you saw your mute knight protector without a shirt for the first time after your unauthorized midnight walk through the castle is interrupted by the intruder warning bells shaking the building wide awake.
in an attempt to rush back to your chambers, he finds you… well, snatches you up from behind into one of the larger crevices of stone. you yelp into the hand clamping your mouth until he spins you around, body smushing into yours, and you recognize the lines of his face. with teary eyes, you huff.
“gods, you scared me!” your loud whisper is paired with a snack to his bare chest—wait.
bare chest?
the mute knights heaves with the leftover worry from bursting into your quarters to see you bed cold and empty, impressive pecks growing and shrinking with each rough breath. he’s covered in scars and a patch of hair that makes you forget your words and blink. the soft yet strong of his exposed figure isn’t much help either.
peeking back up at his face, you can tell. he’s not happy with you.
why? is all his expression reads, brows pinched and nose flared.
“i… i’m sorry. i couldn’t sleep, i was just taking a walk,” you explain, hands fingering with the string at the side of your sleeping clothes. he stares at you hard for your answer before shaking his head with a huff. still upset.
you accidentally look at his chest, which leads to the broad of his shoulders, and strong belly. close enough you could reach out and rest a palm, so you do. right onto his chest, near his heart, which is racing. “i truly am sorry. i should’ve alerted you.”
the knight drags his gaze to your hand with a held breath. the bells are still tolling when he lays his own over yours. something in his stare is less angry, but still sharp. already deciding that when he gets you back to your quarters he is to remain with you until word of all clear has and you have taken a decent amount of sleep.
Lately, it has been flooded with paranormal encounters. From your classic ghost cases, stray spirits, or confused werewolves that wander to town after a full moon.
But this new case, it's something you don't see everyday.
Before you stands a man, or what remains of him. A soul attached to a suit of armor.
The dirtied and scuffed metalwork still has some spots that shimmer under the moonlight.
The knight moves its hand to the hilt of his sword, which makes you take a step back.
But instead of cutting your head off, it kneels in front of you, the rattle of the rusty armor disturbs the usual calmness of the forest.
"Uh, hello, sir knight?" You greet it, doing a little curtsy like what you see in movies and shows.
The knight glances up at you and responds with a deeper bow. It looks like he's friendly, nice!
This is not the first time you've dealt with a mute ghost. However, seeing as this knight is several hundreds of years old, communication will be a bit difficult.
But you can't give up! So you pull out a small notebook from your bag. The ghostly knight watches you carefully.
"It looks like you can somewhat understand me," you say as you hand the notebook to the knight. He picks it up as if it was a small animal, a pretty cute sight.
You also hand him a pen. "Do you know how to write?" You ask, doing a writing motion in the air.
He seems to understand and scribbles something down, once it's done, he shows it to you.
And... it's a language you haven't seen before.
You sigh and give him a smile. "I guess I have to learn something new, huh?"
The knight doesn't respond, but you can guess by its body language that it must be feeling confused.
You smile again and decide to take him home, at least so you can keep an eye on it for the time being.
▶︎ The Friendly Knight (starring. some original characters Various! x Fem!reader)
synopsis. You were thrown into this world, a book that you read from time to time and now this was just a small day of respite with the Knight.
A series of one shots that I want to put out
The jealousy that often surfaced when you thought about the life you used to have felt almost embarrassing now. It was difficult to dwell on it when you were surrounded by a beautiful village and even more charming people to complement it.
The days spent trying to understand this world beyond what you had once read in the pages of a book were unlike anything you could have imagined. No matter how detailed a page was, it could never truly capture the whole of something. None of it could ever be translated completely into ink.
Being thrown into a world filled with power while possessing none of your own had been a devastating blow to your ego. Especially when all you had ever dreamed of was becoming part of the magical wonders this world had to offer.
A breeze brushed against your face, tickling your nose as you tried to make sense of your thoughts.
"Are you nervous?" A voice emerged from behind you.
Your role in this world was that of the princess's lady's maid. It wasn't particularly glamorous, but it came with one major advantage: you weren't part of the main cast. From your perspective, there was far too much emotional turmoil among them. Each one nagging to be the one that ends up with her. Gladly you didn't have to deal with that.
The princess's many suitors were all kind people, but following their stories felt strange. In the novel, it was entertaining enough. Living through it, however, felt like aging decades overnight and finding yourself at fifty while watching a group of teenagers stumble through first love.
Today, the princess's knight had been assigned to accompany you. It was odd how much the princess fussed over you, but it afforded you a comfortable life, so you couldn't complain too much. On your rare days off, you liked wandering through the market. You didn't leave the castle often, but whenever you did, it was nice to mingle with ordinary people.
"Ive been around town before," you laughed. "I haven't a clue what you're talking about."
You often wondered whether the knight's constant concern was the result of the princess's orders or simply his nature.
"Sorry." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he continued walking beside you. "What are we looking for today?"
"I'm already spoiled enough back at the palace, but I think it'd be cool to check out some of the trinkets around here." Admittedly, you had once tried to suppress your old slang. However, after years of living through a second growing up and life you suppose, you had stopped caring. It felt like one of the few pieces of your old life you still possessed.
"Now I'm the one getting nervous," the knight huffed. "For your sanity, because I don't think you're nearly as spoiled as you claim."
"Yeah, right." If the knight wasn't constantly following you around like an exceptionally well trained guard dog, his argument might have been easier to believe. Your wardrobe alone was proof enough.
Every dress you owned was made from luxurious silk in varying shades of baby blue and pink. They were undeniably beautiful, but they were also wildly impractical. Not that it mattered you weren't allowed to wear anything else.
The arrangement had earned more than a little resentment from the other servants. Many of them thought it was ridiculous, and honestly, you couldn't entirely blame them. Still, it wasn't something you had any control over. The princess treated you less like a maid and more like a doll she had stubbornly refused to outgrow.
The walk into town was short.
The palace sat at the heart of the kingdom, elevated just enough to loom over the city below. White stone walls gleamed beneath the afternoon sun, visible from nearly every street like the kingdom's own personal star.
The knight walking beside you had become one of your closest friends over the years.
At least, you assumed that was how he saw you.
Whenever the two of you found yourselves in the servants' quarters, he somehow always ended up sitting in front of you while you fixed whatever part of his appearance he'd neglected. Straightening his collar. Brushing dust from his uniform. Retiring his hair after training.
He always had an excuse. His favorite was particularly absurd. "We both work directly under the princess, so it only makes sense that I come to you."
You still had no idea what that was supposed to mean.
The logic was complete nonsense, but eventually you'd give up trying to understand it. You simply assumed he felt comfortable around you.
The thought made you smile. You remembered your first meeting surprisingly well. Back then, both you and Princess Veria had only been sixteen. The king had summoned her to the Great Hall, and after declaring that she absolutely could not attend alone, she'd dragged you along despite repeated objections from the royal staff.
Standing before the thrones of the King and Queen was a boy.
"This is the one?" Princess Veria asked, sounding genuinely alarmed.
The king sighed. You remembered desperately wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole. One thing that set Veria apart from most noble daughters was that she possessed absolutely no sense of restraint. If she disagreed with something, everyone within hearing distance would know.
"Veria," the king said patiently, "I wanted to introduce you to your personal guard."
The princess looked toward the boy.
At the time, his hair had reminded you of ash after a fire of soft silver strands falling across his forehead. His skin was pale from years spent training indoors rather than laboring beneath the sun, and despite the sword at his side, he looked strangely nervous standing before the royal family.
More than anything, he looked out of place.
"Why?" she asked.
You nearly died. How could she possibly speak to her father like that? The king, however, didn't seem remotely surprised.
"Don't be difficult," the queen said, amusement dancing through her voice. "You'll be taking on more responsibilities soon. If you're expected to lead nobles one day, you'll need someone capable of protecting you."
Veria folded her arms and looked the knight over.
She had never been particularly fond of having men around her. Most of the young noble sons she'd met were insufferable, arrogant, or both. Still, this one seemed harmless enough. Not especially charming, not particularly impressive, but at least he looked like he possessed a functioning brain.
Then he glanced away from her. Toward you. The moment Veria noticed the subtle softening in his expression, it was over.
The princess whipped around to face the throne. "I don't want him."
Before anyone could react, she marched across the hall, wrapped both arms around you, and pulled you firmly against her side.
Then she glared at the knight. It was not a good day for your cortisol levels.
"Veria..." the king warned.
"No."
"Veria."
"No."
Her grip tightened. The glare she directed at the poor boy could have frozen an ocean.
The knight looked completely bewildered. You weren't doing much better.
"Rotten luck, daughter," the king said with a weary sigh. "The assignment has already been approved."
It had been one of the most embarrassing moments of your life. Even now, five years later, you still had no idea why she'd reacted so strongly. You'd spent weeks apologizing to the knight on her behalf, followed immediately by several lectures directed at Veria herself about respecting her parents and new people around her.
Neither effort had accomplished much. Thankfully, time had softened everything.Still, whenever you thought back to that first meeting, a grimace immediately came to mind. The poor man never stood a chance.
By the time you reached the market district, however, the memory had faded beneath a far more important distraction.
Your attention darted from stall to stall, immediately captivated by the countless displays lining the streets. You couldn't use magic yourself, but that hardly stopped you from appreciating it. To your left, a weaponsmith had several enchanted swords displayed on a rack outside his shop. Traces of elemental magic shimmered across their blades a glow dancing along one edge, frost clinging to another.
Your eyes practically sparkled. to you that was so fucking cool.
“You know I’m here to protect you. If you’re looking to be on your own, then you should remember that I’ll always be by your side.” The knight's voice carried a hint of disappointment as he watched you drift farther into the weapon shop.
“Wyll, you and I both know that’s not true,” you replied with a small laugh. “Besides, I just think it’s an amazing sight.”
You stepped closer to the display of enchanted swords. One of the fire infused blades seemed to radiate a gentle warmth, its crimson runes glowing faintly beneath the polished steel. Captivated, you immediately began questioning the salesperson about the history of each weapon, the forging process, and the magic woven into their construction.
Beside you, Wyll gave you a quiet once over. Though he served the crown and had been assigned to your side just to watch over you by the princess, he had been hopelessly smitten from the very first day he met you.
He never quite understood your fascination with magic. Coming from a ducal family, he had been surrounded by it his entire life. Enchanted artifacts, powerful mages, elemental weaponry were all ordinary to him. Yet every spell and magical trinket seemed to fill you with wonder.
Perhaps, he thought, it was a testament to your innocence. How cute.
In the original novel, Wyll had been nothing more than the princess's loyal friend. Readers had spent years questioning why he was never considered a love interest. He was gentlemanly, dependable, and kind to a fault. Even if the princess herself never regarded him as particularly handsome, he was undeniably one of the author's most striking character designs.
Wyll himself never received much attention in the story. Most of his scenes involved accompanying the princess or standing guard beside her.
The two of you often spent your time mocking the ridiculous suitors who came seeking her hand whenever formal introductions were arranged.
Still, he couldn't deny that he disliked how excited you became whenever those suitors appeared. To him, it looked like you were simply fawning over handsome men. Perhaps there was a touch of jealousy involved. Not that he would ever admit it.
True, he was the son of a duke, but with an older brother set to inherit everything, his own prospects were considerably less impressive.
Little did he know, your excitement had nothing to do with the men themselves. You were excited about the routes. Every new suitor meant another potential storyline for Veria.
Unfortunately, you had never finished the novel series in your previous life, leaving you completely unaware of who she ultimately ended up with. While you liked to think you had matured beyond your former fangirl tendencies, that part of you never truly disappeared.
“What beautiful craftsmanship,” you said after finishing your conversation with the salesperson. “The weapon work here is really admirable.”
You turned back toward Wyll.
Want to know what else is beautiful? The thought appeared uninvited. He shoved it away immediately.
“They are impressive,” he said instead. “Though I’ve only worked with ice and quantum swords myself.”
He lifted an arm casually.
“Quantum?” Your eyes widened. “That’s surprising.”
You instinctively grabbed his arm.
A grin tugged at his lips. “Surprising? You think I can’t handle it?”
“I’m sure you can. I’m just shocked because don’t knights usually master the elemental disciplines before moving on to quantum?”
“Well,” he said, trying and failing to sound modest, “those with exceptional talent tend to advance a little faster.”
“Oh, how humble of you.”
You brushed a strand of hair from your face as you rolled your eyes.
“I’m allowed to be proud of my accomplishments.”
Eventually, the two of you moved into the bookstore next door. The moment you stepped inside, you immediately wandered away from Wyll, drawn toward rows upon rows of books stacked from floor to ceiling. The familiar scent of old parchment and ink wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.
There was little point in studying magic. Without any mana of your own and no way to control it, such books would only serve as a reminder of what you lacked. Instead, you gravitated toward history, folklore, and fiction. If this was truly your life now, then you needed an escape somewhere. As your fingers skimmed over the spine of a weathered novel, a familiar voice suddenly cut through the atmosphere.
"I cannot believe my eyes." You froze. That voice. Turning around, your eyes widened. Standing several feet away was a young man with dark hair and an amused smile spread across his face.
"Viktor!" The book nearly slipped from your hands.
Without a second thought, you rushed toward him. The viscount barely had time to brace himself before you collided with him in a hug. A laugh escaped him as he caught you effortlessly.
"There she is."
You grinned so hard your cheeks hurt. Of all the people to run into today, Viktor was the last person you expected. He wasn't even supposed to be here. he was little more than a background character mentioned in passing. Someone that was in flashback that helped Veria with some tutoring when they were simply small children.
Yet to you, he meant much more than that. When you had first arrived in this world terrified, confused, and nearly drowned in a river. Viktor had been the one to find you. The one to pull you from the water. The one who made sure you survived those first frightening days. You'd never forgotten it.
He spun you once before setting you back on your feet. "I've missed you, man," you blurted out. "Seriously. Things have been so different without you around."
Your hands rested on his forearms as you looked up at him. The years had changed him. He'd grown taller. Not to drool but also looked very good.
"Well, I would hope so," Viktor chuckled. "It's been what? Six years?"
"Something like that."
"Hm." His gaze softened looking at the dress you had been draped in. "Looks like my little sheep has been doing well for herself."
You rolled your eyes immediately. "Oh no. Not that nickname."
"Oh yes. Were you not a lost lamb in need of shelter." he gloats
"You sound crazy."
"And?" You groaned while he laughed.
"Yes, she has done good for herself."
The sudden voice made both of you turn. Wyll had appeared beside you. Several books were stacked neatly in his arms, the ones he'd gathered while looking around the store. Books he thought you might enjoy. Unfortunately, the pleasant feeling he'd had while picking them out had vanished the second he walked back and found another man holding you.
A nobleman, no less. His expression remained polite.
"Ah," Viktor said, eyes lighting with amusement. "And you've got yourself a knight. I always knew you were special."
"Why is everyone boosting my ego today?"
Viktor laughed; he always enjoyed your less than nuanced way of speaking.
"No, seriously," you continued. "After you sent me to the castle all those years ago, I ended up meeting Wyll while working under the princess."
Wyll gave Viktor a polite nod. The viscount returned it. Neither man looked particularly impressed by the other. You, however, remained blissfully unaware. Wyll stepped forward and, with almost suspiciously casual movements, inserted himself between you and Viktor. The books shifted into one arm as he did so.
You blinked. Viktor's smile widened. ‘Oh,’ he thought. "This is entertaining."
"On that topic," Wyll said smoothly, "don't you think the princess may want us back soon? We wouldn't want to keep her waiting."
The words were perfectly reasonable.
You narrowed your eyes. "I don't think we've been gone that long."
Wyll gestured toward the bookstore windows. The sun had shifted noticeably lower. "You know how she is."
He had a point. The princess had a talent for becoming drastic whenever she couldn't find you for too long. She gets quite fussy when it's your day off because she always wanted to be near you.
"I suppose." A little disappointment slipped into your voice.
You'd only just found Viktor again.
"I like this one." the viscount said.
You blinked. "What?"
"The knight." he continued
Wyll frowned.
"Very loyal."
The frown deepened.
"Nice pet."
For a brief moment, you genuinely wondered if a murder might occur inside the bookstore. To his credit, Wyll's expression barely changed. To his discredit, the grip tightening around his books suggested he was imagining several ways to dispose of a viscount's body. The audacity of this pompous asshole. He honestly wanted to sock the guy for calling him a pet but he couldn’t deny that he is loyal to you through and through. If you asked him to walk into a burning building, he'd probably ask how many floors.
"Ignore him," you sighed.
"I intend to."
Viktor laughed loudly.
"I'd still like to see you again," he said, directing his attention back to you. "Could I call on you sometime?"
Your face immediately brightened. "Of course! You know I'd see you in a heartbeat."
The answer came so quickly that Wyll visibly frowned. You failed to notice. Again.
"I'll have to check with the princess first, though," you added. "I'm surprisingly busy these days."
"As I would expect." Viktor reached for your hand. "I would never dream of intruding." he lifted your hand and pressed a light kiss against your knuckles.
Wyll looked seconds away from developing a migraine.
You simply smiled. "It was good seeing you again, Viktor."
"And you as well, little sheep."
"There it is again." you laughed out at the stupid name.
"There it is." With a final laugh, the viscount stepped away and headed toward the exit. The bell above the bookstore door chimed softly as he disappeared outside.
For a moment, you watched him go. When you first met him you had no idea what and where you were, in fact he had just been seventeen when finding a girl in all white struggling to get out of a lake. He felt normal before finding out you were in some nonsensical situation.
"Ready to go?" You turned toward Wyll. His expression had settled back into its usual calm neutrality.
"What pissed in your food?" Without waiting for an answer, you relieved him of several books and began inspecting the titles.
"I don't think you should have strange men calling on you."
"First of all, he's not strange. I feel like that interaction made that pretty obvious."
You flipped through one of the books.
"Secondly, I know what you're thinking, but calling on someone doesn't automatically mean romance. If I said I was calling on you, would that mean I'm asking you out?"
You turned to another page. To Wyll, it felt like being transformed into a wilted leaf moments before fifty goats were released to shit on him so he became one with the manure.
"Fine," he muttered. "But you haven't seen him in years. People change. You don't know if he's become weird."
"Wyll, be serious."
Your irritation was beginning to show.
"I'm just trying to do my job."
You responded by ignoring him completely. Ironically, after all that effort, the three books you ended up choosing were the exact three he'd picked out for you. The knight noticed immediately. That fact cheered him up far more than it should have.
warnings; mdni/18+; handjob (gn), knight x royal trope, power imbalance (technically), assassination plot, implied the king is a tyrant, infidelity (reader is married)
Please reblog and share your thoughts with me!! Also, if you want more of this, check find a/n at the bottom!
Upon seeing the knight for the first time, all but the blood red cloak he wore across one shoulder of his heavily armored body was unremarkable to you. He was not the first to walk the length of the burgundy carpet in the audience chamber to kneel at the steps of your father's throne, swearing fealty; he would certainly not be the last to do so.
This knight, however, did not stop at the bottom of your father's throne. Instead, he continued past it without once acknowledging the man arrayed in jewels and gold and enrobed in fine fabrics and leather and power, and stopped where you stood in the shadows, away from prying eyes. All nobility in the court observed in mystified awe as the knight pressed a gauntlet fist to his breastplate, gently grasped your fingers, and knelt at your feet.
As it turned out, he was a collaborative gift from your father and a new alchemist's guild that had set down roots in the city. The product of limitless financial prowess and unbridled research endeavors, which would likely now be funded ad infinitum, as your father's absolute delight and marvel of the knight was unmistakable.
You hadn't understood the reason for his fascination until the knight, still having said nothing of his new oath, looked up into your eyes. No face of a man gazed up at you, only impenetrable blackness surrounding two glowing pink orbs inside the helmet where his eyes should've been. You had expected a weathered but handsome man with eyes the shade of warm honey, or brown, or blue, or just something human.
To sate your curiosity and confusion, you took your fingers away from the knight and lifted the helmet straight up off his head. It was heavy in your hands, yet not enough to unbalance you until you looked inside the armor and saw nothing. There was also nothing inside the helmet. Both were empty.
You gasped and dropped the helmet, eliciting a joyous yelp of laughter from your father and others in his court (who mimicked him).
"What in God's name are you?" you asked on a winded breath.
The knight, unperturbed, retrieved his helmet and replaced it, then bowed to you once more as if to continue emphasizing that he was there for you. Only you.
He was not capable of giving you an answer, but your father was: "He is to be your protection in these coming dark days. I pray that you will not need him. But, it has come to my attention that one of my very own court harbors unforgivable malice towards me and mine. Just this morning, the taster perished after eating the breakfast porridge meant for me. They will be coming for you, too, my precious one."
Whispers in the audience chamber erupted into hysterics that reverberated all around and penetrated your skull. It was an unnecessary act to bring an assassination attempt to light in such a public manner, but your father knew no subtlety, nor did he know kindness in his punishments. Quartering would be a mercy in comparison to what else he would do.
"He is to stay with you, always," said your father, without a trace of humor.
In the distant corner of the audience chamber, covered by a shroud of dark and unnoticed in the uproar, your husband and cousin scowled at the man sitting on his throne of tyranny.
With the knight always only a few paces behind you at any given time, the days lapsed into months; one season seamlessly melding into another. The assassination attempts continued undaunted, and the bodies of tasters were kept in the cellar, frozen on ice, in the hopes of being able to extract information on the poison being used. Perhaps most interesting was that none of the attempts had been directly on you.
"My father is a hated man, Galiger," you told the knight walking in your shadow. It was springtime now, cool in the mornings, the air always full of dense mist and dew on tree leaves. You liked to flick the droplets off with your fingers. "I… you mustn't say anything, but I don't blame the hatred. He commits abominable acts in the name of God. He says God wants war with the Solyites because they're heathens, but is that true? Is that the will of God, or the will of man, Galiger?"
Galiger was incapable of speech, but the soul infused into the armor had once belonged to a faithful knight from another time. He would carefully absorb your every word spoken and take it as his own gospel. Nothing else mattered to him; the world at large was full of trivialities and hatred, none of which directly impacted you because you were sheltered behind walls of stone and metal, and him.
"I don't think my father is long for this world," you confessed, shivering in the morning breeze and thick mist. You tried to diffuse your anxiety by plucking tree leaves and tearing them in your hands. "Once he dies, then what? Mother is dead. I am the only heir, aside from my cousin. My husband is pushing me to prepare for ascension, but I don't want it. I don't want… I don't want to die. My father has made enemies of the world, Galiger."
You startled when his heavy red cloak was draped across your shoulders, his hands lingering on your body. Perhaps it was your insurmountable loneliness; the long nights alone in your chambers while your husband philandered the castle and city for his fill, or simply the pressure of an unknowable future, but you threw yourself into Galiger's cold armor and leaned against him.
He would not push you away; that would've been an offensive act, but you hadn't expected his arms to surround you in a reciprocating embrace. You hadn't thought that he could feel much of anything at all, even with his soul intact.
Enough nights had passed of you divulging your most sinful secret thoughts and desires to him because you believed that he was only an enchanted suit of armor. At no point had it occurred to you that, perhaps, a soul could still belong to a man and that that soul was still the man he had once been while he was alive. Devoted to a fault. Kind. Loving, even.
These revelations made your body burn, gave deeper meaning to the way Galiger held you close in his arms. If he had been an ordinary man, you were certain he would've tried to kiss you, and you wouldn't have been able to find it in yourself to deny him. You had told him once that you sometimes liked to pretend there was flesh and a cock inside his armor, and rough skin to touch you with.
You couldn't believe your own foolish bravery.
Even later that night, while in the bath, your recent past haunted you. Galiger was guarding the room just beyond the white linens hanging from the ceiling. They created a lovely, opaque curtain of privacy that billowed like ladies' party gowns when a breeze trickled into the room.
Ordinarily, knights would never be given the privilege of watching over their liege as they bathed, but, like you, the alchemists and your father had underestimated the human soul and assumed him to be just a suit of armor.
"My husband never touches me anymore. I have not shared a bed with him in over a year. I think that he is in love with my cousin. Interesting, isn't it?" This was said aloud to the room. No voice returned confirmation to you, only the clamor of his armor increasing the closer he got to your linen curtains. "It's okay. You can look at me. I want you to look at me. Please."
Whether as a man or a knight, he obeyed and brushed the curtain aside with one of his arms. You were submerged up to your chest in a wooden bathing vessel. A sickly-sweet floral aroma wafted around the enclosed space in a thick haze that made your head feel a little heavy.
"Touch me, Galiger. I'm… so alone," you said, lifting one of your legs over the rim of the bathtub. "You can do anything to me, and I'll take it. If… if that is your desire as well, of course." Unlike your father, you found no comfort in taking things that did not belong to you, nor what did not want to belong to you.
But Galiger has always been yours. He had been made for you. He wanted you as well.
He placed his leathery hand on the leg you left out for him and caressed your skin as he followed the obvious path up the length of your body to your core. There, he went no further and focused on your face despite how provocatively revealed to him you were in this moment. Your displeasure could not be disguised, even as he touched your face with the palm side of his gauntlet. The sharpened fingertips of steel gently grazed your skin. His leather-clad thumb came to rest across your lips, touching them. He memorized their shape and how you wrapped your hot tongue around his false appendage, mindful of the way his armor protruded.
Maybe even living armor could experience arousal, because he trailed his other hand down the expanse of your body to grope your chest, anywhere else he could grab before plunging into the water and laying the first strokes on you. The abruptness of his touch made you jolt, hands fast to grapple the edges of the tub.
You let out a sigh that quivered from both excitement and relief. His strokes began to smooth out, grew into long, languid motions that you could follow by thrusting your hips in time with his hand. As he worked you up, you tried to imagine what it would be like to have his cock inside of you, what that would look like. Maybe he'd be a normal length with enough girth to spread you wide open. Maybe he'd have just the right amount of curve to hit you where you need it the most.
Maybe, when he fucked you, it was unlike how he would behave while in armor. While he donned his persona and protected you by day, by night, he would be a fervent lover and take you with wild, hard, greedy thrusts that made the room spin around you. He would always moan when he came, and finish on your body because neither of you could take the risk.
It was a delicious fantasy that sent you over the edge. Hard. You had to bite around a wad of white linen to keep your moans quiet as Galiger's hand worked you into a searing orgasm. It was a spectacular light behind your eyes, like the night sky brightening with explosive fire before settling back into darkness.
You held onto his wrist as he stroked you through it, and then slowed once you were no longer writhing against his hand and your moans had slowed, evened into deep breaths.
He took his hand away from your core, but let it linger on your leg hanging off the edge of the bathtub still. You allowed him this as you were satisfied, not thinking that you would ever face qualms of his touching you after this. That was when you sat upright in the bath and grabbed the helmet off his shoulders.
You sank back into the lukewarm water, smiling at the glowing pink orbs staring back at you, and kissed the cold metal visor.
a/n: sorry to the anon whose friend wanted swordplay, it wasn't going to fit in with this particular version of the prompt.
if y'all want more of this, you've got three options:
1) a larger one shot of this specific prompt
2) you're the alchemist who brings the armor to life, except now the knight is loyal to you. possibly swordplay here
3) we go a yandere route where the living armor basically goes off the rails
The temple bell tolled, the sound ringing out over the sparse city streets- figures in the early morning fog of the ton shambled to worship, to work, to the fields. Hooded doctors rang their own bells, the sound sharper than that of the temple bell, the sound of sickness, mingling with the rickety sounds of their wagons as they carted away the diseased, the mad, the corpses of those who fell to the plague. Yet, looking down over the crested rooftops, from the viewpoints of gargoyles and bird roosts, the city seemed to sparkle in the early morning light.
Your loyal knight, despite the warmth of the sun, still seemed to be cloaked in shadow, as if light itself was absorbed into his darkness. His fingers tapped against the hilt of his sword, impatient. Wesley rarely slept, his eyes focused clearly on the tapestry before him. The warm red of the piece highlighted the couple, depicted in a handfasting ceremony. Maybe it was a relative of yours, or a legend, the context didn't matter to Wesley, stories were a lost venture on his part, he was too literal for them… But he couldn't help but fantasize what it would be like to be unified, for you both to be bound together. How your hand would fit inside his, fingers slotted together, how it would feel for not only having your names be intertwined together, but your souls and bodies- joined together forever more, written in the stars, recorded in the tomes of the temple to be viewed as one for generations to come. The more Wesley thought of the act he began to sweat, his cheeks warming beneath his helm. He coughed, breath stuttering as he stood straighter, the grip on the hilt of his sword growing tighter.
As two handmaidens walked past the door he silently watched them before returning to the tapestry, the girls giggled, whispering behind their hands, cheeks pink with mischief. Wesley rolled his eyes in annoyance- despite his cold facade, he was painfully awkward. Yet, those feelings seemed to disappear when around you- the fact you felt eased by his presence enough to speak your mind. Little else could bring him such comfort. He relaxed again, eyes slipping shut as he began to fantasize, the handfasting ceremony, the soft whispers that would be shared between lovers, the curve of your brow, the softness of your lips, how your body would feel under his, the arch of your back, the sharp gasp you'd let out when he'd-
A clatter came from your chambers and Wesley sprang into action. The large doors opened with a clang, his eyes wide and wary as he searched the room, only to find you, asleep in bed- a few books and a candlestick on your nightstand toppled over, your hand outstretched. You must have swept them off in a fitful sleep… Wesley smiled fondly, collecting the books from the floor with such gentleness it was almost comical, the large man scooping the tomes up as if they were precious glass. Tales of fairies and gallant heroes, he huffed with amusement, tracing the gold leaf on the covers with a gloved hand. He set them down on the dresser, turning his attention to you. How you made him melt.
His hands stilled, sword leaning against your bed, he stared down at you. Eyes wide with a childish sense of wonder that seemed so contradictory for a man who had seen such violence. His breath stilled for a moment, trying to mimic the rise and fall of your own chest. Wesley swallowed roughly, his hand flexing, the leather of his glove creaking as he tightened his fists, his nails digging into the hard fabric. He took a step closer, his gaze dragged over your form. He felt his legs buckle and he took a knee, his hands moving to clutch your soft bedsheets. He stared at you for a while, the sun rising shone light through the stained glass of your window. The warmth of it caused you to shift and Wesley drew back, holding his breath. When you did not rouse from your slumber, he carefully pulled the glove from his hand. His palms were callused, the back of his right hand bearing an old scar that must have reached far up beyond the visible area of his hand that his glove revealed. He reached out, fingers trembling. He swallowed again, feeling that odd warmth and tightness growing in his stomach once again. Through his helm, his eyes focused onto the small exposed section of your collarbones, your neck. His gaze turned piercing as he traced the lines of your curves and he couldn't help but let out a choked whine as his fingertips touched your skin, which almost seemed to glow in the early morning light.
He shivered, feeling his cock twitch as he shifted closer. Your skin was softer than he could have imagined. That first feeling of his lips pressed against your hand was not enough, but this feeling would suffice for now. His fingers delicately traced your skin, his lips trembling as he bit back a soft moan as you shifted, the expanse of your neck uncovered from the silk sheets you rested upon. He wanted to draw you up into his arms, pull the helm from his head and sink his teeth into your skin, let his nose rest in the crook of your neck and smell the heady scent of you. His cock twitched again, he felt sticky, he felt disgusting. But it all felt too perfect, like something out of one of your stories. As his fingers traced over the bow of your lips he tensed, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, he shuddered as he moved closer, that tight feeling in his stomach growing. He whimpered, pulling his helm off and letting it clunk against the stone floor. His lips parted as he sat up. It became too much and he yearned to feel how your body slotted against his. He rested his cheek against your shoulder. You whined, his armour digging into you. He carefully shifted so that his face hovered slightly above the crook of your neck. The tense feeling grew, and he could only imagine what it must feel like if you were awake as well. How you would react, the small sounds you would make, how your fingers would curl into his mousy brown hair and tug it gently to press your lips to his-
Wesley groaned, the fantasies were enough, but the smell of you, how soft your skin was against his made him whine. His hips thrusted against the bed as he carded his fingers through your hair, quietly, gently. It hurt, the feeling of his arousal being trapped beneath the layers of rough cloth and heavy chain metal- but he kept humping the curve of your bed letting his mouth fall open to carefully kiss the crook of your neck, his chapped lips trembling as he did so. He let himself be greedy. How he wished to bask in the light of your gaze as he came, but your placid face would suffice for now. He felt himself spill his seed into his clothes as he bit back a groan. He panted softly as he regained his composure. It was enough for now. But he wanted more. He carefully pulled the small dagger from his side and he took hold of a lock of your hair, carefully cutting it away. He folded it into his handkerchief and carefully tucked it away into his pouch. He watched you for a little longer, knowing you'd awaken at the third toll of the bell. He wished you knew how he felt. He wished he could muster up the courage to confess his love, his admiration, how it felt like without being by your side he couldn't breathe.
Hey everyone! Have this Knight x Princess piece I threw together real quick. It's been a while since I've written anything so don't be mean to me about it or I'll throw up 🖤
Pathetic Male Knight x fem!Princess
~500 words
The doors of the grand audience chamber groaned as they swung shut, sealing Sir Octavius inside with the King. Octavius stood at rigid attention, his posture immaculate despite the heavy armor that bore the faint, polished scars of a dozen bloody campaigns.
He had prepared himself for an unruly charge—a crude, violent princess whose reportedly hideous visage and vicious temper had driven a kingdom to its wits' end. They had sent for him because a man who had survived the mud and slaughter of the front lines could surely survive a spoiled heiress. He was, as they put it, their last hope for peace in the kingdom.
Yet the King’s tense, weary demeanor did not match his expectations. The monarch paced the dais, his voice heavy with an anxious, protective bend rather than anger. He spoke of a daughter who had rejected every suitor, driving them away until she had utterly isolated herself within the castle walls.
Octavius kept his expression stoic, though a flicker of confusion crossed his mind.
Why would a person so horrible have a line of suitors to turn away in the first place?
The King stopped his pacing and turned towards the curtained archway leading to the solar. He collected himself, smoothing where his sleeves had wrinkled. "Princess, your knight has arrived," he called out, his voice echoing off of each sconce and pillar.
The drapes parted. You stepped out.
Octavius felt the breath trap itself in his throat. The hardened soldier, who had faced charging cavalry without blinking, was entirely paralyzed.
Before him stood a woman of breathtaking beauty. There was no beast, no hideous crone. You possessed a striking elegance that made the rumors seem like an absolute absurdity; though the guarded look in your eyes hinted at the edges that kept the world at a safe distance.
The King cleared his throat, breaking the sudden, heavy silence. "Sir Knight, may I present my daughter. Princess, this is the man who will be charged with your absolute safety.”
Octavius managed to snap out of his daze, dropping to one knee in a crisp, respectful salute, his eyes fixed on the stone floor to hide his shock. He waited for you to speak, bracing for the temper he had been warned about.
Instead, you gave a curtsy bow, deeper than what was required—low enough to meet his level where he knelt.
“So you are the knight assigned to me?” Your eyes met his as you straightened back up, striking a soft place inside of him. “It is my pleasure to meet your acquaintance.”
“Y-yes, your…” His voice cracked. He grimaced so hard the scar over his left eye tightened. “Yes, Your Highness. I am Sir Octavius. I shall be both your sword and your shield.”
You chuckled under your breath. “You are my knight, then? Mine alone?”
He swallowed so hard his throat clicked.
“Yes. I am yours to command.”
And he could hear the smile in your voice when you said, “I shall keep this in mind, my knight.”
Oh.
Oh, Gods.
That was the first time he’d felt his heart beating in years.
