her, she hears the squelch of wet fabric as you lower your body.

your fingers were cool and careful, sliding through her braid, now loose from the day’s activities. “what are you doing?” you ask.

you don’t answer, nevertheless, you begin to undo her hair.

she flinches when your soft hand grazes the nape of her neck as you undo her hair. “i can do it myself.”

“you could,” you reply, steady. “but i’m doing it.”

silence falls—only the sound of your fingers working through her braid and the water dripping from your gown.

“you’re going to get me in trouble,” abby says, her voice ragged. “if someone sees you like this—if they see me like this—the king will have my head.”

still, you keep braiding. “i’m the one who gives order,” you whisper. “let them speak if they see. they’ll only do what i allow.”

her jaw tenses and she shuts her eyes as your fingers move slowly, with too much tenderness and knowledge. you finish the braid, abby runs her hand through it, feeling something soft, wrapping the end—a silky ribbon. fine. expensive. not hers. abby turns enough to see the missing ribbon from the hem of your dress.

“you used your gown?” she asks.

“i did,” you say. “it’ll last you until death.”

the moon rises behind the trees, and the night’s wind breathes around you. neither of you moves.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

the walk back to the castle is quiet. abby follows two paces behind, trailing your damp footprints.

inside the palace, you speak to a servant. “send a bath to my chambers,” you say. “and have a gown laid out—apple green. please,” you disappear behind your doors, leaving abby alone in the corridor.

what are you doing to me? she thinks. and why am i letting you?

later, the bells toll for supper—you emerge wearing the green gown, hair brushed out and left loose, a single emerald pendant resting at your throat. abby waits outside your door, armor cleaned and her braid still tied with your ribbon. you walk and she follows.

the dining hall is empty—no king, no courtiers. just the long table lit by candlelight. you sit at the head, the way you were born to.

“sit,” you look up—seeing abby hesitate. “i said sit.”

“i can’t sit at the royal table,” she says.

you tilt your head, faintly amused. “you can. i’m telling you to.”

again, she hesitates. she had fought men twice her size. faced blades, fire, and war. however, nothing has ever felt as dangerous as this.

“i’m not supposed to—” she begins.

you cut in. “abigail, are you disobeying an order?”

she shakes her head. “no, princess. sorry.”

you nod toward the chair across from you. she sits—the chair is too soft, the table too polished, the plate too fine, and the food too much for someone like her—roasted meat glazed with citrus, still-steaming bread, pears dripping with something sweet and spiced, and a glass of red wine.

abby doesn’t dare to move.

“eat,” you say as you take a single bite, elegant and precise.

she stares at the meal—thinking that if she touched it, it would summon punishment. nevertheless, she picks up the fork anyway. the first bite is so delicious it hurts. abby has lived on salted meat, dry bread, and cold stew—and this is the kind of meal only royalty deserved.

“do you think i’m cruel?” you ask.

“what?” she glances at you.

“you look at me like i’m a wolf—a threat,” you say, taking another bite of your bread.

abby sets her fork down. “i don’t think you’re a threat.”

“good,” you mutter.

the candle between you flickers—both of you now eating in silence, not a single glance exchanged.

the next day, the sky was clear and the air windless. perfect for the occasion. the royal courtyard bustles—violet silks draped over marble columns, banners threaded carefully with silver thread, musicians tuning their lyres and lutes.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───────

tonight is the spring ballad—a celebration of peace between kingdoms. since appearances mean everything, you arrived in a gown—a cascade of violet and petal-pink, pearl-threaded vines curling across your waist, pastel stones glimmering from your ears, neck, and wrists. your hair is swept half-up, and your crown perched on your head.

all eyes turn to you the moment you step into the ballroom. abby stands behind you, tall in formal armor—steel and a royal-blue sash, her braid is tight, and her hands hover near the hilt of her sword. she watches everything and everyone. something feels wrong.

you drift from noble to noble, offering words and hollow smiles. abby shadows each step, cold, and silent. the second you notice an unfamiliar pair of eyes, you turn to abby—fingers brushing her hand, and she understands.

a glass shatters. the first blade never touches you, as abby sees the glint, and moves before the thought finishes forming. her sword meets the attacker’s with a crash that sends nobles in panic. a second attacker follows, and she turns fast, blade raised as a dagger grazes her arm—shallow but sharp. she doesn’t flinch.

guards pour in as the attackers are dragged away, screaming. voices rise—orders, demands, and threats pour. none of it matters because suddenly, you’re close to her.

“abby,” you say, voice cutting through the chaos.

“you’re not hurt, right?” she asks.

you’re staring at her arm, blood stains the edge of her sleeve, dark against the fabric. “you’re injured,” you whisper.

“it’s nothing,” abby sighs.

you take her wrist desperately. “you’re coming with me now. allow the guards to fix this mess.”

the second she hears your voice, she knows better than to protest. something cracked behind your eyes as you walked with abby—the guards parting as they’re instructed to move. you don’t stop until your chambers swallow you both, the door slamming shut.

“sit,” you order, as you pace around the room, grabbing a basin, a cloth, and a bandage.

she obeys and you kneel before her—gown pooling on the stone floor. you tear away at abby’s sleeve, hands controlled.

“you’re acting like i lost a limb,” she mutters.

your eyes gaze up to meet hers. “you could have.”

you soak a cloth in the water, wring it out and press it to her skin. abby hisses through her teeth, but she stays still.

“you’ve never knelt for anyone, have you?” she asks.

“i kneel for no one,” you respond. “but i’ll kneel to clean your blood.”

she watches you as you carefully clean the bloody wound—tying the bandage wrapping. as you got up, she shifts in the seat, sword now left on the floor.

“stay here,” you say as you step away—disappearing behind the silk divider into the bathing chamber.

water echoes—buckets poured into marble and the clink of glass as oil vails are uncorked. abby imagines it without meaning to—your gown slipping down, silk pooling at your feet, your bare skin meeting the water. she closes her eyes, not daring to move.

nearly half an hour passes before the divider parts again—you emerge, dressed in a sky blue royal nightgown—moving barefoot across the room.

“i had warm water brought,” you mutter. “you’ll bathe next.”

“i’m fine, i can go to my quarters—” she tries, only to be interrupted by you.

“you’re not leaving,” you order. “i’ll bring you something soft to wear.”

abby glances at herself—this isn’t how it’s meant to be. she’s the sword. the shield. she’s not supposed to be bandaged and bathe in the princess’s private room.

“the water’s hot—go before it cools,” you say, glancing over your shoulder.

by the time abby returns, dressed in a cream tunic and wool pants—you sit on the bed, robe tied over your nightgown, a fresh bandage and a tub of ointment across your lap, your feet are tucked beneath you.

“sit,” you pat the mattress as your unwavering eyes find hers.

“you just cleaned it,” she mutters.

“sit,” your voice is colder. “i need to clean it again, you bathed.”

she grits her teeth and sits. your fingers are gentle as they untie the wrapping—the wound is crusted, angry, and reopened from movement. you don’t speak when she winces or when her breath hitches.

but, when she hisses at the sting of the ointment. “damn—”

“abigail,” you say flatly. “shut your mouth.”

abby nods and stills as you wrap the fresh bandage with care. fingers deliberately brushing her skin more than necessary.

“you threw yourself between me and a blade,” you whisper. “this is how i show you i’m thankful.”

“it’s my obligation,” she mutters.

“no,” you lean back. “your obligation isn’t to bleed for me—it’s to protect me.”

“same thing,” abby whispers.

your hands move to smooth the edge of the wrapping—thumbs brushing against her skin, like you can still feel the blood on your fingers, and you’re afraid it won’t be the last time.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

the sun burns gentler here, as you lead her past the last arches of the palace garden—marble gives to moss and stone. abby follows, her sword bumping against her hip with each step.

every time you move, the folds of your pale rose gown sway around your ankles, and abby can’t stop watching you. she hates the way her eyes fix on your hair catching the sun, the slip of your sleeve down your shoulder, your fingers ghosting along the flowers.

you reach the river. the same bend where, once, stepped straight into the water. but this time, you say nothing as you look at the soft current and step out of your shoes, and sit down in the grass while abby stays standing behind you.

even without looking at her, you could feel her staring. “you’re staring,” you say quietly. “are you?”

abby scowls defensively. “i wasn’t—”

“abigail, don’t lie,” her name from your lips is gentle and precise.

“it’s my job to watch you,” she shifts, fingers twitching on the hilt of her sword.

“that’s not what i asked,” you wait, turning enough to look at her.

and she breaks—she can’t speak when you look at her like that. chin tilted, expression serene—one that told her that you already knew she was staring, you’re just waiting for her to confess it.

you sign, leaning backward until your back hits her knee. abby’s body locks as she feels the warmth of your body through the linen of her pants.

“you think i don’t see it,” you murmur. “but you’re always watching—and i let you.”

she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

“you never say what you’re thinking,” you continue, still quiet. “but you look at me like i might disappear.”

“i can’t say anything,” she swallows, her voice coming out dry. “you’re going to get me executed.”

a small smile pulls at your lips. “i could,” you tilt your face slightly, lips brushing her knee. “but i won’t.”

abby’s hands move uselessly at her side—her thoughts collapse, unable to do anything but focus on you. you’re calm, beautiful, and cold—like someone who just claimed something she hadn’t needed to ask for.

one moment your head is on her knee, the next you’re rising. the sunlight brushes your shoulders as you stand, and abby follows you with her eyes, each footfall silent in the damn grass.

the silk slips from your shoulder, not scandalously, but just enough—as you step into the river, the fabric floating around your legs, clinging in places, trailing behind you. water beads on your skin and catches in your hair—you lean back, allowing the current to touch your ribs, arms, and throat, your eyes close and your lips part.

abby forgets everything—her name, her body, her breath. the river moves, and so do you—swimming closer to her, graceful and effortless. she drops before her knees give out—sitting with her arms braced against the grass.

then, you reach her, placing your head on her leg—dripping and cool. abby looks down at you, and the second she meets your eyes, she feels like she is drowning on dry land.

she feels it, something that shakes her down to the bone. her heart kicks hard in her chest—she closes her eyes before it begins ringing in her ears. because she knows you’re looking at her like she’s already yours.

the river is still—not even the breeze dares to move, not with you half-submerged, your head resting on her knee. abby’s eyes are still closed, embarrassed by the fact that you must be able to hear her heart pounding. she doesn’t know what to do with her hands—fingers begging to reach for something that isn’t hers.

you break the silence, low and smooth. “is something wrong, abigail?”

she opens her eyes, she shouldn’t have. you’re looking up at her—lashes heavy with river water, lips rosy and parted as you breath, and your eyes, cold but not holding any cruelty.

your arms lifts from under the water, droplets sliding from your wrist. you reach up with the back of your hand and touch her—a stroke across her temple, beneath her hairline. abby sighs—your skin is warm from the sun, wet from the river, and your fingers trail down the side of her face with excruciating softness.

“i asked you something,” you say, softer now. “don’t pretend i didn’t.”

her stomach coils—not knowing if she should flinch or lean into your touch. still, abby doesn’t speak.

“you’re flushed,” you whisper, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “is it the heat?”

“no,” she breathes—she didn’t want to lie.

you smile just a little. “then what is it?”

her fists tighten. she bites her tongue hard enough to taste blood—or maybe restraint, fear, or something that tastes like wanting. you lean forward again, closer—your cheek brushes her knee.

“why don’t you speak?” you ask. “you’re always brave in battle—why is this different?”

“because… you’re not supposed to do this,” her voice is barely hers.

your smile is still small—but it stabs abby more painful than any blade she’s ever faced, because she knows you know what you’re doing. you’re not careless or naïve, you move through life how a hawk circles above its prey—it’s all measured and calculated, as deliberate as any kill.

“you say i’m not supposed to do this,” you whisper, fingers trailing featherlight along her jaw. “but you’re letting me.”

“princess—” she tried, but it sounded weak.

your thumb brushes the corner of her mouth—a hush gesture. “no titles—not here,” your hand falls back to her knee, resting with gentleness that feels like cruelty. “what are you feeling, huh?”

“it’s survival,” abby says.

“why?” you whisper, tone somewhere between amusement and pity. “are you afraid of me?”

she looks at you, and it’s the worst mistake she’s made. your gaze demands and devours, it dares her to lie.

“no,” she says.

you exhale, slowly. “good,” you close your eyes.

the water whispers past you. above, the sky deepens—a darker blue, as dusk creeps in. the garden, the castle, and the world fade away, leaving only the press of your cheek against abby’s knee. your breathing is soft as it fans against her leg—such a vulnerable sight. it should make abby feel powerful, but it makes her feel like she is losing a game.

minutes pass, slipping away. abby’s muscles ache from holding still—but her hand moves before she can stop it, fingers brushing through your damp hair. your lashes flutter as you lean into the touch. abby knows this is wrong. she is supposed to guard and protect you, not crave you like a forbidden fruit.

“you’re trembling,” you break the silence.

abby pulls her hand away as you lift your head—hair clinging to your cheeks in damp strands, skin flushed from the sun and the river, gown flowing in the water.

“you look fevered,” you say. “you should get into the water.”

she shakes her head. “i’m fine.”

“you’re not,” you stand, dripping—your hand outstretched, but she doesn’t take it. “always so stubborn.”

“i’m not,” she says, looking at the ground.

you lean in. “you are—you just don’t want me to see it.”

there, you stand drenched, silk gripping to your frame—hand still outstretched, waiting. abby’s voice is taut, braced for a blow that never came—instead, you withdraw your hand.

“you disappoint me, abigail,” you whisper, voice cold.

“that’s not fair,” she mutters, brows furrowing.

“life isn’t fair,” you step closer, abby can smell the river on you. “you should know that.”

“i do know—better than you,” abby looks up, jaw set.

you move closer, standing between her legs—looking down at abby in an almost merciless, consuming way. “you hate me,” you say—a statement, not a question.

“i don’t,” she immediately says—swallowing against the knot in her throat.

“you do,” you whisper. “you hate me for what i am. for what you’ll never be allowed to touch. and yet, you’d die for me without hesitation.”

“that’s my duty,” abby grounds out, trying to sound steady.

“no,” you look into her eyes. “that’s your curse.”

abby’s defenses collapse under your cruel mercy. “i—”

you straighten slowly, stepping back. “come,” you say, voice calm, as if nothing had happened. “before i catch a cold.”

she stands because she has no other choice, because she lost this battle the second she let herself care. abby follows you back toward the castle, sword heavy at her side.

the castle halls are darker now, the torches along the stone walls flickering. you walk ahead, your wet gown leaving faint traces along the stone, steps silent. she follows, silent too, body tense.

you turn around. “go,” you say. “bathe. change. i expect you to be dressed properly for dinner—that’s an order, abby.”

“yes, princess,” abby nods—obeying because disobedience is not a luxury she can afford.

when abby returns, dressed in a clean tunic and pants—you’re waiting for her outside your chamber. you’re dressed in a simple, deep plum dress, a thin golden chain around your throat, and your hair is pinned up—leaving your neck exposed.

it was the first time abby saw you wear anything dark, something that made you feel even more distant and untouchable. beautiful, she thinks—and you catch her looking, but you say nothing, only turn on your heel and lead abby down to the dining hall.

dinner is quieter, as it was just abby and you, seated at the table—plates are laid out, offering glazed venison, warm bread, potatoes, and golden fruits. and abby still feels like she’s being tested, instead of rewarded.

you sit across from abby—lifting your fork with precision, eating slowly and methodically. she tries to do the same, but her hands betray her, too aware of how your eyes flicker toward her when you think abby won’t notice. except she notices everything now—the tilt of your head, every brush of your lashes, and the tiny smile.

at the end of the meal, you place your fork down, the faintest click against the plate. you say nothing, but your eyes lock with abby’s with an unspoken question—she looks away first. the clatter of silverware fades into silence as you set your glass down, wiping your mouth delicately with a cloth.

without lifting your eyes from abby, you nod toward the doors. “come,” you say, tone smooth but commanding.

immediately, abby’s chair scrapes the floor—following out of the dining hall, back through the corridors, past workers who keep their eyes trained low.

you stop at your chamber door, you push it open, stepping inside. however, abby hesitates, like she always does. “inside,” you whisper.

the room smells faintly of roses, and a fire crackles low in the hearth. a fresh set of linens and a basin with water awaits. you move carefully, gathering bandages and ointments—as you motion to the small bench near the fireplace.

“sit,” you demand.

abby sits down, as you kneel—the folds of your plum gown pooling around you. you take her injured arm in your hands, unwinding the old bandage. she tries not to shift under your touch, but without thinking—without meaning to—her rough, calloused hand lifts. her fingers brushing through your soft, silky hair.

you freeze—and abby notices. she realized what she’d done, and snatches her hand back, heart pounding in her throat.

“i’m—i’m sorry, your highness,” she rasps.

you stay still—the firelight flickering over your cheekbones and lowered lashes. “leave it.”

you reach up with your free hand, guiding her palm back to your hair—pressing it there gently. abby swallows hard, every part of her body burning—but she keeps her hand there, as you resume cleaning her wound in slow strokes.

abby sits there—a broken knight holding a princess, trying not to fall apart under the unbearable thought of not being allowed this ever. your touch remains gentle as you work, fingers smoothing ointment along her arm, wrapping it anew with white linen. abby’s hand stays buried in your hair, trembling against the crown of your head.

you say nothing—not when abby’s thumb brushes lightly, accidently, against your temple. not when her breath hitches. you simply finish wrapping the bandage with careful precision.

slowly, you look up—her hand slips from your hair the moment your eyes meet. you don’t move—your expression was so calm it made abby feel like she was pinned in place, as if she was some foolish thing caught between reverence and ruin.

“your hands are always trembling,” you say quietly—studying abby with detached curiosity, the one someone might give a wild animal, deciding whether to be merciful or kill it. “you’re not afraid of me, are you, abigail?”

she shakes her head. “no, your highness.”

you rise gracefully to your feet, brushing the creases from your dress with a slow hand, as if nothing had happened. “okay.”

as time passed, it had become a routine—you and abby going to the river, it was your peaceful moment. today, the water gleamed, the surface broken by your skirt as you sat by the edge. abby had quickly learned to sit by your side.

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for a long while, you just listened to the river—tracing idle shapes into the water, your face serene, hair catching the light beautifully. and abby couldn’t stop staring—your profile too perfect, the arch of your cheekbone, the dip of your mouth, your lashes fluttering.

“you quite enjoy staring at me,” you say.

abby’s body jolted, her face going hot. “i wasn’t,” she says quickly, looking away—sounding unconvincing.

you turn your head, looking at her with sharp, unamused eyes. “liar,” you smile.

“i was making sure you were safe,” she mutters, grasping for any excuse.

you let the silence stretch a second too long. “you’re bad at lying,” you hum.

the river kept flowing as you got up, stepping on the water—and abby did the same. you shifted closer, skirt whispering over the grass. abby held her breath, attempting to ignore the scent of sweetness of the soap you used that morning.

then, a sudden pressure—your foot pressing against the top of abby’s leather boot. your skirt lifting lightly. now, you are close enough that abby could see every detail of your face, and still you didn’t meet her eyes—you are looking, but not into her, instead, your gaze hovers around her mouth, cheeks, and chin.

abby squeezes her hands, her instincts battling—one side desperate to lean forward, the other terrified of moving. you tilt your head slightly, mouth parting—so close abby could feel the breath of it. she closes her eyes shut, her chest rising and falling sharply—trying to push every thought away from her mind. you linger there, suspended in the puzzling and sweet moment—then, you giggle, soft and shy.

you slip back down onto the grass, cheeks a delicate pink. abby opens her eyes slowly, the world tilting under her. you peek at her, and for once, you didn’t seem cold at all.

you study abby in that quiet way you always did—the kind that made her feel like she was being dissected piece by piece. “why did you close your eyes, abigail?” the question wasn’t cruel or mocking—just curious.

“i—” she starts, her fists pressing hard against her thighs. abby’s mouth went dry as you waited for her response. she knows she couldn’t lie to you—not when those expectant eyes were on her. she swallows hard. “i didn’t know what you were going to do,” she finally forces out.

you lean forward, lips parted. “and if i had done something?” you ask, almost innocently.

abby lowers her gaze. “i would’ve let you.”

the confession cracks through the stillness. slowly, you reach out—fingertips grazing abby’s wrist—her body tingling at the contact. abby knew she was kneeling to a princess anymore, she was falling for you.

“let me do what, abigail?” you ask, calmly.

she lets out a slow, almost broken sigh, shoulders sagging. she knows she was backed into a corner now—you weren’t letting her slip away with some half-lie. “whatever you wanted,” abby mutters hoarsely.

your fingers tighten around her wrist. “anything?”

abby was a knight, a soldier, a protector—she wasn’t supposed to be this—this wreckless, this stupid, this anxious mess in front of her princess.

“yes,” she rasps.

“what if it ruins you?” you whisper.

she wants to answer—to say ‘yes’ again, louder this time. nevertheless, you see the struggle, causing you to lean in, forehead nearly brushing abby’s. you are patient, too patient. you aren’t moving any closer, you were giving abby the choice or maybe the illusion of control.

abby’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out—because you had tilted your head, and for a second, she thought you were closing the distance for her.

instead, you utter. “say it.”

“i—” she croaked. “i would let you ruin me.”

your fingers, still resting on abby’s wrist, slid down, until your hand was covering her knuckles. “good,” your voice was softer.

then, so gently it seemed cruel—you lift abby’s hand, pressing it to your cheek, closing your eyes. abby stands there, her hand cradling your face, feeling your warm skin—then, you move, leaning in, unbearably slow, until your lips brushed against abby’s.

barely. a graze. a heartbeat. a cruelty.

abby’s mouth parts in shock—but before she could react properly, you pull back, causing her to look down, wide-eyed and dazed. you are still so close, and she could only focus on your mouth the softest, prettiest shade of pink.

this time, you close the distance properly—pressing your lips together with a devastating, aching softness. the kiss was nothing like abby had imagined—it was worse, it was better. her hands flying up instinctively, one still cradling your cheek, the other tangling clumsily in the fabric of your waist.

she broke. abby’s lips move against yours desperately, the taste of your sweetness making her dizzy. you whimper against her mouth—and it only made her kiss you harder, hands gentling their grip—naturally, the kiss deepened, movements uncoordinated and messy.

when you pull apart, abby is panting, her forehead falling against yours. neither of you spoke—there was no need, the kiss said more than words could. the sound of the river behind you rings, the scent of damp earth thick in the air.

slowly, you brush your nose against abby’s. “abigail…” you whisper.

“yes?” she asks.

you pull back to see her, your fathomless eyes glued to hers. “i wanted to do that for a while,” you confess.

abby lifted her hand, brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear—you lean into the touch, eyes finally softening. “i think i’ll die if you look at me like that again.”

“don’t look away then,” you smile.

the distance between you disappears, not in a messy kiss—but something slower, heavier. abby doesn’t hold back, she lets herself savor it—tenderly moving her lips against yours.

you draw back enough to see her, your cheeks are a deep shade of pink, lips kissed red, but your gaze was steady. “i love you, abby—” your voice trembles. “i love you.”

you weren’t teasing or weaving your usual web of mystery and coldness. abby knew you meant it.

“i’m not playing some cruel game,” you continue. “this is not a trap—to see if the knight felt for the princess,” your intonation slows. “i would lose everything—i would give up my title, my crown, my place in this castle—if it meant i could have you.”

abby stares at you, stunned—not being able to speak.

“you’re the only thing i have ever wanted for myself,” you say, hands coming up to cup abby’s scarred face between them. “you don’t have to say it back, i only wanted you to know it.

abby didn’t think, she just moved—pulling you closed, burying her face in your hair. she knows she can’t protect you from what would come next, because if the king knew, it would be treasonous. but for the time being, she allows herself to have this.

she presses a kiss to your temple. “i have nothing to offer you,” she whispers. “i’m not a prince, or a person with lands or a title—i’m not what you deserve. but, i’m yours, if you’ll have me. i would kneel before you a thousand times over. crown or no crown—i’ll stay by your side until my last breath, whether the world allows me or not.”

#the last of us #tlou #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader

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novaursa · 9 months ago

Text

Web of Gold (Aegon is jealous)

- Summary: Alicent could only watch as you handle her son like a lioness who plays with her food.

- Pairing: lannister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Note: This part has an extra reader/Aemond interaction. Time is skipping from present to past.

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Previous part: aegon has a cold

- Next part: royal wedding

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @purple-1995

The Red Keep is unusually quiet this afternoon as you’re making your way through the castle, intending to visit the gardens where you can enjoy the warm air and perhaps indulge in some idle gossip with your ladies. It’s a perfect day for it, or at least, it was until Aemond Targaryen unexpectedly appears in your path.

He stands in the hallway, arms crossed and expression as stern as ever, as if he’s waiting for some important meeting. When his single, icy violet eye fixes on you, it’s clear he has no such plans. You have the distinct feeling that this encounter is as unwelcome for him as it is for you.

“Aemond,” you greet with your best attempt at politeness, offering a sweet smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “What a surprise to see you here.”

Aemond doesn’t bother with a smile. Instead, he inclines his head slightly, regarding you with that same, unblinking stare that could make a lesser woman wilt. But you’re no lesser woman. “Y/N,” he replies, his voice cool and precise. “I’m surprised to see you without my brother clinging to your skirts. Or did you manage to give him the slip for once?”

You chuckle, deciding to meet his coolness with warmth. It’s what you do best, after all. “Oh, Aegon can’t always keep up with me,” you say with a wink, gliding closer. “He’s busy with kingly duties, you know. Someone has to manage the realm.”

Aemond’s lips twitch, though whether it’s the beginning of a smirk or a grimace, you can’t quite tell. “Yes, I’m sure he’s terribly preoccupied. I imagine it’s quite exhausting, all that lounging about with a goblet in hand.”

You ignore the jab at Aegon’s expense, well aware that this is Aemond’s typical mood—bitter, acerbic, with an ever-present undercurrent of disdain. “Well, he does deserve some rest, don’t you think? After all, he’s got me to keep him on his toes.” You give him a bright smile, the kind that you know Aegon would melt for, but Aemond merely stares at you, as though you’ve sprouted a second head.

“And how fortunate for him,” Aemond mutters, rolling his eye. “I can only imagine what you keep him busy with, though I suspect it involves more idle flattery than sound advice.”

You laugh at that, a light, melodic sound that echoes off the stone walls, but the humor doesn’t reach your eyes. “Oh, Aemond, I didn’t realize you were so interested in my life with Aegon. I thought you preferred to keep to yourself, all stern and serious like some sort of dark knight.”

Aemond’s eye narrows at your teasing, his mouth flattening into a line. “You presume too much,” he says coolly, though he can’t quite disguise the irritation that seeps into his voice. “I have little interest in your affairs, but unfortunately, it seems I am forced to endure them regardless.”

You bat your lashes at him, taking great amusement in needling the typically unflappable Aemond. “Endure? My, my, Aemond, you make it sound as though I’m a burden. Surely you can find some enjoyment in my company.” You place a hand over your heart, feigning a dramatic sigh. “After all, not many get the pleasure of my presence without having to fight Aegon for it.”

Aemond’s expression remains stony, but you catch a flicker of something behind his gaze—annoyance, perhaps, or maybe resignation. “I would hardly call it a pleasure,” he replies dryly, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. “More like an exercise in patience.”

You smirk, unperturbed. “Oh, patience is a virtue, they say. And I’ve been told I can be… a bit trying at times.” You lean closer, dropping your voice to a mock whisper. “But I’m sure a serious, level-headed man like you can manage it.”

Aemond’s jaw tightens as he regards you with barely concealed frustration, and for a moment, you think you might have finally struck a nerve. But then he huffs softly, a sound that might have been a laugh if it weren’t so begrudging. “You are nothing if not persistent,” he concedes, though his tone remains clipped. “I suppose that’s why Aegon finds you so endearing.”

You tilt your head, studying him with a curious smile. “Is that jealousy I hear, Aemond? Surely you don’t wish you had more of my attention?”

Aemond’s eye sharpens, and he steps closer, looming over you with his taller frame. “Hardly,” he retorts, his voice as cold as the North wind. “I prefer company that doesn’t talk my ears off with false pleasantries.”

You pretend to consider his words, then shrug with a grin. “Well, not everyone can appreciate my charms. But I can assure you, Aegon seems to have no complaints.”

Aemond rolls his eye, clearly done with your banter, but before he can walk away, you step into his path, forcing him to pause. “Come now, Aemond, it wouldn’t hurt you to smile every once in a while. It might even soften that terrifying expression of yours.”

He arches a brow, unimpressed. “Why would I need to soften my expression?”

You give a playful shrug, glancing up at him from under your lashes. “Well, it might make you seem less like you’re plotting everyone’s demise at any given moment.”

Aemond actually snorts, though it’s a dry, humorless sound. “You misunderstand me, Y/N. I’m not plotting everyone’s demise.” He leans in slightly, his voice lowering, as if confiding a great secret. “Only a select few.”

You let out another laugh, genuine this time, and Aemond’s lips twitch slightly, as if even he can’t help but find some amusement in your audacity. It’s brief, but you catch the ghost of a smile before his usual stoicism takes over again.

“Well, as long as I’m not on that list,” you reply cheerfully, stepping back and giving him a mock curtsy. “I suppose I shall leave you to your brooding, then.”

Aemond watches you for a moment longer, as though considering whether to respond, but then he simply inclines his head, his expression settling back into cool indifference. “Good day, Y/N,” he says curtly before striding past you, his coat swirling behind him as he disappears down the corridor.

You watch him go, a satisfied smirk playing on your lips. Aemond Targaryen might be as rigid as the Iron Throne itself, but it’s almost fun to poke and prod at that iron shell of his. He may endure your company with all the grace of a man suffering a long sermon, but you know he’ll remember every word.

And that, you think with a smirk, is victory enough.

The Red Keep’s dining hall is bathed in the warm glow of candlelight as the royal family gathers for a dinner. The long table is laden with platters of roast meats, steaming vegetables, and freshly baked bread. It’s meant to be a family meal, a time for unity and bonding, but the atmosphere is already taut with the undercurrents of various rivalries and tensions. At one end of the table, King Viserys looks weary, doing his best to keep up with the conversation between coughs, while Queen Alicent hovers nearby, ever the dutiful wife.

You sit comfortably beside Aegon, who is only halfheartedly stabbing at his food with a fork, glancing up every few moments to check on you. But tonight, for once, your attention isn’t entirely on him. Across the table, Aemond sits with his usual upright posture, speaking to you with a surprising degree of politeness, even if his compliments have that sharp edge he never quite seems able to dull. It’s enough to draw your interest, and Aegon can see it.

“Tell me, Y/N,” Aemond says, his tone smooth, “have you ever read the histories of Old Valyria? I find them quite fascinating—the rise and fall of empires, the shaping the bloodlines. Few truly understand the weight of it.”

You smile at him, leaning in slightly, clearly interested in the conversation. “I have, actually. The legends and lore are beautiful, if not tragic. It’s incredible how much history shapes our present.”

Aegon’s grip on his fork tightens, his knuckles turning pale. He glances between the two of you, his mouth curving into a frown that deepens with each word exchanged. You’re supposed to be looking at him, not his self-important little brother. He coughs loudly, just shy of a theatrical gag, as he leans closer to you. “Y/N,” he says in a voice that’s far too loud for the setting, “you remember that story I told you about that time I fought that wild boar on Dragonstone, don’t you?”

You blink, turning your attention to Aegon, who is now staring at you with an intense, almost desperate expression. “Yes, Aegon,” you reply, though your voice carries a hint of amusement, “you’ve told me that story a few times.”

Aemond’s lips twitch, just the slightest bit, but he says nothing, instead taking a slow sip of his wine. You get the sense he’s enjoying watching Aegon squirm, though he hides it well. Aegon catches the subtle smirk, and his frown deepens. He isn’t about to let Aemond outshine him tonight.

“But did I ever tell you about the time I caught two wild boars, at once?” Aegon blurts, leaning in closer as if the detail will turn the tide of the conversation. “It was quite the ordeal, really. Very dangerous. Everyone said it couldn’t be done, but I proved them wrong.”

Alicent shoots Aegon a withering look from her end of the table, clearly exasperated with his antics, but Aegon doesn’t seem to notice or care. He’s too busy trying to win back your attention.

You give Aegon an indulgent smile, though it’s clear you haven’t entirely forgotten your conversation with Aemond. “That does sound… impressive, Aegon,” you say diplomatically, though you can’t resist glancing back at Aemond, who raises an eyebrow ever so slightly.

Aegon’s eye twitches at your distraction. He reaches for the jug of wine and refills your cup to the brim, his movements overly eager, as if hoping the gesture might sway you. “You know, Y/N, Aemond may know his dusty old books, but I—” He thumps a hand against his chest, nearly knocking over a plate. “—I know how to live. And isn’t that what truly matters?”

Aemond’s expression barely changes, but his single eye gleams with amusement. “Is that so, brother?” he drawls, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “I suppose it takes a certain… perspective to see chasing boars as living.”

Aegon bristles at the veiled insult, his face turning a shade redder than the wine in his cup. He reaches out, draping an arm over your shoulders in an overly possessive manner. “Y/N knows what I mean, don’t you, darling?” He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “You prefer my company, don’t you?”

You manage to suppress a laugh at the sudden shift in his demeanor. It’s like watching a puppy bark at a much larger dog, trying to prove it’s just as fearsome. “Oh, Aegon, you know I appreciate you,” you say, patting his hand in a way that’s meant to soothe, but your amusement is barely hidden.

Helaena, who has been sitting quietly beside Aemond, looks up from her plate of roasted duck and glances between her brothers with mild curiosity, though she seems more fascinated by the way the candlelight reflects off her goblet than the tension in the room. “Boars can be very tricky,” she muses dreamily, as though it’s a perfectly normal contribution to the conversation.

Viserys, who has been struggling to follow along with the rapid exchange, chuckles weakly, though it’s clear he’s not entirely sure what’s happening. “Yes, yes, tricky creatures,” he mumbles, before lapsing back into silence, his weariness overtaking him again.

Aegon takes the opportunity to press closer to you, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper meant to sound sweet, but it comes out more desperate. “You see, Y/N? Even the king agrees with me. I know how to keep life exciting.”

Aemond snorts softly into his wine cup, just loud enough for Aegon to hear. “Yes, brother, you’re certainly a master of excitement. Like that time you… fell off your horse at the tourney? Or was it when you set fire to your own cloak trying to light a candle?”

Aegon’s face flushes with annoyance, his grip on your shoulder tightening. “That was an accident, and everyone knows it!” He turns to you again, trying to recapture your attention with an exaggerated pout. “But you don’t think I’m clumsy, do you, Y/N?”

You look between the two brothers, thoroughly entertained by their bickering, and finally take pity on Aegon, though not without letting a hint of mischief creep into your voice. “Of course not, Aegon. I think you’re… very capable. In your own way.”

Aemond raises his goblet in a mock toast. “Yes, to Aegon’s… unique talents.”

Aegon glares at him, and then, as if he can’t think of a better response, leans closer to you, pressing a noisy, dramatic kiss to your cheek. “You see, Y/N, some people might call my talents unconventional, but I think that just makes me more… interesting.”

You try not to laugh, but the sound escapes despite your best efforts. Aemond rolls his eye again, a faint smirk playing on his lips, but he remains otherwise silent, clearly enjoying Aegon’s discomfort too much to intervene further.

Alicent clears her throat, her patience wearing thin as she glares between her sons. “Enough,” she snaps, her voice low but cutting. “This is a family dinner, not a competition.”

Aegon, undeterred, clinks his goblet against yours with a grin that’s more petulant than charming. “To family, then. And to those who know how to enjoy life to the fullest.”

Aemond merely raises an eyebrow, taking another sip of wine, but you can see the faint amusement lingering in his gaze. He seems content to let Aegon claim his small victory, knowing that the real prize is seeing his older brother squirm with jealousy.

You lean back, enjoying the view of the two brothers’ very different styles of vying for your attention, thinking that this family dinner has turned out to be far more entertaining than you’d expected.

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doietopia · 1 month ago

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˚୨୧⋆｡˚ one pace behind — p.js

pairing: knight!jisung x princess!reader genre and content: fluff, soft, childhood friends, royal au, bodyguard x princess. wc: 1.7k

it’s been almost eight years since you last saw jisung. he was the son of the man who had saved your father’s life more times than anyone dared to count. when his parents died, your father took him in, fed him, treated him like one of your own. jisung grew up in the palace with you, slept in the servant halls but wandered the corridors like he belonged. and maybe, in a way, he did.

you said nothing when he stepped through the throne room doors, afternoon light spilling across the marble floor, gilding his armor as if the heavens themselves wished to herald his return.

you stood frozen when your father’s voice rang out, naming him your protector, your personal guard. you scarcely heard the words. your gaze remained fastened to jisung, and he did not look at you. not immediately.

when the court was dismissed, you caught his sleeve as he turned.

“jisung,” you whispered, so softly it felt as though your voice might shatter something if spoken aloud.

he lifted his eyes. the same wide, honest gaze you remembered from childhood, like a sweet thorn lodged in your memory. his lips parted, as if to speak something long-rehearsed, but instead simply bowed again. formal. stiff. as if you were a stranger to him.

that night, you did not sleep.

your father had explained the decision as a matter of politics, your official presentation as heir to the throne. for the first time, you would stand before the court, the nobles, the people. visible. vulnerable. “you’ll no longer be a child hiding behind palace walls,” he said, his gaze steady. “and visibility is dangerous.” and for that, your father wanted someone by your side whom he trusted more than his own shadow.

“he knows you better than anyone,” he had said, and though his voice was fond, a chill passed through you. “and you know him. there is no one more loyal than jisung.”

you remembered him quiet, his ears turning red each time you spoke to him, his fingers muddy from when you dragged him through fields in search of frogs to scare your younger siblings or the maids. jisung, who flinched when you threw petals in his face and told him it was a curse. jisung, who never quite learned how to say no to you. jisung, who trembled when you climbed trees and then climbed up after you, not to join in the mischief, but to keep you from falling. jisung, who vanished the day he was accepted into the guard, and never wrote again.

you almost don’t recognize him when you first see him again. he’s taller now, broad-shouldered, his eyes sharper under his fringe of dark hair. the boy is gone. in his place stands a knight. sir jisung, son of the late sir haneul, whose loyalty had been legend.

he still doesn’t say much. just sighs and follows. you splash through the river; he pulls off his boots and follows. you climb the crumbling wall behind the stables; he’s there behind you, arms out, just in case. nearly eight years had passed, and still, jisung looked at you as though you had dirt on your knees and a wooden sword clutched in your hand.

“you’re supposed to stop me,” you tease him once, breathless from running.

“i’m supposed to keep you safe,” he replies, without meeting your eyes.

you laugh. he follows. some things never change.

like today, when you escaped from your dancing lesson for the third time that week. the waltz music grated against your ears; the pearls at your throat felt more like chains. the valley beyond the hill was just as it had always been, windblown and wild, thick with flowers. you left your shoes by the staircase and slipped past the sentries who, by now, knew better than to stop you. you ran, skirts lifted, laughter tearing free from your throat. and behind you, came his footsteps. never quite beside you. always one pace behind.

“you ought to be in class,” he said when he finally caught up to you, and you laughed, bright and sudden, sending birds scattering from the trees.

jisung stands at the edge of the hill, hesitating. always hesitating. he watches you the way one might watch the sea, awed, unsure if he is permitted to wade into its depths.

“you ought to say something more interesting,” you called back, turning to face him, arms outstretched as the wind tangled in your hair. “or have knights forgotten how to speak?”

he said nothing. only lowered his gaze again. but the corners of his lips twitched, as if a smile had nearly escaped him.

you knew he followed out of duty. because your father had asked him to. but when you sat down in the grass and tossed a twig at him in jest, he didn’t dodge it. he simply sat beside you and let it fall from his head with a quiet sigh.

“you haven’t changed,” he murmured.

he meets your eyes at last. and for a heartbeat, the air tastes like spring again. like grass-stained linen and raspberry tarts.

“haven’t i?” you asked. “what about you?” you teased softly. “still following me, sir jisung?”

he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. the wind tousled the fringe across his brow. something in his expression shifted, perhaps no. perhaps he was no longer the same boy. but for now, you chose not to ask.

“i was instructed to protect you, my lady.”

“from whom?” you ask, throwing your head back, laughing. “from the flowers? the bees? or perhaps from my own boredom?”

“there are letters,” he says, quietly. “threats. your father did not exaggerate the danger.”

“and you’re to protect me, alone?” you ask, not mocking, only curious. “you, who used to cry when i climbed the walnut tree and refused to come down?”

his expression tightens, but not with anger. with memory.

“i never cried.”

“you did. your face went all red, and you told me you’d throw yourself after me if i fell.”

“i meant it,” he says, so softly that it makes your chest ache. you look away. the wind picks up. the hills ripple like waves. you lie back into the grass and close your eyes.

“do you miss it?” you ask. “before all of this. before the court, the titles, the rules.”

there is a long pause.

“i missed you,” he says. the words fall like stones into still water, breaking the surface between you.

you open your eyes. he is looking at the sky, not at you, as though ashamed of having said it. you do not respond. you only reach out, fingers grazing the grass between you, and for a moment, his hand moves, as if to meet yours. but the distance remains.

a few week later, you’re in the orchard garden, one shoe missing and your fingers sticky from the fruit you weren’t supposed to pick, let alone eat. the sun hangs low and lazy in the sky, painting everything in amber, and jisung, dutiful, exasperated, ever trailing behind you, is attempting to scold you while you hide behind a tree trunk.

“you’re a princess,” he calls out, voice already tired with fondness. “not a raccoon.”

“raccoons are clever,” you counter, leaning out just far enough to toss the peach pit at his feet. “and they don’t have to sit through royal etiquette lessons.”

he sighs, picking up the pit like it’s evidence in a crime. “i was instructed to escort you to the council chamber at four.”

“it’s four-thirty.”

“exactly.”

you dart from one tree to another, giggling when he almost catches your sleeve. the silk of your dress snags on a branch but you don’t care. you’re already barefoot, crown forgotten on a stone bench behind you, your hair coming undone in the wind. for a moment, you feel like a child again. for a moment, so does he.

he finally manages to corner you between the old pear tree and the garden wall, breath caught between laughter and resignation.

“are you planning to outrun me forever?” he asks, arms folded, trying to look stern.

“maybe,” you say, grinning. “you’ve always been slower than me.”

he raises an eyebrow. “i let you win.”

“that sounds like something a loser would say.”

his mouth twitches. the faintest, rarest smile. “you’ve got peach on your cheek.”

you blink. “do i?”

“mhm.” he steps closer, and for a heartbeat you forget how to stand still. he lifts a hand, hesitates again, but then brushes your cheek with his thumb, light as a whisper. you’re certain your heart makes a sound.

“there,” he says, as if the touch hadn’t nearly undone you both.

you scrunch your nose. “how gallant of you, sir jisung.”

“someone has to keep you from looking like a mess.”

you reach up and stick your peach-sticky finger on his nose.

he blinks, stunned. and then, laughs. it’s so unexpected that you freeze, and for the first time in years, you hear it clearly: jisung’s real laugh, bright and boyish, like sunlight through a window no one thought to open.

you sit beside him again, skirt pooling over the grass, your head tilted back to watch the sky turn gray. you lie back and sigh, letting the quiet settle into your bones. “it’s going to rain tonight,” you murmur, eyes closed.

jisung hums beside you. “you always say that.”

“and i’m always right.”

“not always. you once claimed the moon was following you.”

“it was,” you insist, a smile tugging at your lips. “i just happened to be more interesting than anything else in the sky”

“you still are,” he says, and then goes terribly still, as if he hadn’t meant to let the words escape.

you open your eyes, turning your face toward him, but he’s already pretending to watch the clouds again. his expression unreadable, but his ears, just barely, have gone pink at the tips. his hands rest stiffly over his knees, like he’s afraid they might move on their own.

you want to say something. you want to ask him why he left without writing. you want to ask if he thought of you at all. you want to ask if he still does. but instead, you sit up and pluck a blade of grass from the earth, twisting it between your fingers.

“you’ll get in trouble if i’m late again,” you murmur.

he exhales slowly, and you hear him shift behind you. “then let’s make it worth the trouble.”

you turn, startled, but jisung is already standing, hand outstretched, not as a knight offering duty, but as a boy remembering how it felt to follow you into sunlight.

#˚୨୧⋆｡˚#doietopia #park jisung #jisung x reader #nct jisung #jisung x you #jisung fluff #jisung imagines #nct dream #nct dream jisung #nct imagines #nct reactions #nct scenarios #nct #nct x reader #nct fluff

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bunnyinvanilla · 6 months ago

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old!royal knight!john price x soft!young princess!reader

🗡️| just an idea I’ve had in mind for a long time, fluff, john is the captain of the royal army and you’re the king’s niece, of course laaaaarge age gap as always, john is in his mid 40s and reader is 21, innocent n obviously virgin cause yeah

your fingers moved like a gentle, intimate lover against the pages of your book, bestowing your gaze to the the following chapter as you turned the pages — the early afternoon sun was your favorite, casting a golden and bright glow inside your room, shining over the walls like sunlight tapestry, and wrapping you in a blanket of warmth.

a hand tapped against the back of your door, a feeble sound that pulled your eyes towards it like an invisible hand on your chin — you waited for the maid to let her presence be known, but only her voice echoed through the wooden door.

“Your majesty, the Captain of the royal army is here, he’d wish to be attended”

you blinked your eyes, as sweet as a spring apricot, and carefully closed the book, placing it on the shelf of your window seat. Your uncle wasn’t home, meaning the Captain should’ve waited for his return, to be received — you were alone, reading in your chambers and spending your time between the loving hugs of your books, but as the only member of the royal family present at moment, you were expected to receive anyone who asked to be greeted.

you were the youngest, barely even legal, and as the first niece of the king, who didn’t have any children of his own, you were loved as his own daughter, earning the title of princess —

you walked nervously towards the living room, mentally praying your uncle could come back soon, having absolutely no clue what you could possibly serve the Captain with — the only things that occupied your mind, heart and free time being books, people from the village, animals and dresses. You had hoped a chaperon lady would accompany you, but rather you found yourself attending your duty alone.

the creamy walls of the living room would have usually caught your attention upon walking through the room, with their soft and delicate color you liked so much, but this time, your eyes focused solely on the man standing right in front of the large window.

your heart stilled, blood rushing through the quickening beats of your young, innocent heart and flowing into your cheeks, painting them a bright shade of red.

“Your Majesty,” his voice rumbled like the far call of a distant thunderstorm, gruff and husky, and that roughness only fueled your blush as he walked closer, “Captain John Price, at your service” his hand, large and warm, gently took ahold of yours, bowing ever so slightly and pressing a light kiss on your palm, never adverting his gaze from yours.

Captain John Price, a seasoned veteran of the Royal Army, stood as a paragon of discipline and unwavering resolve. His grizzled appearance, with a salt-and-pepper beard and weathered features, spoke of years spent on the frontlines, facing battles far from the safety of the royal halls — he reminded you of a grizzly bear.

clad in the dark, ceremonial armor of the king’s elite forces, he bore the weight of his rank with quiet authority — standing tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded the rugged strength of someone who had spent decades in the service of the crown. His build was muscular, honed from years of battle, and you, a young and blooming little girl, thought that he resembled the ‘buff’ body your many romance books told of..

his face was a map of his past: weathered and scarred, the lines of age and experience etched deeply into his skin, and you found him to be attractive, rugged in a charming way, with his thick, graying beard and mature lines — his hair, once a dark brown, had begun to turn a slight silver at the temples, he was clearly much, too much older than you, old enough to be your own father, seemed to be the same age as your uncle (little did you know, they’d known themselves for years)

“you…” your eyes flecked over his, seemingly starstruck, a naive awe that made you stare at him, blushing heavily, heart almost pounding out of your chest, briefly forgetting about your manners — but you quickly tried to regain your composure, shaking your head lightly and giving him the hint of a shy, sweet smile, lashes blinking delicately at him.

“please, sir, no need for such formalities, I’m not my uncle,”

he straightened his back, allowing his gaze to travel slowly, appreciatively along your whole body, such a young, pretty thing you were.

“I’ve heard you’ve been looking for my uncle, but he’s not here unfortunately, so…” you nibbled on your lower lip, tilting your head “I don’t think I could be of any assistance with any of your questions regarding the, uhm, army.”

“I’m aware of his absence, princess” the corner of his mustache twitched slightly, “I was told upon my arrival, but I must make the most of my time no less, cannot go back to my soldiers without a royal summon, it is important for the upcoming mission”

you blinked, twice, dumbfounded, “you need a..royal report?”

“yes, princess,” he replied, authority and confidence dripping from every word, making a warm, unfamiliar tingle fill your belly, a knot that made it hard to breath “the king and I have decided that I shall come here to gather decisional informations about his will, before having my army carry their swords”

“I, well, have no idea what his will is, the king will definitely be more useful with his own judgment,”

he looked at you with an unreadable expression, entertained by your humble tenderness, politeness and sweetness, he could practically taste the inexperience and innocence dripping off you, and it made something stir deep inside of him, a growing, illicit hunger and desire

maybe it was your dress, how it ended slightly above your knees, it wasn’t long and luxurious, but rather short and modest, your long hair didn’t carry a large crown, but a thin, sparkling tiara that possibly weighed less than his sword. “what about you, princess?”

“me..?” you hesitated, slightly lifting your brows, you? what could you possibly know about war? “personally..in my modest opinion, I ween you should simply interrupt the war”

stupor crossed his intense, calculating eyes, and you expected him to laugh at you, but a spark of amusement came by his gaze, curiosity even — how odd, for a princess as young as you, to reveal such a drastic measure

“Interrupt the war, you say?”

“I, uhm..” you timidly shrugged your shoulders, your fingers fidgeting with your ring — his eyes fell on it, awareness grew into his war scattered, old heart: a purity ring.

“I must admit I keen nothing about the current war, but if I have learned something, is that it can never bring anything good, and people should simply cease them, just as easily as they start them,” you dared a glance towards his unmoving stance, his eyes bore focused on yours, and you’d ever felt so seen or listened before.

“they’re unnecessary, just an arrogant and terrible way to prove strength, and..well” you swallowed on your own words, shyness wrapping around you like your so loved lace ribbons, and gave him a gentle smile “In my humble opinion, that course of action may not be the best, im a firm believer and defender of kindness, even between enemy legions”

he smirked, dozens and dozens of years behind his back, and he’d never come across such a pure innocence before — oh, dear, protected by the nightmares of this world, the reality of war, so naive it made him almost undeserving to stand in such a pure presence.

he only shifted his position, unclenching his jaw and regarding you with slight tilt of his head, “well, princess, I’ll make sure to take your advice at heart, though I must admit, if it were this simple, I would not still be fighting battles since before you were even born, your highness,”

“i admit it might sound juvenile coming from me, i know my uncle owes you deep respect, and although this is my first time seeing you, I’ve heard about the many conquers under your name, sir,” you blinked again, your big, doe eyes tantalizing the hunter inside of him — you’d never seen him before, only heard about his reputation in the army, and wished your uncle had introduced him to you. “therefore, I’m flattered to be able to stand before you, Captain Price”

who knew the king had such a young, sweet little niece? you looked like a trembling fawn underneath his gaze, a fragile bunny wrapped in innocence, someone who could use his protection, who’d look good sitting on his lap, who could be the perfect trophy and gift for an old, experienced, weary soldier who served the crow his entire life.

he grinned, knowing what to answer the king, next time he asked him what he desired as a offering gift for his service to the crown.

#john price #john price imagine #john price x f!reader #john price x female reader #captain price x female reader #price x female reader #john price x y/n #princess reader #call of duty imagine #royalty au

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n1ght0f-nyx · 19 days ago

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making a royal! au call of duty series.

knight! simon ghost riley x princess! reader

warnings/tags- this will end in poly icl!! eventual smut, not much rn just warnings ahead

credit to @strangergraphics

The torches cast flickering shadows across the stone corridor, the kind that warped reality just enough to keep your nerves on edge. You walked alone, save for the ever-present echo of bootsteps behind you. Quiet. Heavy. Perfectly measured.

You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. You'd grown used to his presence—the way Ghost lingered like smoke, unseen but impossible to ignore.

"You don’t need to follow me everywhere," you muttered, eyes fixed forward, chin lifted like your mother had taught you. A princess should never look unsure.

He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t.

You finally stopped, hands folded before you, and turned on your heel. Ghost stood a few paces behind you, armored and masked, arms behind his back in a posture of unwavering discipline. The white skull painted across his face met your eyes in silence.

"I’m not in danger right now."

He inclined his head. "That’s what makes it the perfect time for someone to strike."

Your lip twitched, amused despite yourself. "So you only relax when I’m actively being stabbed?"

His eyes didn’t so much as blink. "You don’t pay me to relax."

That shut you up. You turned again, continuing your walk through the gallery hall, the sound of your slippers barely a whisper compared to the thunder of his boots. You paused at one of the larger tapestries—the one showing your great-grandfather leading a charge into battle.

Ghost came to a stop beside you, silent, hands still clasped behind him. His presence was like a stone wall: always there, always solid, and impossible to move.

"Do you ever get tired of it?" you asked. "Being my shadow."

There was a pause. A long one.

"No."

You glanced up at him, surprised. "Really?"

His head tilted just slightly, the faintest gesture of thought.

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you said nothing.

He didn’t elaborate, didn’t explain himself. He simply resumed his place behind you, and you resumed your walk. You knew nothing about Simon Riley—not his age, his past, not even the color of his hair—but somehow, you trusted him more than any nobleman who’d ever kissed your hand.

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leonw4nter · 1 year ago

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And When The Sun Left, I Thought You Never Loved Me

RE4R!Leon x F!Reader royal AU

You yawn and feel the exhaustion take over your senses and weigh down your lids yet sleep does not claim you; you consumed three thick books, all three stacked on your bedside vanity but you find yourself unable to sleep, for some odd reason. Warm milk with honey, sniffing peppermint oils, and an opened window to let the cold evening gale circulate in your room– you’ve tried it but you still continue to lay awake and irritated in your bed, turning over to lie on your stomach to groan into your silk pillowcase. You’re sure that the sun will rise from the sea again in a few hours, the tweeting of birds rending you that the night is over and you’ve lost the chance to rest for the day ahead will be busy, overseeing wedding preparations with your betrothed, Leon. Only having migrated to his palace a week ago, you were still in the process of familiarization with the ins and outs of his grand residence. You assumed that sleeping in a new environment, one wildly different from your manor, affected your sleeping habit.

One of your nurse-maids has also informed you that being far from your husband-to-be, especially in the evenings, could be one of the sources of your troubles with sleeping. Though he is to be your husband in a matter of days, you are not very familiar with him and the same goes for him; you two have only met a month ago, over a talk of paintings and music. You must admit, he seems to be genuine of heart and truly kind to any person he meets but you know that this could change as soon as he marries you and is expected to give the kingdom heirs. You wince at the thought of heirs, unprepared for such an undertaking despite the public’s expectations, especially the families joined by your union. At first, you were hesitant and against whoever your parents paired you with but after getting along and taking a liking to the crown prince of the kingdom, you are now only half hesitant to this marriage.

Turning to your side with your eyes trained on your curtains gently swaying along to the cold breeze, you wonder if Leon is also struggling to fall asleep right this moment or if his own nurse-maids have given him remedies to induce a deep and restful sleep. What do they give him? Warmed milk or cold milk? With or without honey? Does he even need these in order to fall asleep? Since Leon is often busy with building strength and engaging in his studies in his palace’s own library, you figure that each day for him must be eventful if slumber claims him so easily. The more you ponder about his sleep habit and regiment, the more you grow envious of him right now; you itch to get up, depart your chambers, and head to him, maybe even fall asleep tucked away safely into his side– if he loves you back and is willing to breach the conduct between betrothed pairs– to sleep in separate chambers until the night of their wedding. As soon as the idea is entertained, the harder it is to ignore its appeal to your current state. You sit up and shake your head, trying to clear your mind of any thought that involves you walking down unlit and unfamiliar halls, looking for the door of the crown prince’s royal chambers. Even if you are familiar with the maze-like residence, you doubt that you can get through his doors that are guarded by elite-ranking knights. Sighing, you accept that you will hear birds soon and will appear before your family and his with dark bags beneath your eyes.

“Ah, yes. I struggle with sleep,” you suddenly recall him telling you quite some time ago. “The images of battle, the smell of rust and blood harass me just as I slip into slumber. It… it haunts me.” You sit up, pity settling deep in your bones; you have experienced losing sleep due to nightmares every once in a while yet here he is, plagued and haunted by the monsters of his past and present every night. The bags underneath his eyes suddenly make sense, along with his frequently chapped lips and his exhausted aura. Not even the most calming and fragrant oils could help him, for those only served as temporary relief for the troubled young prince. Determined to go to him, more for his sake than your own this time, you grab your maroon cloak, and quietly leave your bedchambers. A few steps down the hall, a considerable distance from your door, you regret not bringing along a lantern with you. Despite the silver gleam of the moonlight, this would be little help to a place as foreign as this. Far from your door and forcing yourself to be familiar with what will soon be your residence, you continue on in the dark with a hand around the walls as you tread along, feet gently padding along the carpet.

“Floors are equal to rank,” you mumble to yourself. “The king and queen are on the uppermost floor, crown prince on the level beneath theirs. I’m on the lower levels, which means I will climb a staircase… twice or thrice.”

You’re not sure where you are or where the staircase is. You’re certain that there is a painting hung by the stairs but as you continue walking, you’re certain your memory may be playing tricks on you. To make matters worse, you’re growing increasingly afraid as you head to his chambers alone in the dark. The eyes of the portraits of past royals feel as if they are moving and staring at the back of your head, ready to pounce from the gold frame and maul you. Doing the sign of the cross and mumbling a proactive prayer for yourself, you dash down the hall and turn to the first hallway extension you see. You keep a hand firmly fastened around your mouth, mentally reminding yourself to keep yourself silent. So much for staying silent when you bump your elbow against the wall, startling yourself, and tripping over your own feet and landing harshly on your side with a thud. You are not in pain, not yet at least, because your attention is turned to the stretch of the hallway behind you and the dead-end in front of you. You focus on leveling your breathing and trying to limit the noise you’ve been making since earlier, the thudding and the yelp you forgot to conceal. The dead-end in front of you appears to melt and disintegrate, the walls opening up but you look up and realize that it’s not a dead-end; it’s a door.

“Who dares to interrupt the crown prince’s slumber.” A gravelly, baritone voice demands. You gasp, looking up at the man in front of you. Leon. Your eyes widen, breath hitched in your throat.

“My prince!” You whisper with urgency, adjusting your position to be kneeling in front of him, forehead to the ground with your hands laying flat beside your head. “I- I apologize. Disrupting and causing a ruckus was far from my intentions!”

Leon crouches and tips your chin up politely, blue eyes inspecting your blushing and reddened face. “You look troubled. What bothers you?”

“I ran here, my liege. I am unfamiliar with the palace and bumped my elbow, which startled me. I apologize and ask for your forgiveness, my prince.”

“You did not exactly answer my question, my princess.” He says, helping you stand up. He lays his hands on your shoulders, looking you over before he gently takes your forearm and inspects your elbow. A slight redness right where the anterior band should be.

You mentally berate yourself for not giving him an answer, wishing that you hit your head instead and fell concussed so that you didn’t have to deal with this situation.

“Ah, my deepest apologies once again.” You keep apologizing, you look like a hooligan! “I came here to see you, sire. I…” I wanted to see if you were kind enough to let me into your bedchambers and perhaps let me lay by your side to fall asleep! “I… was wondering if you were sleeping soundly. I t-thought about you, my prince.”

He hums, gently setting your arm back to your side. You take a swift moment to observe him– he still had bags beneath his eyes and his lips were cracked as ever, his skin paler than usual, and droopy lids. Tufts of wheat-colored hair stood at odd angles at the back of his head, a telltale sign of him tossing and turning in his bed for only god knows how long.

“Are you being honest, my princess?” He asks. “You thought about me?”

“Yes, my liege.” you respond, dipping your head in a shallow bow. “I found trouble with falling asleep and you came to mind and I wondered if you were also having trouble falling asleep.”

“I am.” He curtly says. “I am and have been finding trouble sleeping. I… I find it warming that you would think about my well-being.”

“You, my prince, are human just like the rest of us. The worst spares no one,” you respond with a soft smile. “Would you like me to accompany you until you fall asleep?”

A look of surprise crosses his face and you wish you never offered that in the first place, appearing desperate in front of the man you must impress.

“Yes,” he quietly says as he opens his door wider for you. “I would love that.”

It’s your turn to be surprised yet you nod and cross the threshold of his chambers for the first time; the walls were covered in gray wallpaper, meticulously embossed with dainty damask patterns in gold leaf. The ceiling was painted with a mural of a soft sky with hues of some pink and light blue along with clouds of different appearances, some looked like cotton while others looked like feathers. The baseboards and crown molding of his room were all sculpted and painted gold as well, similar to his bed frame with an impressive canopy that loomed over. His sheets were made of dark gray silk with subtle damask embroidery, as well. A magnificent chandelier crafted in the form of a chimera hung overhead, decorated with diamonds and sapphires. His room is just as breathtaking as he is, his space a reflection of his personality. You let go of a breath you didn’t know you held, head craned towards the heavens to admire the artwork above you. If you thought your room was grand, his was even more so.

“I see that you seem to like the mural on my ceiling,” he observes.

“Yes, I do. It is quite the beauty,” you softly smile. “I did not expect you to have such a treasure like this confined in your quarters, my prince.”

He grins, walking behind you as he observes your impressed face. When visitors take a peek into his room, the sole thing they would consider as a treasure is his chandelier. He expected you to do the same but instead opted for the soft pink and light blue view suspended above your head.

“I am glad to know that you still recognize the colors despite a tiny sliver of the moon beaming in. Consider me impressed.”

You grin, giving yourself a small pat to the shoulder when Leon isn’t looking your way. “So, my princess, shall we retire for the evening?”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

You and Leon lay on opposite sides of the bed, both of you sleeping on your backs. His eyes are shut, brows furrowed while you try not to fall asleep just yet, keeping your gaze trained on the canopy above. Every now and then, you tilt your head to steal glances and take in the finer details of his face– the slope of his nose, the permanent furrow of his eyebrows, and his long lashes. Before you can help it, a giddy smile manifests itself in your lips the longer you stare at him.

“You are staring at me, dear princess.”

Your eyes widen, snapping your head to face the opposite side as you shut your eyes and tense your body. Your ears pick up a heavenly sound, his laugh, beside you and you turn to face him, confused. “What amuses you, prince?”

“What amuses me,” he faces you. “Is how I am utterly wrapped around your delicate finger, my dearest princess. You have me wrapped around the same delicate finger you used to carefully take apart the walls I built around my heart yet I do not wish to take action against that.”

Your cheeks burn beet red, heart challenging even the fastest racehorses that Leon’s father owns. You nod, a silent acknowledgement of his flattery for you cannot properly conjure the words to say to react to that.

“It makes me nervous that our wedding is to take place soon,” you speak up. “I am not sure if I will be the princess the people will need, if I can serve you properly. There are certain things that I am not ready for.”

You feel Leon’s finger experimentally brush against your knuckle underneath the duvet, careful so as not to cross a boundary that you’re not ready for yet. Returning the same gentle brush of a finger, you slowly link fingers with him as your heart explodes in the most vibrant colors inside your ribcage.

“I am certain that you will treat the people with utmost respect and kindness, my princess, worry not. As for serving me, your presence alone is a service beyond measure. I do not ask for more.”

You giggle, a melody Leon looks forward to hearing.

“Thank you. How about you, my prince? Are you nervous?”

“Very much so, we both have a lot to bear on our shoulders with this union. I must admit, that is one of the few reasons I have been lying wide awake almost each night. I am sorry that even you are disturbed.”

“No, my prince. I am not disturbed at all– far from it, actually.”

“We tend to apologize frequently,” Leon observes. “Another thing we share in common.”

“We’ll add another trait that we share in common soon,” you beam.

“Hm? What is it?”

“Our surnames. We will share them soon.”

Leon’s eyes widen, warmth travelling from his cheeks towards the tips of his ears. He quickly tilts his head to the side, away from your eyes, and lets out a wide grin. He must admit, you got him there.

“As anxious as I am, a part of me cannot wait.”

“I believe we share the same sentiment.”

Slowly and carefully, you tilt your body and inch a little closer to Leon. His positive reception to your presence is taking a toll on you, glowing with confidence and that confidence leads you to be a little more forward with your actions.

“A little closer, dearest.” He says, moving a little closer to you. “You are not quite near enough, in my opinion.”

After a little more shuffling and getting cozy, you two finally settle into a position that is comfortable and fall asleep together with his arm wrapped around you and your arm slung around his chest.

NOTE - I feel so old rn coz yesterday, only my right knee was the one hurting... now it's both knees + my back 💀 Joints cracking at every movement too so now I've been drinking milk... why? I think my bones need the extra calcium <3 Anyways, sorry yall for this mid ass fic 😭 My brain stopped working mid-writing but for some reason I was still determined to finish this so.... yeah :') I decided to do some cleaning before posting this and I came across a bunch of old school records from when I was younger (think 6th grade and lower) and bruhh... I WAS SO STUPID?!?!?! LIKE I STRUGGLED WITH SPELLING AND IDIOMS?? HUH???? I NEVER KNEW THAT??? I always thought I understood idioms well so ion know what the fuck happened... like I looked at schoolwork that involved idioms and I did get good scores, perfect even, but for some reason the comments on my OLSAT performance then said that I was below average when it came to spelling and idiomatic expression understanding so 😭😭😭 No clue mates.......... Anyways, that's all and thank you for reading my fics!!!!!!!!! I <3333 UUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The hanging jewels divider was made by @mikeykuns , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

#leon kennedy #resident evil #fluff #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil 4 #resident evil x reader #biohazard #resident evil 4 remake #re4make #re4 remake #re4r #resident evil leon

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anyca786 · 10 months ago

Text

"YOU'VE BOTH MATURED YOURSELVES THESE PAST FEW YEARS,"

Daemon targaryen x sister/aunt!Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen.

WARNINGS: Canon typical incest/targcest (brother and sister, uncle and niece, aunt and niece) fluff, kissing. (Idk how to write warnings)

Series

Daenys had some spiralling conflicts with her mind and her heart. She felt a sense of connection with Rhaenyra that she had never experienced before, and it was scarying her. So she decided it was time to pay a visit to her favourite cousin.

7 moons later

Laena, her sweet niece had recently claimed Vhagar, the largest dragon alive.

They were currently flying throughout Driftmark and, 'Aunt, mother, look!" Laena, who sat on top of Vhagar in the saddle, pointed to the ship in the distance.

Daenys wore beautiful blue riding clothes gifted by her dearest cousin. Her luscious silver hair flowed freely with the wind.

Rhaenys eyes squinted at the number of ships, and her eyes widened. The distant sound of Caraxes whistle could be heard, which made Nyx's head turn at the sound, and she let out a pleasant roar.

'Velaryon flags..- " Daenys' shock was replaced with a happy expression while coaxing Nyx to calm down, "Shh, I know you missed Caraxes," she pats her dragon.

That meant Daemon was back from the Stepstones and have won against the crabfeeders.

"Father and Laenor are back!" Laena said delightedly and turned to her Aunt Daenys and flashed her a teasing grin, "You must be pleased that your betrothed is back."

"He is not my betrothed, silly girl. Now, if you excuse me -" Daenys scowled, "Sovegon."

Rhaenys sighed, watching her little cousin fly off in the direction of Kingslanding and then gave her daughter a look.

Rhaenys knew that eventually, the two would get married soon. They both shared the blood of dragon. The other Lords that offered their hand weren't worthy of the precious Princess Daenys.

🥀

To say Daenys was genuinely surprised that a party was being thrown for Daemon in the royal gardens was an understatement. She had heard the rumours of him being the King of the Stepstones, which brought a small satisfied smile on her face.

Everyone present seemed to be enjoying the warm weather. Daenys ignored the preying eyes of lords and knights on her and solely focused on her family wearing a genuine smile.

A servant passed by with a tray of wine, which she gladly took and thanked the servant.

Alicent stood by the King like a dutiful wife she was wearing a tight smile. Though she remained still to the best of her ability while rubbing her arms clearly discomforted by the Rouge's presence. It was clear that Daemon loathed the Queen just like Daenys herself.

"Princess Daenys, Your Grace" Daenys's name was announced, and immediately, the crowd stepped aside for the Princess.

Some were in awe while others held feelings of lust for the silver-haired princess, which made Daemon for some reason feel a rush of irritation.

Rhaenyra didn't waste any time walking over to her beautiful aunt. " Daenys."

"Rhaenyra.' she happily accepted her embrace, and Rhaenyra blushed when she pressed a kiss on her cheek.

"Come enjoy some lemon cakes with me. I saved you some chocolate." Rhaenyra said shyly.

That seemed to catch Daenys' attention and immediately accepted Rhaenyra's hand as she guided her to the dessert table, unaware of the Hightower Queen watching them with an enviouse glare.

"I can't believe he's back." Daenys mused, tasting her wine while Rhaenyra tasted the candied lemon slice in her mouth. Rhaenyra just looked at her and licked her fingers before swiping away the leftover wine on the corner of her lips.

"Nyra!" She whined.

"It's fun teasing you, my dearest Aunt." Rhaenyra had just gotten back from her six moons of tour and rejected the majority of her suitors.

The way she felt about Daenys wasn't simple. When her mother had died, Daenys had been there for her more than anyone. Rhaenyra adorned this woman.

She spent every morning, noon, and night thinking of Daenys Targaryen, their passionate kisses, her gentle touch, her aunt's genuine concern about her. She was a goddess in Rhaenyra's eyes, whether it was her pretty smiles, her pouty lips, or her fiercely protective nature.

Daenys smiled at her, "I take it the tour did not go well."

"They were old enough to be Vhagar's age." That made Daenys' nose scrunched displeasingly, making Rhaenyra giggle.

"Perhaps I have not found the one with the blood as hot as a dragon like mine, yet" Rhaenyra said, looking at Daenys's eyes.

"Let us go greet your father and Uncle," Daenys said, clearing her throat, trying not to address what Rhaenyra meant.

"Wellif it isn't my Prince Charming. Congratulations on your victory, brother," Daenys said, earning a laugh from Viserys.

"You shouldn't have thrown the party. Now his ego is bigger than Nyx, " Daenys said to Viserys, pouting.

'Thank you, Princess," Daemon spoke with a small smirk that held a double meaning behind his words. Daenys blushed at his words. Daemon looked irresistibly charming in his new haircut.

'And I have heard that Rhaenys is considering marrying you to Corlys' youngest cousin brother, Victor Velaryon. He will make a fine Prince consort. He's a good man." Viserys said remembering him years ago.

This brought a fake laugh from Rhaenyra and a hum from Daemon as he narrowed his eyes in amusement.

"Pin-cess!" Daenys turned her head to see small toddler wearing a gummy smile bouncing towards her with her arms out. Her septa hurried behind anxiously, "Apologies, Princess," the septa bowed her head.

" Hello, little princess," Daenys cheered, smiling brightly at the little girl with brown hair. Apparently, she was a daughter of some High Lord. The little girl was captivated by Daenys's beauty.

Daemon watched in awe as Daenys picked the girl in her arms. He had seen her interact with Rhaenys' children, yet he found himself imagining the baby in her arms, was his with long silver hair and big beautiful purple eyes.

His eyes hungrily wandered at her form. She looked absolutely beautiful over the years they've been apart.

Her hair was flowing freely, and it was clear from flying on Nyx. Her cheeks got fuller as well as her breast, which made Daemon hard just by the thought of it.

However, Daemon wasn't the only one staring her, Sir Criston Cole blissfully observed Daenys.

Daenys offered Sir Criston a smile.

"Perhaps the Prince Daemon and Princess Daenys would care for a tour of the gallery," Alicent offered, trying to mingle.

Rhaenyra's lips twitched at the thought of Daemon exploring the gallery.

"They haven't seen the new tapestries gifted to you by Norvos and Qohor." Alicent pressed.

"Would you like to see the tapestries?" Viserys asked Daemon before laughing out loud.

Daenys saw the hurt look on Alicent's face and turned her head to look at her brother, ready to snap,

"He has no interest in such things," Viserys said humorously.

"I'd like to see them. Would anyone like to accompany me?" Rhaenyra asked, trying to escape this dreadful talk.

"I would," Daenys replied merrily

"Oh, then you should not deprive yourself," Viserys told her.

But before Daenys could move, Daemon grabbed her wrist, "Later," he announced and dragged her with him. Daemon lightly chuckled, finding this situation amusing, making Daenys roll her eyes.

"Daemon!" she exclaimed, turning to face him with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

"Come," he said, his voice low and urgent. Without waiting for a response, he pulled her away towards a secluded corner of the garden.

As they reached the privacy of the overgrown bushes, Daemon turned to face Daenys. His gaze was intense, his expression a mix of longing and desire. Without any warning, he cupped her face in his large hands and leaned in for a passionate kiss. Daenys, initially taken aback, couldn't resist the pull of his desire. She returned his kiss with equal fervour, her heart pounding in her chest.

"And I missed you too," she replied, leaning in for a brief, chaste kiss with a smile.

Daemon's kiss deepened, his hands cupping her face. He lifted her effortlessly, allowing her legs to wrap around his torso. Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, their passion igniting like a wildfire.

"Don't pull that stunt ever again," Daenys complained, her voice muffled by Daemon's kisses, "I was in the middle of a conversation".

Daemon chuckled, his breath warm against her ear. "I won't," he promised, pulling away to press a tender kiss to her temple. Setting Daenys down, Daemon smoothed her hair and cupped her face in his hands.

"How's your wife? Mysaria? Was it" She asked, her tone playful.

Daemon rolled his eyes. "Just accept it, you're jealous," he teased, his voice laced with amusement.

Daenys scowled, but he found her reaction amusing. He moved closer, their faces mere inches apart. Daenys refused to waver, her gaze unwavering despite the proximity of their lips.

Daemon grasped her neck with his large hand and grinned.

"There you two are," Rhaenyra's voice interrupted them, her tone light and teasing.

Daemon resisted the urge to scrowl at his niece when Daenys pulled away quickly.

Rhaenyra wore a content smile, yet her eyes trained on Daemon almost smugly, "You seem content on Dragonstone. Why did you come back? There is surely more to your return than simply taunting my father." She asked in High Valyrian.

"So what do you want?" She said.

"Only the comforts of home and to see my favourite niece and baby sister," Daenys felt like there was a whole other meaning behind it but chose not to say anything.

The three moved to the shade. Daemon chose to sit while Daenys and Rhaenyra stood.

"I had not thought you would particularly be comfortable with this home," Rhaenyra spoke.

Daemon poured glasses of wine for the two girls and then offered Daenys to seat on his lap.

Daenys gladly took a seat on his lap while Rhaenyra shifted in her spot, visibly not pleased.

"The adventurous must've changed you," and the two Targaryens stared at her with a soft gaze.

"You've both matured yourself these past few years,"

Daemon stared at Daenys in admiration. She had certainly become a fine woman, and it was certain that he wasn't the only one who thought that. His niece seemed quite taken with her as well.

"My father seems content to sell me off to whichever lord has the biggest castle,' Rhaenyra spoke in annoyance. Daenys grabbed her hand in support and said,

"Your father is getting on my nerves, lately"

"There are worse things to be sold for," Daemon replied, speaking of experience. He had been young when he was betrothed to Rhea Royce.

"Marriage is only a political arrangement. Once you are wed, you can do as you like," Daemon directed his words at the Princess.

"For men, marriage might be a political arrangement. For women, it is a death sentence." Rhaenyra said in High Valyrian.

"Would that it was. I would've been rid of my Bronze Bitch ages ago." He replied in High Valyrian.

Rhaenyra sipped on her wine while refilling Daenys' goblet.

"Your wife has been fortunate. You haven't put a child in her." Rhaenyra said.

"I doubt a child could grow in such a hostile environment." Daemon replied, his laughter fading away as Rhaenyra scoffed.

"My mother was made to produce heirs .. and it got her killed," Rhaenyra spoke heavily in emotion. Daenys remembered the time when Aemma gave birth to Rhaenyra and how much she suffered then. The horrifying birthing scene made young Daenys run away from home in order to avoid marriage and the same fate.

"I won't subject myself or Rhaenyra to the same fate," Daenys stated strongly.

"What happened to your mother was a tragedy. But this is a tragic world." Daemon's words were laced with comfort towards Rhaenyra.

"I have no desire to live in fear. Only solitude." Rhaenyra replied strongly. Daemon smiled at the two women with such newfound fondness.

🥀

As Daenys was getting ready for bed, she noticed a bag sitting on the chair. She moved it and lifted the bag onto the table and poured out its contents onto the table to see commoners' clothing.

"Daenys?" A whisper spoked, a voice she recognised.

"Rhaenyra?" Daenys replied. She turned around to see her niece come out of the wall. A secret door she had no idea existed, "Rhaenyra, how did you even discover the secret passages?" she asked in awe.

She momentarily forgot about the bag and went up to Rhaenyra in excitement, "Can you imagine what we can do with this? We can sneak into kitchens or -

Rhaenyra had placed a hand over Daenys' mouth to keep her quiet, "Now aunt-you do not want us to get caught do you? Now, have you received a bag from Daemon?"

'Yes... Where are we going?" Daenys's eyes widened in curiosity, but for some reason felt a bit giddy as to what they were going to do tonight, Daenys lived for adventure.

"We are going out tonight and exploring the streets with Uncle Daemon as our guide."

Daenys wasted no time getting changed into the dress and cloak. She had pinned her hair up and had it tucked behind a long scarf. There was no way she'll have herself recognized.

"You look very handsome." Daenys complimented Rhaenyra, who was dressed as a little boy.

"Why, thank you, Princess," Rhaenyra replied cheekily.

Daenys reached for Rhaenyra's hand, "Well, what are we waiting for?" The Realm's Delight chuckled at her aunt's impatience. Together, they go through the secret door and into the hidden corridor.

When they reached outside, Daemon was already standing there dressed in a cloak with a hood over his head. "Took you both long enough." He smirked.

A/N: Double update <3

#daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon targaryen x reader #hotd daemon #hotd #daemon targeryan #rhaenyra targaryen #queen rhaenyra #daemon x rhaenyra

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batchilla · 10 months ago

Text

Fata Morgana Chapter one: A Favor Given.

Content warning for some … outdated views on women. Don’t worry, you can fix him.

The tournament of Fata Morgana brought with it all the excitement of a tournament, but given it fell so close to the annual Festival of Cupid, it held more still. For as well as the honour of victory, a gold purse and acclaim, the winner was given a crown of roses, to give to any maiden he saw fit to choose, and to open the Ball of Cupid by sharing a dance with said maiden. Captain Jason Todd, the knight of Arkham, had won the past three years, and each year, the same maiden had been given the crown.

You.

You, the princess, and only daughter of the king of a small yet ambitious nation. You, who while understanding that your affection for the hero of the battle of Arkham, the captain of your personal guard, could never be fully realised or acted upon. You, who had the last three years watched him compete with baited breath hoping to dance with him once more. You, who after he had first presented you the crown three years hence, had given him a favour the next two years. You, who on the eve of his fourth tournament, are sneaking down to where the competitors have pitched their tents around the competition field, to do so once more.

The air is warm, crickets and the nickering of horses punctuated by the occasional voice. They are stoic, not rowdy or drunken, that will come tomorrow when the contest is over. Tonight, the sense of anticipation and solemn preparation lingers over the field. You find his tent with relative ease, it’s blood red fabric near black in the darkness, but his steed is tied outside and pays you little mind as you hesitate outside the tent flap. There had been no hesitation when you slipped past your guards. No hesitation in deciding to come here. Still, you hesitate now, when the only thing separating you from him is canvas, struck with nerves over what exactly you would say to him.

Your stalling is ended by the tent's flap opening to reveal the Knight of Arkham standing there, staring you down looking less than impressed. Your mouth goes dry as the desert.

He stands there in loose pants, and a white shirt with the top eyelets undone to just above the lowest point of his pectoral muscles. His hair is mused and out of order. You feel your breath catch, and it is only your lifelong etiquette lessons that prevent you from doing something completely humiliating and degenerate like bite your lip. Granted you saw him nearly every day, but there was something about seeing him out of plate, seeming so much himself rather than maintaining stoic professionalism.

“Your royal highness, you ought not be here so late - and where is your guard? God preserve me…” He runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

You try not to stare at the way the action causes his arms to move and flex, or how soft his hair seems. Instead, you force yourself to look him in the eyes, and reply.

“All is well, surely. These tents are filled with knights. Men of honour. I am perfectly safe.” You speak softly, so as not to draw attention to your presence, despite what you verbally claim, you know full well that being undiscovered will better serve you.

Captain Todd-Wayne opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. Sighs. You suppress an urge to smile, practically able to see his mind working on how to respond to that without offending your feminine sensibilities.

“Your Highness while your father’s knights - myself included - would of course never consider harming you, the matter persists you are without escort.”

You bat your eyes, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to you. “You are the captain of my guard, and have acted as my escort a great many times.”

His jaw clenches, and he makes no attempt to rebut the statement. “Who was meant to be guarding your door this evening?” He asks tiredly.

“Sir West.” You supply.

“Well. Rest assured that by sundown tomorrow he shall be thoroughly reprimanded for allowing this to happen.” He says, anger brewing under his carefully stoic features.

You sigh, but do not argue. You came for a reason, and you will not be distracted by his ire in your goals accomplishment.

You reach into your pocket, and produce a thick, blood red ribbon of finest velvet.

You hold it out, and he takes it, carefully not touching your hand, but where the ribbon hangs from your fingers.

“Best of luck in the morrow.” You say softly. You hope he understands what you really mean. What you cannot say.

You hope he knows you love him.

You turn back into the night before he can respond, the soft look of awe on his face, though the same each year, too great a source of pain and longing for you to take.

___________________________________________

Later that night, Jason lays on the temporary bed in his tent, staring at the ceiling as he idly runs the ribbon through each digit, feeling its weight, its softness. He slides it through his fingers, pulling it through and winding between each with his opposite hand. He closes his eyes and his breath shakes as he recalls its owner. Imagines it in her hair, tying it up, exposing her neck and …No. No. No.

He clenches his hand into a fist, his eyes snapping open. He was a knight. Her Knight, Her protector.

He would not dishonour her with his perverse thoughts.

He refused to.

She had done him a great kindness, in extending her favour. Clearly she knew of his affections, given his actions at the three Tournaments of Fata Morgana past even a woman could deduce the truth of his pathetic circumstance.

It was a great kindness indeed that she allowed him to indulge, one night a year in an unreciprocated fantasy, even feeding into it with this, the most generous of gifts.

Fata Morgana. An illusion. How terribly fitting, his lone solace, the one mercy he allowed his starved soul. To dance with her, once a year. To lay the wreath of roses in her hair, and pretend he was more. That he was worthy.

That he was not the second, adopted, common son of his father. That he hadn’t been sent off to be a squire so young that the Wayne estate no longer felt like home. That he had risen to his honoured rank of his position because he deserved it.

They’d said he was. The king had called him a hero. The people called him a legend. It would not surprise anyone if his story outlived him three generations. Jason Todd, the hero of the battle of Arkham. He had rallied his men, and turned what should have been a massacre into an unparalleled victory, but when the screams fell silent and the dust settled, he had disappeared. He had been declared dead. Turned into a martyr. A fallen hero.

Until he had been found in the woods of the Al Ghul estate, with no memory of who he was or how he came to be there, six months later.

The greatest of healers had helped his mind return - but what happened to him in the lost six months escaped him still.

His Father had asked him to recover at the Wayne estate. He had refused. He said it was duty. It was. But not to his king. It was duty to her, and to his heart. He had not spoken to his father since.

He knew she surely saw only a knight. How could she see more, given how little he was? A knight pinning after her to be sure, but not one she would seriously consider as a marriage prospect. He was not heir, afterall. He was not respected, he was a novelty. A fearsome novelty.

Sleep finds him eventually, a merciful reprieve from his spiralling consciousness. Only to take him away to the same nightmare he has had each night since his return.

That flash of sky, of rocks ascending skyward, the smell of salt and of decay. Pain. Nothing.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd #dc x reader #batchilla squeaks #red hood #red hood x reader #batchilla writes the words and then you read them. or don't.#please reblog my fics if you enjoy them #knight x princess #pinning #angst #slow burn

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babypinkhearts · 11 months ago

Text

forgive me, for i am far too weak to control my desires.

pairing: geto suguru + fem!reader

summary: thrones of splendor and magnificence await you. you are not equals, he believes. suguru is but a mere admirer.

warnings: royalty au, prince!suguru, princess!reader, fluff, fluff, fluff, they both have massive crushes on each other, suguru is so very lovely

word count: 2.5k

a/n: my birthday was this past week and writing this seriously felt like a mini present in itself :3 prince suguru supremacy!

a summer night is tainted with some hesitance. slight frustration, too.

morning feels far.

if you could see it — the light, any peek of sun, it’s down an endless corridor. maybe you can imagine it; hope that it comes somewhat quicker.

and yet prevalence is sickly, and you’re subjected to the dark.

gojo satoru’s land is stupidly big. the palace, even worse. you’ve told him more than once; he’d refute and say he could never imagine himself living somewhere ‘suffocating.’ but there’s too much space for a single person, and the enormous balcony connected to his mere bedroom is just the cherry on top. the absence of humbleness is apparent when you’re around him, he loses some sight. you can only slightly rationalize the size because of how often he’d have people over, all poor victims to his constant need for attention. satoru grows bored easily, and if you’d all let him, he’d take everyone’s belongings and move them into his home immediately. company keeps his world moving.

it’s the reasoning for the banquets — all ‘small’ get-togethers he’d frequently host, inviting those of neighboring kingdoms, as the ‘unpretentious and welcoming’ prince of his family. the gojo clan had respectable reputations, and you loved satoru like a brother, but they all seemed somewhat out-of-touch, no matter your own title as a fellow noble.

it’s around midnight, you think.

you can still hear the band playing. the bass of trumpets and soft melody of violins are almost distant, but you feel the tremors below your feet. it’d been a miracle that you’d momentarily escaped the ruckus, as well as fleeting royals’ hands. to turn down an offer to dance, in the vicinity of hundreds of hungry, watchful eyes — a horrid nightmare.

the noise is muffled from upstairs. every conversation, every obnoxiously loud laugh. surely, nothing can be that humorous.

satoru’s balcony has a nice view, especially at night. however, any verbal compliments have always been sealed tightly between your lips whenever you visit. his arrogance grows stronger day by day — you needed to stunt it for as long as possible. he’d become a bit of a liability, you hardly felt bad for sneaking off to his room for some privacy.

there’s a few clicks behind you when you lean just a little more into the railing.

you pray the footsteps are satoru’s, because the need for some sort of herbal tea is the most prevalent thought in your head, and you have no clue where to look for it. you know that the cabinets in the main kitchen run nearly bare if it’s anything but sugary sweets, and there’s some pool of doubt in you that believes satoru probably lacks anything remotely similar that can satisfy you. he doesn’t exactly seem like the tea type.

you’re a little overwhelmed. you craved to enjoy these banquets — you had imagined that after the fifth one, you’d be adjusted — but your attendance has always felt laborious, and the attention you receive has only grown alongside your age. your head hurts from bowing to lords and queens, the occasional knight and prince. formalities are a chore, a simple game to appear the most presentable.

the footsteps behind you halt. you hold yourself steady, and turn to your right slightly.

locks of black greet you in your peripheral vision. the smell of nice cologne follows right after.

“hate it that much?”

mellow and teasing, it’s suguru’s voice that brushes through. like gently plucking at the strings of a harp, quietly catching your attention. you give him a little glance — to make him feel noticed, and maybe to get a subtle and selfish look at his face. he looks comfortable, you think. at least, as comfortable as you could seem in form-fitted clothing. he looks good, more importantly, blending in nicely with the darkness.

an owl’s coo drives the night, melting like stardust and fading into the sky. it allures you, only draws you closer to the new warmth beside you.

“yes. badly.”

you hear his laugh — it’s the type that trickles with remnants of lasting drowsiness, just hinting at the state. every movement you’re able to peek and see from him is all quite slow, and it’s a mini battle to fight a slight upwards quirk in your lips. he’s tired, it’s obvious. maybe a little inebriated too.

you’ve never felt the need to lie to him. suguru is more like a breath of fresh air; someone genuine in a world of acting.

hesitantly, you turn towards him, meeting calming, honeyed eyes. he’s a little intimidating, even with some visible fatigue. suguru’s gaze has always been piercing, and you’re nearly positive that he’s aware. there’s a confident twinge, a sight of his effect being knowingly apparent. it’s a little annoying.

“you don’t happen to hate it too, your highness?”

when you speak, you break eye contact, far too mentally flustered to continue such embarrassing torture, no matter how addictive. you can feel him still watching you (perhaps, with a small, shameless smirk), and he slowly bows his head in a nod.

“yes. badly.”

it’s you who laughs this time.

you liked suguru. you liked him a lot. since the moment you’d been introduced to him, years ago at a winter’s ball (hosted by satoru’s family, of course). he and satoru were joined at the hip, far too inseparable to even consider letting anyone in between. but then came the addition of shoko, the daughter of one of satoru’s knights (who had later turned into his own), and then you, the daughter of his father’s new royal comrade from a neighboring kingdom.

the two of you don’t swim in riches like satoru. kingdoms separated from the gojo clan require more thoughtful spending — it’s uncommon, the priority your families hold for your citizens. you blame that for the reason why suguru is so easy to talk to, so tastefully levelheaded. he sees through unhealthy voraciousness, just like you.

but a kingdom doesn’t develop without some kind of offering. a trade-off, a contribution of sorts.

you’re shaken out of your thoughts, grimness dissipated, when suguru’s head motions to the opening behind the two of you, left bare and unattended.

you’re slightly surprised shoko isn’t guarding the exterior. but, then again, she’s most likely monitoring the banquet.

“i was growing tired of a bland talk i was having.” suguru explains, leaning ahead, similar to you. an arm stretches out across the railing, and he lets out a sigh. “fresh air sounded much better in comparison.”

there’s something in his voice that you can’t exactly pinpoint. not close to a lie, however not entirely truthful. you’re unable to read it on his face. but, in all honesty, it was hard to pay close attention to anything when he was staring so intently. his eyes might burn through.

transparency reads best. and yet suguru chooses to hide the fact that he’d seen you flee from the chaos of the banquet mid-conversation, and followed right after. the desperation for your attention seemed to had overridden his rationality, and possibly costed him a bit of his reputation. (he’s sure the woman he was talking to might have bored him to death, though).

“it’s suffocating in there.” you reply, shaking your head. “i’m not sure why satoru likes hosting these so much.”

a stamped envelope with a pretty wax engraving shows up outside your castle gates every other month. you hear the stallion of a messenger, and know by the purple hues of the letter that it’s an invitation from satoru. you’ve kept every single one, storing them in a carton box below your bed.

the banquets are phenomenal. you’re left speechless every time you walk inside the ballroom, eyes drinking up every detail from hand-painted flowers on the walls to rich crystal chandeliers. the event itself is an unsaid contest to see who could dress the best, who really screams of royalty.

suguru purses his lips, eyes trailing down below where he can see some guests leaving. servants follow suit. they carry items of negligence, holding on to a toddler’s hand as their parents carelessly cackle ahead.

he makes a motion, beckoning you to crouch from any observant eyes. two young royals sneaking off to a bedroom — it’d be the scandal of the century. his parents had warned him of publicity far too often. you follow his instructions without any complaints.

from the slivers in the space, you still have a good view of the front entrance. roses and topiary line the walkway, leading down a distant road.

a familiar figure steps out, hair slightly blending in with the bright lights behind him. he waves to the departing folk, a large grin adorning his face.

“he likes a crowd. the whole family does.”

satoru was made for royalty.

your shoulders slump in fatigued defeat. the dislike for such public conventions plagues your conscience. you’ll always be tied to them, even unwillingly.

suguru looks to you, fondness in his very gaze. he feels your worry; knows of conversations that you don’t. nothing has ever been fair for you, he’s known it since you were children.

thrones of splendor and magnificence await you. you are not equals, he believes. suguru is but a mere admirer.

he sees you know, grown and enchanting. with a dress that looks so indescribably perfect, and face so pleasantly captivating. you could be in a story book. surely, you aren’t real.

and maybe he is far too smitten, eyes always chasing yours whenever you’re in the same room. at every ball he goes to, every social gathering, he searches for your name on the guest list first.

he remembers when satoru introduced you to him. the all-knowing smirk on his face, the slight shove he had given (mischievous, because he could tell how flustered suguru had become). and yet suguru had kissed your hand ever-so-gently — even bowed in respect.

he keeps hope. that your soul of sun orbits around him for eternity, and that you’ll always be within reach.

there’s more foolish thought, though.

his eyes trail to your bare ring finger.

to wed you —

well, that would be an idea of strictly fiction.

“a duke from the fushiguro clan wanted to ask you to dance. i heard him talking to your father about it.”

suguru’s voice cuts through the silence, cursed words disguised as mystic melodies.

you wince.

it’s hidden through the curtain of your hair, and you’re sure he’s oblivious to it. some part of you wishes he had kept that information to himself.

a dance is all it takes. a dance, then a conversation, then an inescapable ring. marriage is for business, not love. nothing more than the chance to unite two lands — greed runs through royal blood. it all seems hereditary.

you rub your arms gently, and shut your eyes.

“did he?”

suguru raises his head, intrigued.

your voice sounds a little exasperated. breathing a large gust of air, almost in… disappointment.

suguru nods in response, swallowing thickly. you’re friends, you’ve spoken about subjects like this for years. suguru remembers your expressions of secret distaste you would flash to him whenever another royal would attempt to make conversation. you were good at faking interest — suguru thinks you’d be wonderful performing in a play. all maturity (forcefully) weighs you down, however. a means to accept adulthood; accepting a loss of those childish glances and joyful memories. you’re still the same, though.

but could it be, that because you’re older, the age close to a bride, that it all feels much different.

suguru feels a little sick, in fact.

he glances to you, watching as your perched head rests on your hand.

“would you have gone?”

a sound of amusement leaves your lips.

he’s a little cruel to ask for a response so conflicting. it’s all melodramatic, insignificant in the grand scheme of the things. but you know your duty. your heart just doesn’t seem to follow through.

your dress suddenly feels more uncomfortable, and you straighten a little.

“would you like my honest answer?”

you’d never find the courage to lie to him, anyway.

suguru smiles, tilting his head with a small chuckle. once more — you’re a lot less proper in private, always have been. where there’s no fear of gossip or judgement, just your authenticity. no expectations to uphold, just beauty in your natural grace. suguru is blessed.

“enlighten me, princess.”

the name, while being the correct title (something you’ve heard daily your entire life), sounds different when suguru says it. it always has. he’s a siren, you fear. those mystical beings you’ve only heard tales of, the kind that keep your sailors at shore. everything sounds better coming from his lips.

guilt tears you in two.

your best interest should be aimed towards your people — more opportunities, for the price of one measly sacrifice. an unhappy marriage, for many more happy lives.

and yet you say, without giving yourself any time to regret it,

“no.”

you look a little paranoid after you speak, as if guards with chains and pitchforks are just outside the door. but that fear feels minimal when suguru is looking at you, proudly.

some confidence overrides thoughts of ridicule. he’s the armor you desperately desire. quietly, you repeat, “no. i would have said no.”

your interests lie somewhere else. not with a duke who sees nothing further than mere appearance and riches.

weight is lifted.

suguru stares. it’s imminent, his voice. threatening an appearance whenever he swallows too quickly, preparing himself for words he feels are a little too heavy on his tongue. you’re not looking at him — he thanks the heavens that you’re turned away.

he’s unaccustomed to nervousness. you are really the only trigger to it.

he doesn’t dare glance in your direction when he finally speaks.

“would you have gone if i had asked?”

it catches you by surprise.

suguru is looking into the starry distance when you turn to him. he’s smiling a little.

he looks a prince. a real, beautiful prince.

you’d danced with suguru before, dozens and hundreds of times when academy lessons would force the eventual omission of two left feet. learning to waltz was one of the most important rules in the book — a presentation of grace, ‘civility.’ but that was before the simple gesture meant more to the public eye. citizens find such a display as an act of courting.

there’s something in suguru’s expression; sheepish, maybe a little troublesome. like he knows your answer, and only waits for you to confirm it.

you enjoy teasing him, though.

“perhaps.”

there’s a twinkle in his eyes. charm in his gaze is apparent.

the band plays lowly — they’re finishing their last few songs. stringed instruments strum their tune, and it’s delicate harmonies for intimate sways. slow dancing.

a beat goes by. it enhances the feeling of slight wind across your face, pushing back your hair, servicing suguru with a clear view of your reddened complexion.

the midnight moon reaches you, it casts an illuminating glow.

you’re very pretty when you’re looking at him so shyly. as if he’d deny you anything.

a smile reaches his features, eyes crinkling in pure delight.

“well, princess,”

and a single hand reaches towards you, open and inviting.

“will you honor me with a dance?”

#geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto suguru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #geto fluff #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jujustu kaisen x reader #geto suguru #gojo satoru #jjk angst #jjk geto suguru #jujustu kaisen fluff

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draczrys · 11 months ago

Note

I know Criston Cole is not who you usually write for and I know he’s not a fan favorite but could you write a Drabble or one shot of Criston Cole x Reader? I love Fabian Frankel and just wish to read something with one of his characters. Much love! 💕

brb just added him to my muse list bc mr fabian is yum & early s1 criston is bearable. and this trope!! my fave medieval theme ever. like wdym i’m not supposed to love a boy w big brown eyes

COURTLY LOVE. ❨ criston cole x reader ❩

the standing of a riverland lord's youngest daughter was nothing of note to the realm. little to inherit, a pitiful dowry, barely a suitor at the door. so, the seven must have blessed you the day queen aemma requested your presence at court. the princess was of age now, and in need of ladies in waiting of noble birth.

suddenly, the world was a different place. thrown into the deep end of the red keep, you had all the dresses you wished for and every suitor at court vying for your hand in marriage. no longer just an unknown lady, but a lady of the crown. still, there wasn't a single lord or son that caught your eye. not since you saw him.

"... ser criston cole!"

your breath had caught in your throat as the young knight shed his helmet and blinked up to the royal box, respects paid to the king before he looks to you.

"i would like to ask for your lady's favour, if she would be so kind," he spoke, voice smooth, eyes never leaving your own. if it weren't for rhaenyra's elbow in your side, you're sure you would have stared all day.

"best of luck, ser," comes your wishes, leaning over the wooden rail to drop your favour over his joust. you had spent a whole day on it, the princess on her's too, weaving daisies and lavender into a pretty ring. "i hope that you win."

"as do i," criston muses, smirking. "if it means speaking with you again, my lady."

a blush burns at your cheeks, hurrying to sit back down. you ignore rhaenyra's teasing and watch the knight mount his horse, readying himself for the competition. he knocks down lord after lord, knight after knight, even defeating prince daemon. the heat in your chest has your heart beating quicker, head somewhat hazy as you watch on in delight.

the chaos of a tourney day sweeps you up from your daydreaming, ushered behind the princess to dress her for the feast. though she speaks to you as you braid her hair, it's barely audible past the heavy thoughts of the knight in your ears. eventually, when rhaenyra is summoned to her mother, you find the time to catch your breath in an empty hallway. leaning against the cold stone, your eyes squeeze shut to urge any romantic ideas from your mind.

"my good luck charm."

the sudden voice startles you, turning quickly to ready yourself in defence. but there, only a few steps away, is your knight. for a moment, you think he's talking about you. noting your furrowed brows and slightly cocked head, he raises the favour you had gifted into view.

"ah," you breathe out, a smile growing on your lips. "i'm glad it was of use."

criston mirrors your smile, steps closing the space between you, his armour clinking as it still rests on his bones. his arm reaches out, offering the flowered ring back to you. "it is custom the knight returns the favour to the lady, if they have survived."

glancing at the branches and petals your hands had tirelessly woven, then back to the warm eyes that watch you so carefully, that strange feeling creeps back into your chest. you shake your head.

"keep it," you urge, cheeks rounding. "perhaps it will bring you luck again."

cole's brows raise, interest obviously piqued at your suggestion. his smile turns crooked, eyes sparkling with a life you'd only seen outside of the walls of the keep.

"and will you be present, again? in case it is you, and not the favour, that has blessed me." his tongue is playful and teasing, but his eyes hold a sincerity you daren't question.

"i cannot promise my presence to be so virtuous." you giggle breathily, eyes darting to the ground for a moment to spare yourself the dizziness that comes from his gaze. "and i should--"

"a kiss then."

the blunt but hopeful proposition snaps your eyes back to him, unsure of whether to be more shocked, offended or delighted. criston smirks, obviously enjoying your surprise. "as a precaution, of course."

stomach jumping with nerves, heart dancing with excitement, you watch his eyes carefully in an attempt to gauge whether he was taunting you or not. but no, still only genuine.

shuffling forward, close enough now, you slowly stretch upwards onto your tiptoes. eyes locked, your lips journeying closer to his cheek - slightly stubbled, but littered with freckles. they barely brush his skin before he turns his head, quicker than you can notice, replacing his cheek with his lips.

the surprise that overtakes you is quickly subdued by the sweet taste of his kiss. his lips soft, just relishing in yours. not desperate or rough as you had seen with older lords and ladies, but delicate and kind. he only parts when he feels you swoon a little in his arms, smiling against the aftertaste of the kiss. breathless, you look at each other, caught up in the warmth between you.

"my lady," criston murmurs, stepping back from your space when he hears the distant patter of feet. bowing at the waist, his eyes still linger on your own. "until next time."

#⚔️ ﹐ writings.#ser criston #criston cole #criston cole x reader #criston cole x you #criston cole imagine #criston cole drabble #hotd #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd x reader #fabien frankel #fabien frankel x reader

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avecra · 4 months ago

Text

A Change In Duty - 8

series summary: In the Northern Lands is where you meet Natasha’s fiance, King Steven and right hand man Captain James Barnes, who takes an affinity to you quickly, though you are hesitant to trust him. But when a familiar darkness begins to loom over the kingdom, you won’t hesitate to uphold the duty to your royals to protect them. And Captain Barnes will do anything to ensure the safety of the Queen’s Lady.

pairing: knight!bucky x lady!reader

word count: 7.3k

chapter warnings: graphic depictions of physical abuse, nightmares, angst, hurt/comfort themes, mention/references of abuse/violent past and blood, protective!bucky times a million, but then fluffy soft!bucky

a/n - i am so so sooo sorry for the long hiatus ;--; pls forgive me as i present a new chapter a million years later

series masterlist // next chapter

Your hands trembled violently.

The back of the chair pressed uncomfortably against your back. You heard as he paced back and forth behind you, talking to the knight that stood at the door. His movements brought you nothing but panic and anxiety.

His hand anchored itself on your shoulder, talons in exchange of fingernails digging sharply into the already bruised skin. You held back a whimper, knowing it would only earn you another bruise under your eye.

“Tell me what happened during your duties today, Y/n.” His voice commanded you. Your eyes met his cold blue icy stare.

You had not meant to spill the hot water from the kettle onto the Queen’s hand. She had assured you that there was nothing to be worried about, but she was not aware of what her husband did to you in the dark shadows. You knew she would never tell her husband the things shared between you, but a certain knight always made sure to report back to the King.

He had to have known. He had to. Otherwise you would be in your closet of a room, rubbing ointments over the darkening bruises that you hid under your dress.

It was only an accident.

“Tell me now before I decide to send you to bed with a broken jaw.”

Before you could say anything, you felt a stinging sensation slash across the back of your palm and you looked down, seeing a pristine slit begin to leak, crimson tainting your skin as it rolled down the back of your hand.

“It was an accident, Your Majesty,” your voice trembled, watching as Alexander Pierce wiped blood -your blood- off his knife with a napkin before sheathing it onto his belt. “Her Majesty’s canine companion frightened me-”

Your head snapped to the side harshly, eyes clenched shut, you swallowed down the whimper. Your cheek stung so badly, you bit the inside of your cheek to silence the cry that threatened to leave your lips.

This one had come sooner than you had expected.

“I do not want excuses from you, girl,” Pierce spat at you. You nodded silently, afraid to upset him further. You knew all too well what it was like when he was truly angry. “Even after all these years, you still have not learned a goddamn thing.”

His hand reached out and roughly grabbed your bicep, pulling you up forcefully and slammed you against the wall of his study. A grunt caught in your throat that turned into a low whine the tighter he squeezed your arm. You looked at him with wide, fearful eyes.

“This is all your fault,” he spat at you. “It does not have to be like this, dear. I would not have to do this if you only knew how to do the littlest of tasks! All of this,” He grasped your wrist tightly, showing you the fresh scars from throughout the past few days, remembering the dark bruises that covered your arms, “this is all your fault! It does not have to be like this.”

“Please forgive me, Your Majesty, it will not happen again, I swear it.” you pleaded, voice void of any emotion. He was right, everything was your fault. Pierce glared down at you, pushing you harshly against the wall before releasing the vice grip he had on you.

“You are absolutely right, Y/n. This will never happen again. And if it does, I will not hesitate to feed you to the wolves. Now get out. For your own sake, I encourage you to stay out of my sight for the rest of the day.”

You slipped out of his study faster than you had ever been, wanting nothing but to curl up and hide away from the monsters that lurked within the halls. More specifically the monster that stood at the end of the corridor. The one whose hand gripped the back of your dress and slammed you up against the window, your head connected with the glass so harshly your vision began to darken at the edges.

The real fear sunk in when his hand closed around your throat.

“Spilling hot water on my mother,” His voice growled out, teeth bared as Prince Brock Rumlow glared down at you. Your hand gripped his wrist as he completely cut off your air supply. “What a stupid mistake on your part. I thought you were a smart girl, Y/n.”

The darkness that covered your vision began to lure you in, until suddenly his strangling hold was pulled off of you. If not for the prince’s vice hold on your arm, you would have collapsed to the floor while coughing.

“Come on, cousin,” The chilling sound of Quentin Beck’s voice reached your ear and you flinched when he gripped your elbow, pulling you to your feet. “As much as we wish we could kick her out of the palace, we cannot kill her. Nature will take her life rather than us.”

Sometimes you wished asphyxiation would take over. Then everything would stop. All of the pain, all of the sadness would just… disappear. Then maybe you would find peace.

“You heard what my uncle said. Get out of sight.” Beck pushed you out of his hold, dusting himself off as if you were a peasant. To them you were not even a lady. Just the servant they pushed around. “Maybe next time, you will be smart enough to use your brain when doing simple tasks.”

Your knees buckled and you fell to the floor, tears slipping over your cheeks. Humiliation and degradation sunk deep into your bones. You went to push yourself up, but not before you were pulled back harshly, darkness pulling you in instantaneously.

---

Sleep did not come easy for Bucky.

Instead, he spent the darkest hours of the night keeping a close watch on you, making sure you slept. He had worried about your sleeping habits ever since the day in the stables, when he had given you the little push to share your haunted dreams and trauma, where you had finally let your walls crumble and trusted him completely.

Bucky was no stranger to insomnia at all. In all his years of fighting battles, losing comrades and brothers, malicious dreams attacked him in the dead of night, plaguing his mind with visions of his dead soldiers, the guilt of a captain seeing his own men with empty eyes and an x marked on their foreheads.

Screams, whether it was him or the soldiers littering around him, dirt, soil and blood mixed on everyone’s faces. He had nearly lost his left arm in a battle against the Eastern kingdom, against the very man who haunted your own dreams.

Though it was years ago, and he had pushed past it, Bucky used the built up frustration and anger to become a more skilled fighter, heightened his defenses, and became a more understanding, but firm captain.

According to Steve, it made him a better knight and a better man. In a way, he understood you.

“I was once you, sweet girl.” A whisper above the thrashing winter storm outside of the window.

Bucky studied you closely, listening how the sounds of the winds whistled low and eerily, your brows suddenly furrowed. Eyes clenched and twitched, a deep inhale of air, as if something had deprived you of a breath. Your body twisted, legs twitching.

A suppressed pained moan left your lips, your head suddenly turned,cheek pressed against the pillow. Something was wrong, Bucky knew.

Gentle hands found their way to your face, one had tenderly held your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek, and the other had been placed over your sweaty forehead, thumb resting along the bridge of your nose, tenderly massaging away the frown.

A tear slipped down your cheek before a fearful gasp escaped your lips. Bucky called your name gently, wanting to ease you from your nightmare soothingly and his thumb traced down your jaw, along your shoulder and just as he barely grazed your elbow with a more firm calling of your name, your eyes shot open and you lurched forwards, almost gasping for air.

Despite the warmth of the crackling fire from across the room, you felt nothing but chills as you fought to catch your breath. You clawed at your chest, panic surging through every part of your body.

But then you remembered the warmth presence behind you, the gentle, familiar hands that ever so softly grasped your elbows, the lips that placed a kiss along your shoulders, nose brushing against your hair.

“Just breathe, sweet girl. In and out, slowly,” His voice was deep, but soothing and gentle when spoken to you. And so you followed his instructions, taking slow deep breaths in, and slow exhales until you eventually found your breath again. “I am here right here, Y/n.”

Tears filled your eyes quicker than you could process, rushing over your eyelids, racing down the skin of your cheek, dripping along the chest of your nightgown. It wasn’t until Bucky wiped your damp cheeks did you realize that you were crying.

Shakily, you brought your hand up to your neck, nails lightly brushing against the skin to see if the bruises were still present, if they had truly followed you from your petrifying dream.

Bucky slid along the bed, so that he was facing you from the side. His hand reached for yours, gently pulling it away from your neck and closing your trembling hand between his.

“It was about them, was it not?” Bucky broke through the silence, tenderly brushing your hair away from your face.

You looked down in shame, nodding your head. You cursed yourself; you had been making such good progress with the nightmares. It had been weeks since a dream as terrorizing as the one you just experienced.

“Are you okay?” Bucky’s voice was tender and soft, a look of worry on his face.

Nodding, you looked over at him with teary eyes. “Of course

The knight could sense hesitation in your voice and he grasped your hand tightly in his.

“Do not lie to me, Y/n. Please, tell me what ails you.” he begged.

Eyes are the windows to a person’s soul, something Bucky’s mother had always believed, and if it were true, terror and fear were in control of your soul.

“They will be here, Bucky.” you whispered fearfully, gripping the blankets. “I have to be alongside Natasha at all times, that is my duty as her lady. I cannot let my emotions take control over me, but I am too scared to think…” Your eyes trailed over the visible scars, knowing there were more under the layer of clothing. “To think of what happens when they see me? What will the King think of me then? I-I ran away from the East, all the way to Natasha. If they see me, they’ll take me back to those desolate lands.”

Bucky gently shushed you and reached over, grabbing your hands. He gave them a light squeeze and leaned forward to kiss your cheek.

“I know for a fact Steve would not treat you nor look at you in a different way. Rest assured that Natasha cares more about you than she shows. If you tell him about the Eastern King, rest assured they will not be allowed within a five mile raid within here.”

More tears gathered in your eyes. You shook your head slowly, hands trembling slightly as they covered your eyes, whimpering as a cry passed through your lips. The sight nearly destroyed Bucky. He reached for your hands, peeling them away from your face as he rested the heel of his palm against your jaw, his thumbs caught all of the tears.

“When we were at war with the East, I fought against Brock Rumlow alone,” Your eyes darted up to him. “around the same time you had begun your work with the Queen. I was sixteen when I officially became a knight, the same year Steve took the throne when he was fifteen. Two years later we were at war against the men of Alexander Pierce, fighting every single day.” His hands never stopped caressing your nearly dried cheeks.

“One fateful night though, Eastern soldiers had snuck into the village, attacking the innocent townspeople; men, women, children. The screams that were heard, they still haunt me in my dreams. The coup was led by Pierce’s son, Brock Rumlow, and try as he might, he was unsuccessful. Not only did he get thrown through wooden doors by a very protective mare with her newly born foal, but I am the reason for the scarring to his face.”

Mouth parted in shock, you continued to listen. “I would be a liar if I said it was an easy confrontation. In the end, we were both weakened and he got me when I had my guard down,” he pushed his tunic down over his left shoulder, revealing a ring of scars forming where his arm meets his shoulder. Raised skin that still radiated a slight pink over his tanned skin, your eyes ran from his shoulder all the way to meet his eyes. “We only lost a handful of souls, but Steve made sure the East paid for it.”

You knew why he decided to share his past with you. You knew he wanted you to desperately tell the King.

“I am scared, Bucky,” you whispered. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against your temple. “Brock… when he finds me…he will-”

“He will not have the chance. I will be right by your side the whole time.” You leaned into his embrace and practically placed yourself in his lap, curling up against him. “I will not leave you.”

You felt your eyes start to get heavy, your head resting back against his shoulder, Bucky readjusted himself so that he was pressed back up against the frame of the bed. “Please stay with me.”

Your voice was barely a whisper, but Bucky heard you clearly. He held you tighter and wrapped a blanket around your curled form. “Sleep, sweet girl. I will be here in the morning.”

–--

The throne room was a beautiful sight, but in the very moment you found yourself facing the thrones that were made for the King and Queen of the North, it was a field of nerves. Especially when the King himself sat on his throne, a silver crown adorned with jewels from the deep mountains of the forest sat perfectly on his head.

You swallowed thickly, glancing over at Bucky to make sure he was still there.

“Lady Y/n, what brings you here at this hour? It is so early, surely you would like to get your rest to prepare for the long day ahead.” The King was kind with his words, almost concerned.

The sun was still hidden behind the mountains and would not arise quite soon, but you could no longer sleep until you had discussed this with Steve, and Steve alone.

“I fear I could not sleep if I truly wanted to,” There was an emptiness to your voice. Perhaps it was the sleep deprivation, or perhaps it was the nightmare haunting you. “I uh-” you hesitated, until Steve took a step forward, coming down the few steps to face you. “I do not know how to say this.”

Steve held his hands out, urging you to place your hands in his and as you placed your hands in his, he squeezed tightly, reassuringly. “Whatever it is that ails you, I encourage you to share with me, Y/n. You are my beloved’s closest companion, and yet I feel as if I know nothing about you.”

It amazed you how kind and generous your new king truly was. In the four months that you had been living in the North, you had never seen a mean bone in his body. He ruled with genuine compassion and care for his subjects and his people, always visiting the townspeople at least every week.

Everyone adored and loved him. You could not think of a single person with ill intent towards the King. Steve was a ruler that loved and took care of all of his people.

Yet he never raised a hand towards you in any way, even when you accidentally squirted lemon juice into his eye one afternoon, making tea for him. Surely you expected to be backhanded, but a gentle squeeze of your shoulder and a laugh, the king had forgotten it happened in the first place.

“Before I came into the care of Natasha, I worked for the royal family of the Eastern Kingdom. I resided in the East for eight and a half years of--” You sucked in a breath. “of mistreatment from the King and the Princes. Though I only worked strictly for the Queen herself up until her passing, even when I assisted her, they sought to use me. I fear the moment they see me, they will have control over me again.”

Steve shook his head vigorously and looked back at the two maids who had rolled back the curtains, revealing the sun beginning to peak over the snowy mountains.

“In the Northern Lands, nobody has control but I alone. And I assure you, Y/n, nobody has control while you live in my territories. Now, let us figure a solution to prevent the Easterners from coming into the palace.”

Your eyes widened and you turned to Bucky. You never intended for them to be banned from the wedding, let alone the kingdom.

“Your Majesty-”

“The only reason why Alexander Pierce was even invited was strictly for diplomatic reasons,” Steve’s voice resounded with a firm tone. “He and his armies have brought my people pain and suffering. He has brought the most unimaginable grief to my mother, to me, to my people. And I will ban his presence from stepping anywhere near my land or my people. And that includes you, Lady Y/n.”

Words did not come to you, mouth gaped open.

“Natasha talks about you all the time, and she’s told me the things you have done for her,” his voice changed from firm to gentle in an instant, your watery eyes darting up to meet his. “Yet I feel as if I know nothing about you at all besides your love for literature. You are an enigma to me.”

No family would do that. Orphaned at a young age, you did not know if your parents abandoned you or if their fate had come to them so quickly. No brothers or sisters, no childhood friends.

No place to call home.

“I am in no way, shape or form like Alexander Pierce or his son and nephew. They have destroyed my family, killed my father, nearly killed my best friend and now he has brought an overwhelming amount of pain on you. He will not hurt you again, nor will he be allowed in Northern territory.”

“Sir-”

“No, Y/n. These men have hurt you, scarred you,” he held up your hands, raised lines of skin covering the back of your hands and wrists. “If this were to happen in the palace I ruled, your hands would not be covered in reminders of abuse. And if they were, those responsible would be banished.”

“You do not know me, I am just a servant.” was the only thing you replied.

What were you to say? Trying to differentiate Alexander Pierce and Steven Rogers was easy. Tearing away the years of physical, emotional and mental abuse even after a year of being under someone’s rule seemed to be the hardest part. Even now, looking up at the king. You had never met someone so kind and genuine.

“You are not just a servant. You are Lady Y/n, of the Northern Lands. You are an amazing woman, an amazing companion to those around you, and such a gentle soul considering your traumatic past. Everyone truly is graced with your kind presence, even the palace staff, the knight guard. Please, do not think of me as that tyrant. I like to think I actually have a sense of humor.”

You chuckled, a lone tear making its way down your cheek. Steve let your hands go, gently placing them at your sides.

“They will not step foot onto Northern territory. Rest assured, my lady, I will not rest until your fears have dissipated.”

This time it was Bucky who spoke. You looked over to him through tired, teary eyes. Gods and lords above, the only thing you craved was to just melt into the arms of your knight.

“It is still at an early hour, Y/n,” Steve nodded to Bucky. “please go back to bed. Sleep if you can, we’ve a long day ahead of us now. We do not acquire your presence until midday. Now please, rest up as much as you can and I shall see you with my betrothed soon.”

Soft hands danced across your shoulders, down your arm until Bucky’s familiar hand grasped yours, gently urging you in the direction of the corridor. It wasn’t until now that you truly realized how tired, sleep deprived you were.

His hands never left you as he led you down the same hallway, the thought of him leaving you alone brought tears to your eyes, a few slipping down your cheek. Exhaustion settled deep in your bones, and if it weren't for the hold he had on you, to the ground you would have gone, like a sack of bricks to the floor.

“What is it, sweet girl?” Bucky frowned at the moisture along your cheek.

Warmth covered your cheek as he held your hand tightly in his own.

“I do not want you to leave,” your voice came out more of a whimper. Your hands gripped his tunic. “Please, Bucky do not leave me alone, I-I cannot be b-by-”

His hands delicately held your face, his lips coming to gently press against your own, a gentle way to silence you. You nearly melted in his arms, hands coming to rest on his chest. The way he held you, gently cradling your head as if you were the most delicate being in the whole world, you had never been cared for the way he had cared for you.

“I will stay by your side until my last day.” Bucky whispered against your flushed skin. “I know you are deprived of rest, my sweet girl. You need to sleep, especially with the festivities beginning late midday.”

Once you reached your chambers, Bucky swept you into his arms, which emitted a surprised gasp from you, though you leaned your head against his shoulder and he walked you over to your bed. As every other time, he was as gentle with you as the last time.

Placing you on the bed ever so gently, he readjusted the pillows, until he could see that you were comfortable. He covered you with the covers that kept you warm on nights as frigid as the winter storm began to pass.

You nearly succumbed to the slumber instantly, barely felt the knight’s presence slide into the bed behind you. Only a few hours would you rest, both yourself and the captain were to be ready to welcome guests into the palace for the dinner party.

Eyelids drooping with exhaustion, you turned and pressed your face into Bucky’s chest. “I am scared, Bucky.”

The knight soothed his hands over your back, rubbing circles into your skin in order to calm you.

“I know. But please, just trust me when I say that they will not harm you again. You have my word, my lady.” he whispered into your ear, pressing a kiss against your temple. “Please, try and get some sleep.”

You peered up at him through sleep-lidded eyes, remnants of a small smile curving your lips. Though you were too sleep deprived to think straight, you trusted Bucky with every fiber in your body.

---

The chill of the winter air settled in your bones, feet shifting in the boots Ser Herreck Goldum had provided you with.

Snow and ice crunched under your feet, walking alongside the King and the soon to be Queen. And just as His Majesty had promised, knight guards walked alongside the thrice of you. The Captain, alongside five of his most trusted men; Wilson, Lang, Barton, Goldum and Maximoff.

Strong and loyal men who would willingly fight and shed blood for their royals, as you would for Natasha. Tough exteriors to the men, rough around their knightly duties, but gentle in spirit. They guarded around the royal couple, swords sheathed at their hips, the Captain kept his hand on the hilt, ready for anything.

You stood slightly behind Natasha, bowing every time you met royals from other lands and countries, everyone looked at you with a kind smile.

The heavy cloak that sat around your shoulders kept the winter chill from nipping at your skin. Courtesy of His Majesty who had ordered a cloak to be made for you the moment you stepped foot on his palace grounds. You wondered if Steve was real or rather a dream.

No Lord or King had ever done that for you.

A light snowfall began to float from the skies, small specks of snow landing in your hair, one even landing atop of your eyelash. You shook your head playfully, the snow shaking away from the clutch it had on your hair, and you could have sworn hearing Bucky laugh under his breath.

The crowds of people moving closer caught your eye, as well as the flags mounted getting closer with every second. Kings and Queens. Lord and Lady’s

It made you nervous with every passing second, dreading to see the familiar flag of the Eastern kingdom, the dark maroon fabric, two swords clashing with a small saying from the ancient language.

You stood with a silent smile, bowing to every royal you encountered as both the King and soon to be Queen greeted their guests with kindness and gratuity. Every so often, you would turn your head towards Bucky’s direction to see if he was still behind you, and each time you were met with a gentle smile and cerulean eyes.

The captain dipped his head slightly, his eyes worried, almost as if they could ask - were you okay?

You nodded and gave him a tight lipped smile. When you had woken up, Bucky was still there next to you, though there was a dread that sat deep in your bones.

It damn near made you panic for a solid few minutes, but Bucky assured you over and over that they would not see you. He held you until your mind settled and only when it was nearing the middle of the day did he roll out of your bed, quickly pressing his lips against yours.

Dark, grey clouds loomed over the mountains, you noticed. The once green hills were now covered in several feet of thick snow. You wondered how cold those woods truly were, the thought alone was terrifying.

“Everyone has been so kind today, dearest.” Natasha squeezed her lover's arm.

The smile that was on your face, albeit a small one, disappeared when your eyes laid on the familiar dark grey fabric, the all too familiar insignia.

Nails dug crescents into your palms as you curled your fingers tightly into a fist. The panic began to swirl throughout your body, feeling the stinging on your palms as the brisk winter chill brush across the courtyard. Despite the bitter cold, you were too hot.

Bucky glanced towards you, eyes narrowed when you did not return his gaze. His eyes trailed down to your hands, where he saw droplets of blood begin to drip in the snow. The knight clenched his jaw tightly for a moment, his hands ready as they rested on the hilt of his sword. “Which one?”

He looked towards you, awaiting your answer.

“Grey.”

Bucky whistled, grabbing Steve’s attention. Two other knights peered in his direction.

“They are approaching soon. Dark grey flags are the Easterners. They are prohibited from entering the grounds in the North. Let us not forget the pain and suffering our lands went through at the hand of the monsters approaching.”

Bucky nearly gritted out the last part. Steve nodded and both Goldum and Maximoff stood on either side of the royal couple, hands fixated on the hilt of their swords. Lang, Barton, and Wilson had stood by Bucky, while the captain had placed you directly behind him, in the middle of two other handmaidens.

Bucky pulled your hood over your head, tucking strands of hair into the hood, so that you would blend in perfectly. Unnoticed. He then grabbed your hands and unpeeled them, wincing one he saw the bloody crescent shaped indents. Crimson dripped out of your hands and into the snow below. A bad habit you had picked up in the East.

“My lady,” he sighed worriedly, but you kept your head down, completely silent. Fortunately, Wanda spared a piece of her apron and tore a long strip off. Together, both Bucky and Wanda worked to wrap your hands quickly, before King Alexander and his monstrous kin approached.

“I shall see to it that Lady Y/n’s hands get the proper treatment later this evening, Captain Barnes.” Wanda said in a hushed tone, and for that you were eternally grateful. The knight nodded and turned to you, dipping his head to meet your gaze.

“It will be okay, sweetling. Trust me.” He tightened the hood and both handmaidens did the same. Bucky turned around and heaved a sigh, hand ghosting over the hilt of his sword. “Stay hidden.”

Wanda covered herself with a hood, sliding closer to you, offering her hand, but you were too anxious, too fearful to. But the young maid understood completely, moving her hand to rub up and down your back before drawing her hand back.

Bucky glanced around, seeing the all too familiar crescent of the Eastern Lands, a grey slithering snake wrapped around a dagger. They began to get closer. A darkness began to loom in, Bucky could feel it.

“They are approaching. Stay hidden, just until they are out of sight again.” Bucky dipped his head to catch your gaze. You were almost inattentive, disassociating. “The moment they are out of sight.”

He quickly nodded to Wanda and you, after turning around. He whistled, and his knight guard formed a barrier around the royal couple and the two maidens behind. His hand was perched on the hilt of his sword, watching their every move. His every move.

Brock Rumlow.

Mahogany met cerulean, and from the moment Bucky laid eyes on him again, a darkness covered him. Though, as Captain of the Knight Guard, he had to keep his composure. There were still other monarchs around, some traveling with young children. He did not wish to traumatize any innocent folk, especially not that of a young child.

“The North is to never associate itself with the darkness that covers the land in the East,” Bucky announced loudly to his men, as more knights followed from the gates. “Let us not forget these are the same men that burnt our people’s homes down, attacked our kingdom. They are not our allies. They are our enemies, and they are forbidden from stepping foot on this land!” His voice raised, with every intention for Alexander Pierce to hear.

Black armor covered the dark princes’ bodies, the emblem of the snake sat directly on their chests. They sneered as the two, Quentin Beck and Brock Rumlow, eyed the knight guard, until falling upon Steve and his bride.

“Your Majesty, it is a pleasure to be here.” Rumlow bowed, though sloppily. Beck did as well, though his eyes settled on the future Queen.

“A pleasure indeed. Pleased to meet your acquaintance, Lady Natasha.”

Bucky stepped in front of her, hand gripped fully on the hilt of his sword. “You are not welcome here.”

“Is that so? Surely you are jesting, for this statement came from a knight.”

King Alexander Pierce’s voice made your skin grow cold. The voice that haunted your dreams, that plagued your mind at random times. The voice you so desperately wanted to keep away from.

You remained stoic, unmoving.

“Steven-”

Bucky stepped forward, hand fully gripped on the hilt, “You are not welcome here.”

Quentin Beck’s eyes raked over the captain’s form, though he was not nearly built as Bucky was. He began to take steps back, and Bucky picked up on it,

“Do not make my knight guard cause a scene here, Alexander.” Steve said. “Let you not forget the pain and suffering you have brought upon my people.The pain you brought on to my mother.”

The King of the East simply chortled, stone cold blue eyes filled with disbelief. “Ah, my deepest regrets-”

“Take your regrets and shove it.” Bucky snapped, eyes boring into the KIngs, into the Princes’. “You are not welcome here!”

Brock Rumlow then stepped forward, bumping chests with Bucky. His brown eyes were filled with nothing but darkness, the same eyes the captain had come into contact with all those years ago. The same ones you had been forced to stare into.

“Captain Barnes, how ill-minded of you to speak to a king in that tone of voice,” he reprimanded the captain, though he paid no attention to the pathetic prince. “if we were located in our kingdom, you-”

“And that is the beauty of it, Rumlow. We are not in the Eastern lands, now are we?” Bucky interrupted, his demeanor completely shifted to something more fierce. “Last I checked, we are in the North. You have no jurisdiction here.”

Rumlow began to push forwards, and the knight had enough, and forcefully shoved the price so hard that he slipped on the ice, landing on his rear.

The sounds of swords unsheathing began to fill the air, as two Eastern knights, Jack Rollins and Grant Ward began to step forward, as did Wilson, Barton and Lang, swords in hand, ready for anything.

“I do not wish to repeat myself; you are not welcome here. Let us not make a scene in front of every other kingdom within the greater distance and ruin your reputation further, Pierce. The North has officially cut ties with the East from this very moment until further notice.” Bucky stepped forward, pushing Rumlow away from the royal couple and pointing his sword, as did the rest of his knight guard.

Steve pulled Natasha away, just as Bucky had begun to get irate. Alexander Pierce forced a laugh and patted Quentin and Brock’s shoulders, halting them in their stance as they began to charge.

“Easy, you two.” the king began to retreat back to the carriage, as did the princes. “We must obey as we are in their land. But worry not, Captain Barnes, we will be meeting again. In the very future.”

Bucky did not like that, not in the slightest. He did not falter in his stance, not until the Easterners began to retreat, until they were clear over the snowy hills. The captain then released a heavy, tense breath.

“I do not like that last message.” Steve came up to Bucky, concerned eyes that bored into his own. Bucky agreed, nodding as he looked back at your direction for a moment, though there was no change in your stance.

The knight sheathed his sword back into place and soon his men followed in suit. “I will double the night watch when dusk comes. To ease your worries.”

Natasha watched as the two conversed, though her mind went straight to you. She quickly turned around and made her way over to you, reaching for your hands when she saw them wrapped in the fabric of Wanda’s apron. Specks of crimson peaked through the fabric.

“Y/n…” she began, and you looked up, eyes wide with tears brimming at your waterline. “They are gone, my dearest.” She reached out and wiped a tear that fell from your eye. “Captain Barnes will ensure that there is protection for us all tomorrow.”

You let out a shuddered breath, and Natasha glanced behind her to see only a few carriages left that were about to greet the betrothed couple. She squeezed your forearms and you nodded, taking in a deep breath. “I know he will.”

She gave you an encouraging smile as she stepped back into line with Steve. Bucky walked back to his position next to you, and when his eyes met yours, cerulean softened instantaneously. He could tell the panic and fear that surged through you when you heard the voice that haunted your dreams.

“He will not give up.” you said quietly, tears slipped over your cheeks. “They will be back.”

Bucky’s jaw was clenched tightly. He knew they would be. There was no denying the fact, not when Alexander’s Pierce’s final words before ascending over the hills; But worry not, Captain Barnes, we will be meeting again. In the very future

“Please trust me, my lady. The safety of the King and Queen is my only objective, and that includes you,” Bucky whispered to you, eyes boring into your tear filled ones. “As the Queen’s Lady, trust I will not let anything happen to you.”

You trusted him with your life, but Alexander Pierce was steadfast, tenacious. He would not give up until he got what he wanted. What he wanted, you did not have a clue. You only hoped that they did not know you were even here.

You had only hoped.

---

The rest of the afternoon felt numb to you.

It was not long until Steve and Natasha began to make their way back into the castle, you and the rest of the maidens followed them back to the palace.

A quick rehearsal dinner was all that was left in the day, you reminded yourself. You took your place in the hall, observing as Steve and Natasha began their routine, arms linked as they led each other to their seats.

It was nearing dusk, and you were exhausted from the day. From the very early hours of the morning, the few hours of sleep, the whole interaction hours earlier. It was a lot to take in, and your hands still needed to be tended to. You supposed you could do it yourself, you did not want to burden anyone else today.

“Y/n?” You straightened up upon hearing Steve’s voice. He had begun to approach you with a soft, sympathetic smile. “Please, go rest for the rest of the night. I cannot fathom how difficult it was earlier today for you.”

Shaking your head, you began to detest, insisting you were fine.

“I hate to say this, but as your King, I am ordering your dismissal for the night.” he said, though he was jesting in an unserious tone, it brought a smile to your face.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” you said, dipping into a curtsey. You smiled at him, eyes going from the king to your best friend, who smiled and winked at you.

You excused yourself for the night and made your way into the halls, making your way to your chambers. You were relieved to be under the rule of such a kind, generous man. Total opposite from the man you had been i close proximity merely hours ago.

Entering your space never felt so good. You quickly peeled off your dress and replaced it with your nightgown, desperate for a good night rest.

Before anything, you needed to get your hands cleaned. It would not be the first time you had cleaned yourself up. Just as you were ready to situate yourself, the door suddenly opened, and you could feel the presence of your knight.

You did not have to turn around to know that it was Bucky.

“Hi,” you whispered, turning around to face him. He was dressed in a loose tunic and pants, he looked as though he was about to retire for the night as well.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he replied softly, making his way over to you as he gently grasped your face, thumb caressing your cheek. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against your lips.

When he pulled away, he took your wrapped hands in his and began to untie the torn fabric, revealing the crescent indents from your nails, dried blood covered your palms.

Without another word, Bucky began to reach for the medical supplies you had pulled out, prepared to clean the wounds himself. He guided you towards your bed and lifted you up, adjusting so that he made sure you were comfortable and began to clean.

You sat in silence, the damp cloth gently painted over your palms, ridding the dried blood away. When he spread the gel, the stinging did not affect you. You were so exhausted, the only thing you yearned for in the moment was rest and sleep. Before you knew it, Bucky began to wrap your hands in the gauze around your hands.

“All done, sweet girl,” Bucky whispered softly, and he leaned down to press kisses against your bandaged palms. You smiled at him, softly thanking him before a yawn took over you.

You stretched out your legs before scooting over to the other side of the bed, a silent invitation for the knight. The soft cotton of your sleeves felt soft against your cheek as you turned on your stomach, arms folding underneath your head.

“What?” you whispered under his gaze.

“Nothing. You are just… so beautiful.” Bucky said, laying down on the open spot next to you. He sprawled out on his side, his arm propped up his head, chin resting in hand as he gazed down on you.

Flipping yourself on your side, you looked at him , cheeks heating as he rested his other hand on your cheek, leaning forward to capture your lips in a long, soft kiss.

He pulled away after several long seconds, dipping down to kiss your exposed neck, goosebumps littered your skin as he kissed the sensitive skin. You sighed, eyes closing shut as he kissed around the column of your throat. In all your years, no one had ever shown you the affection that Bucky had shown you.

From the moment you stepped foot in the Northern territory, he had been instantly enamoured. Now, several months later the two of you laid in bed together, even after the stressful events of the day, you felt a moment of peace.

Bucky pulled away from your neck, leaning down to kiss your lips once again, he whispered against your lips, “I love you.”

A small gasp left your lips, eyes opening as they made contact with cerulean. He caressed your cheek, hand brushing over your forehead, over your hair. “You do not have to repeat it back to me, but I wish to tell you how I feel about you.”

Bucky ran his hand over your hair, eyes filled with nothing but adoration when he looked at you. You opened your mouth, but another yawn had overtaken you, eyes drooping.

“I think it is time for you to get some proper rest, my sweet girl,” he whispered, bringing the covers over himself and you. He pulled you closer to him, so that your head rested on his chest.

A kiss to your head, the world began to get dark and darker, until your eyes were fully shut. Within a few minutes, your breathing had evened out, indicating you had finally fallen asleep.

Bucky wrapped the blankets tightly around you before he found himself starting to lull to sleep, his grip on you never faltering.

---

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x y/n #knight!bucky

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