having thoughts about a pixelprincess kinich who has a bruise under his collar and everyone is talking about it.
it can’t be a hickey because the captain is too prickly and busy to be involved with anyone. it can’t be an injury, because who the hell would be skilled enough to injure someone like him? there are wild stories and conspiracy theories being passed around, ranging from political coups to magic and monsters, all to explain the existence of such a small, purpling mark.
one of the newer recruits is dared (aka forced) into asking kinich about it during dinner.
he stiffens, a bloom of pink spreading over his cheeks as he takes another swig of his drink.
“go ask the princess,” he mutters under his breath.
(so maybe the captain isn’t too prickly or too busy, he’s just too prickly and too busy for anyone who isn’t you.)
pairing. kinich x fem!reader
wc. 1.4k
genre/warnings. harbinger!kinich, knight!kinich, assassin!kinich, mentions of killing/blood/violence, hurt/comfort
summary. the ways kinich comforts you across different universes.
author's note. this blog is the fucking kinich multiverse LMAO. all au sources will be linked! enjoy <3 unedited my b it's 2am reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!
BRIGHELLA, THE HELLRAISER [HARBINGER!KINICH]
The Tenth Harbinger is a busy man.
He doesn’t like to waste time, doesn’t bother with subtleties and anything he deems uneconomical. There are few issues that are worthwhile to a man of his stature—with the wealth of power at his fingertips, minor concerns can become mere memories.
And still, despite it all, he cancels the rest of his appointments for the day when he finds you alone, sobbing into your shirt.
There’s no hesitation. He simply turns to the closest Fatui agent, tells them to clear his schedule, and orders them to leave. Nothing excessive, nothing unnecessary. It’s how he always is.
The bed dips shallowly when he sits down next to you, a newfound warmth introduced at your side. For a few minutes, it’s quiet. Only your stuttering sobs fill the air, and Kinich just listens.
“I don’t like when you cry,” he finally sighs, smoothing down your hair.
“I know,” you murmur in reply, tucking yourself closer to him. The inky fur at his collar brushes your cheek. “I’m sorry.”
And really, you are. This kind of soft weakness isn’t accepted in the Fatui, at least not where you’ve seen.
He hums, the vibration making you shiver. “Don’t be.”
Kinich’s warmth disappears abruptly from beneath you, your eyes flying open in surprise.
He’s leaving?
“Wh—where are you going?” you ask, watching as he rises swiftly to his feet. The darkened silhouette of a long, spiked tail slithers beneath the shadow of his cloak.
There’s a note of something grim in his expression, a nightmarish aura drifting from his seemingly calm figure. Most wouldn’t notice it until it was too late, but you know.
You know the monstrous things he is capable of. You witness them every day.
Kinich glances back at you distantly.
You can never quite describe the way that his eyes rake over you, a chilling affection in his gaze. It makes you feel protected, but not warm. Loved, but caged.
“Tell me who made you cry,” he urges quietly, a single gloved finger tracing your jaw. The corner of his lip quirks up when your eyes widen. “And I’ll take care of it for you.”
PIXELPRINCESS!AU [KNIGHT!KINICH]
Royals raise their heads high before their people.
It’s one of the rules that you’ve learned since you were a child, so foundational that it’s been etched deeply into your brain. It’s the structure of your perfect posture, the chin-up smile that graces your face as you walk the halls of the castle. To underperform would be to disappoint your people and ignore what your role requires of you.
That’s why you only cry during the night.
No one usually catches you—the maids are long gone, and you should be fast asleep by now. But sometimes, the weight grows so overwhelming that it squeezes the sobs from your chest. Even despite your best efforts to remain quiet, the sounds echo from the tall ceilings of your room.
The door creaks open.
You know who it is without looking up. It couldn’t be anyone else, wouldn’t be anyone else, at least not at this hour.
There’s only one person who would check on you at this time.
“Princess?”
Kinich takes a few quick strides across the room, urgency written with every step. He’s faster than you expected, and before you can blink he’s already standing before you.
Without delay, he drops to his knees, discarding his blade at his side. The sight sobers you, if only for a moment—he usually treats it with the utmost care.
“Tell me where it hurts,” he urges, voice laced with subdued desperation, like he’s trying to stay calm for your sake.
But his fingers betray him, and they quiver as they sweep over your arms and hands, searching for signs of injury. You finally manage to shake your head, and Kinich’s gaze snaps up to your face instantly.
“What’s wrong, Princess? Please tell me.”
His tone is so gentle, with a firmness that is very suitable for the Captain of the Guard. But you’ve never heard him use such niceties with anyone else. You take quiet pride in that, deep in your heart—the unknown aspects of himself that Kinich solely saves for you.
The molten gold of his eyes makes a heat sprout in your chest. You look away.
You can’t manage to answer him, and he doesn’t demand more of you after that. He busies himself with looking you over, absolutely thorough in checking for even a millimeter of damage to your skin. You allow it, accepting the weightlessness of his touch.
A delicate thread of silence unfurls between you, the mutual understanding and comfort lulling your tears away.
You don’t go to sleep that night. Kinich doesn’t leave either.
You know that if you told him to, you would. You know if you told him to forget he saw anything, he would. You know that if you told him to go to the far lands and eliminate whatever sorry source was making you cry, he would.
But you don’t.
So, instead, you let the warm, familiar grip of Kinich’s hands in yours dry the tears on your cheeks.
THE BLOOD IN OUR SHADOWS [ASSASSIN!KINICH]
The family meetings are really such a drag.
If it wasn’t required of you, you wouldn’t step foot on this estate ever again. In fact, you would much prefer it that way. Because maybe then, you wouldn’t be forced to interact with your dreadful siblings every damn day of your life—
“I don’t know why you keep attending these, if not because you like being humiliated.”
At your side, Kinich freezes mid-step, prickling. You sigh in irritation, already expecting the sweet smile on the face of your older sister.
Amane. The Lovers.
“Even your acolyte is subpar,” your sister laughs, a thin, tinny sound that makes your ears ring and head ache. Your face scrunches in displeasure. She’s always been so vexing to interact with. “It’s no wonder that father doesn’t bother with you. That, or your whore of a mother.”
Her acolyte, Childe, chuckles at her side.
You bite your lip—you’ve grown soft, you think bitterly. Maybe too much time away from home has made you this way, but her words sting more than you remember.
The quiet hiss of Kinich’s katana leaving its sheath draws your attention, and your mouth barely has time to fall open before his blade is at your sister’s throat.
Her eyes are wide-open in silent shock. It’s probably a sick, vile thought, but you welcome the sight of anything but that ugly smile on her face.
At her neck, a thin, ruby-red line of blood blooms over her pale skin, slowly dripping toward the seams of her kimono. Childe had already reacted just as quickly, his dagger digging at Kinich’s jaw. Your partner doesn’t seem to mind, teeth gritted in rage and stare zeroed in on your sister’s face.
You would recognize that expression anywhere—he’s prepared to kill.
You sigh, weighing your options. As much as you hate Amane, you don’t think your father would take kindly to you killing his favorite daughter, especially not during such a precarious time.
“Kinich.”
His gaze flickers to you through his dark lashes, instantly warming as if there is no knife at his throat. “My Lady.”
If you gave him the go-ahead, you’re quite sure he would cut your sister down, or at least he would try. But Childe watches you with a sinister smile, as if daring you to urge Kinich’s hand.
“We should go,” you say, and his hand and sword immediately return to his sheath.
Despite the rage that you can feel boiling at your side, you offer a placating smile to your sibling, who seems overjoyed at your submission.
“Oh, look how sweet,” Amane sighs, a mocking hand pressed to her chest. She turns to Childe, snapping her fan open and whispering behind it conspiratorily. “If she tries for one-hundred more years, she might just be as charming as me.”
She suddenly doesn’t seem bothered by the blood that stains her neck. If anything, she seems even happier than she was before. It makes you feel ill.
You don’t dignify her with a response, opting to simply step past her as Kinich follows. His expression darkens when he walks past.
“Your life rests in My Lady’s hands,” he mutters dimly, eyes flashing. Amane flinches. “I’ll be gifting your head to her when the time comes.”
hii! omg ur actually one of my favorite writers and i love the turnfire series! Do you have any idea when the princess series will return? No rush at all!! sending lots of love! 🩷
not sure honestly, because i've been SO on and off with writing inspiration lately... but i'm happy to hear that i'm one of your favorite writers hehehe <333 here is my gift to you in return <3
Only a snow-spun sky awaits as Kinich sucks in a cold, stinging breath.
He isn't assigned to this post often—you keep his hands plenty full most days, and he has a plethora of additional duties as the Captain of the Guard. Needless to say, the nights that he is posted at the watchtower are actually some of his most relaxed.
It's just him, his thoughts, and his blade. At least, it's supposed to be.
The unexpected squeak of a ladder rung draws his attention, and he draws his blade immediately, the weight disappearing from his back.
"State your business," he demands, shoulders set firmly, nerves burning. A familiar head of hair peeks over the edge of the tower, eyes wide and searching.
"Raising a blade to the Princess is treason, you know," you reply teasingly. You're donned in your nightgown, clearly having snuck out of your window or some other unsavory place—the thought gives Kinich a headache.
(The guards that were posted at your door will get an earful later, but you won't hear anything about that.)
"Princess," Kinich rushes to greet you, carefully helping you step over the short wall that borders the crow's nest. "You shouldn't be up here, and especially not this late."
You roll your eyes. "Oh, lighten up," you huff, though your lip trembles with cold. "I just wanted to see it from up here."
It's not often that it snows in these regions, but it's not impossible, especially not in this deep season of winter. Kinich doesn't understand the obsession with the stuff—all it serves to do is make his travel more difficult and his extremities more susceptible to frostbite.
But your eyes are sparkling with awe as you stare up at the sky, so he sighs, pulling off his cloak and settling it over your shoulders. You don't react to the act, still absorbed in the snowfall, but you pull the fur tighter around you.
"Only for a few minutes," he says wearily, though he has a feeling you'll stay as long as you please no matter what he says. "Then, I'm taking you back to your room."
It's an empty threat, and you both know it—Kinich seems to lose any semblance of rigidity when it comes to you. It's made you spoiled, he thinks, though he can't seem to act any other way.
"It's really beautiful," you say aimlessly in reply, clearly ignoring his directions.
The snowflakes are lithe and small, dancing through the air and landing over your eyebrows, tangling themselves in your eyelashes. Kinich watches them melt against your skin, reaching out a thumb to rub over the surface of your cheek.
"You'll get sick, you know," he warns gently. You smile.
"I'll be okay," you assure, your breath warm against his wrist, head tilting into his hold. "I think seeing this was worth it."
genre/warnings. princess!reader, knight!kinich, slight enemies to lovers (not really, they just argue but idk the term for that tbh LOL), pixelprincess!au
summary.
ever since he became your personal guard, you've found kinich to be a royal pain in your ass. you've always assumed he felt the same, until the night of your matching ball.
now, you're not sure what this burning in your chest means after all.
author's note. this is a drabble as part of a universe that i'm calling pixelprincess (knight!kinich x princess!reader). i don't really have a full fic planned for this or anything, i just have a bunch of small headcanons about them and i love aus so feel free to scream about them with me HAHA. thank you for reading! reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!
𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
If there’s one thing you can definitively say about Kinich, it’s that he’s not stupid.
Honestly, you could say a lot of things. You’ve heard the rumors just like everyone else, about the fearsome Captain of the Guard who passed training within a single day. They whisper that he holds a dragon’s power in his heart, a fact that strikes fear into any nation that dares encroach upon your territory. His reputation precedes him, and he’s somewhat of a mystery to the general public—most of them envision him as a hero, the key to the nation’s defense.
If there’s another thing you can definitively say about Kinich, it’s that sometimes, you wish he was stupid.
The castle always feels larger during the summer, when the sunlight bathes the interior with gold and the halls bustle with movement during the day. Guards and aides rush in every direction, though none of them seem to spare a glance in your direction; there’s simply far too much to pay attention to today.
The maids are replacing the vases with fresh flora, Brilliant Chrysanthemums and Saurian Claw Succulents that make the room seem brighter, discussing which configuration looks the best. You know them all, of course; growing up within the castle meant that these women had practically raised you. Even as an adult, it’s hard to escape them when they feel like pinching your cheeks and reminiscing on old times.
Sensing the coast is clear, you crack the door open another millimeter, carefully slipping into the hall and blending in with the crowd. The maids, luckily, don’t notice, still fussing over petals and stems. You’d calculated this time exactly—right now, the guard patrol should be across the castle, checking the entrances before the ball tonight. If your information wasn’t wrong, then you should have just enough time to make it to the servants’ passages, and then out to the garden—
“Oh?”
The familiar voice makes you murmur some choice curse words under your breath. Of course, the dark-haired man in front of you is always several steps ahead of everyone. He’s leaning against the stone wall, looking entirely too pleased with himself, as if he knows something you don’t.
“Princess,” Kinich greets, bowing his head despite how you wave him off—you’ve never been one for formalities. “What are you doing here?”
“Just taking a walk.”
You move at a brisk pace past him, but Kinich is faster—he always is, the annoying bastard. Before you can turn the corner, there’s the blade of a greatsword blocking your path. No matter how much you see it, you’re always surprised by the size of the damn thing—you’re shocked he can even lift it as it is. A half-smirk rests on his lips when you gasp.
“Taking a walk away from your lessons? I do believe your teacher’s room is in the opposite direction.”
The annoying thing about Kinich is that he truly knows everything, including your schedules. He’s thorough to a near fault, though you suppose that that’s exactly the kind of person who would be fit for Captain of the Guard. Still, you duck under his sword, unwilling to make eye contact.
“Lessons are tomorrow. I have other plans today.”
Kinich falls into step beside you, and the halls are suddenly clear of people—the crowd parts before you, a stubborn rock among a rushing river. You’re unsure if it’s due to your status, or due to your temper—it’s a well-known fact in the castle that Kinich can get you wound up quite quickly.
“And what might these other plans be?”
He always has too many damn questions, you think. Silently, you curse your father for assigning him to you. A series of attempts on your life last year had made him paranoid, and he’d been quick to promote the strongest knight as your personal guard. Back then, you’d been fooled just like everyone else into thinking that Kinich was some kind of serious, straight-laced hero. Instead, you’d since discovered that he was seriously annoying.
“Can I guess?” he asks, deftly dodging past the maids carrying bundles of tablecloths and the waiters carrying sky-high stacks of platters.
“No, you can’t. In fact, you can’t even ask. I should have you executed for that.”
Kinich raises a brow, amused. “The Queen would never let that happen.”
And, unfortunately, he’s correct. Your mother absolutely adores Kinich as if he were her own son, and it irritates you to no end—especially when she heavy-handedly suggests that you make him your groom. The door to the back stairwell falls into view, so you break into a jog as you reach the end of the hall, but he’s right on your heel.
If I can just make it to the stairs…
Kinich steps in front of you again, not allowing you an inch further, and you nearly scream in frustration.
“If I didn’t know any better—”
You scoff. “And you, in fact, don’t know anything—”
“—I would say that you’re trying to avoid going to the ball.”
And, once again, you wish that just once Kinich would let something fly over his head.
Utterly defeated, you collapse into one of the plush chairs nearby, fanning your face. Kinich stands over you, a bit tense, as if he thinks you’re going to try to run again. You won’t; at this point, you’re too tired.
“So what if I am?” you finally admit. “You always complain about them anyway. I find it a little unfair that you’re allowed to and I’m not.”
As great as he is at his job as a guard, Kinich isn’t so great at facing the public, despite how popular he is among them (particularly the women). Whenever he can, he avoids social events like the plague, often volunteering to run perimeter duty as a precaution rather than attending with you. You, unfortunately, don’t have that luxury.
Kinich sighs, resting his weight on his sword. “I don’t complain, it’s just annoying when everyone is so loud and—”
You snap your fingers, interrupting and pointing at him accusingly. “You hear that? What you were just doing? That’s called complaining.”
Realizing he was caught in the act, Kinich rolls his eyes. “How very profound of you. If you put that much effort into your escape routes, maybe you would’ve made it this time.”
Your gaze narrows. “How about I stick a profound fist up your a—”
“Kinich? Is that you?”
The booming voice makes you both straighten up instantly. Kinich smoothly sheaths his sword, saluting to the king as he makes his way down the hall. You’re far less graceful about it, gathering up your skirts messily and quickly curtseying to your father.
“Your Highness,” you both echo.
If your father notices the tension between the two of you, he doesn’t say so; he looks as jolly as always, even more so because of the event today. He’s the social type, a trait you unfortunately did not inherit.
“Just the two people I was hoping to see,” he laughs, a full-bodied sound that booms from his chest. “I’m glad that the two of you get along so well.”
To your irritation, Kinich smirks, while you offer your father a thin-lipped smile.
“Of course,” you lie, sneakily jabbing your guard in the ribs. He coughs. “We get along like a house on fire.”
“That’s good,” your father says, nodding encouragingly. “You’ll both do well later tonight then.”
Your heart drops at the thought of attending the event. You know how long your parents have been planning this, and how long they’ve been practically begging you to find a companion. It’s all a long-winded scheme to find you a princely partner, and not one that you particularly appreciate—a great majority of the princes you’ve met are far too full of themselves. You truly have no interest in any of them.
Kinich, however, pointedly clears his throat at your father’s wording.
“Both of us?” he asks, enunciating slowly. “I’m not sure I follow, sir.”
You perk up in interest—that detail had been lost on you.
“I invited several princes from neighboring nations today,” your father says, eyeing you with a pitying stare. You try not to feel offended. “I want my daughter to find someone suitable for her, no matter who that may be. Still, I was hoping you could attend with her this time? I know it’s not your favorite, but I would feel uncomfortable with her being around so many strangers alone.”
Kinich’s smirk falters, and he suddenly falls still. You wonder if he’s irritated by the prospect of attending the ball at your side.
(Distantly, you wonder why the thought of that makes you feel a bit ill.)
The silence grows awkward, and you rock on your heels, searching for something to say. Your guard looks a bit lost for words, likely because he wasn’t prepared for so much social interaction today. You can’t really blame him—if you were in his shoes, you wouldn’t be thrilled either.
“Actually, Your Highness, that won’t be necessary.”
Your eyes nearly pop out of your skull at Kinich’s reply, but you hurry to control your expression, unwilling to give anything away to your father. The king raises a brow.
“And why is that?” he asks.
Kinich gnaws on his lip, an action that is wholly unlike him—you don’t think you’ve ever seen him appear nervous about anything in his life. Still, he meets your father’s gaze head on, coughs once, then says:
“The princess isn’t feeling well. I think it’d be best if she didn’t attend the ball today.”
He nudges your foot just as your father’s gaze drifts to you, and you thank your lucky stars that you did inherit your mother’s dramatics. You throw a hand over your forehead, fanning yourself aggressively.
“Since this morning,” you explain, looking as pitiful as possible, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Thank the archons Kinich was here, otherwise I might’ve fainted earlier.”
And you really do feel guilty when your father’s eyes well up with tears of worry.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he cries, then turns to one of his aides in a panic. “Call the doctor! Have him attend to her immediately. And announce that she’ll be absent from our festivities tonight.”
You force yourself to hide your smile at his announcement. Your eyes flicker over to Kinich, but for once, he doesn’t seem the slightest bit amused—in fact, he still looks troubled. Your father fusses over you for a bit longer, asking a series of questions about what you’d eaten and who you’d been in contact with. You answer as honestly as you can—the least you can do—and then he directs Kinich to escort you back to your room.
The hallway seems to empty out quickly after that display, and then it’s just you and your guard. For some reason, he seems to avoid your eyes. He doesn’t speak, merely offering you his arm, and after a moment, you take it.
“So, what changed your mind?” you ask, unwilling to let him sit in silence. He looks displeased by your question, but answers anyway.
“Nothing,” he says, expression blank, “I just didn’t think you should go to the ball tonight.”
The tips of his ears are flushed red, you note. Liar.
Still, Kinich keeps countless secrets that you’re sure you’ll never know, and you suppose it doesn’t really matter why he decided to let you off the hook tonight. Really, you’re just grateful you’ll get to sleep peacefully with no stinking princes breathing down your neck. The thought makes you smile as you finally reach your bedroom door.
“Well, what a shame it is,” you sigh sarcastically, turning the knob, “I could’ve been dancing the night away with the love of my life. Now I might never meet him.”
The corner of Kinich’s lip twitches.
“As if,” he replies gruffly, a touch too fast. “You wouldn’t like any of them anyway. They’re not nearly capable of handling you.”
Your eyes narrow, irritated by the implication. “And you are?”
He raises a brow in response. “Aren’t I?”
It comes out uncharacteristically soft. A switch seems to flip in the room, and you suddenly start feeling sick for real—it’s too hot, too quiet. Kinich’s stare weighs on you heavily, and you get lost in the depth of it. You freeze where you are, bedroom door half-open, and you can almost pick out the meaning in his words when he turns away, clearing his throat.
“Goodnight, princess,” he murmurs over his shoulder. “Sweet dreams, and…get well soon.”
He makes his exit without another word, and you wonder if he’s still working tonight. Is he still going to guard the ball? The perimeter? What if one of the other princesses takes a liking to him—
You huff, deciding you don’t care and slamming the door shut. The ball is bound to be a drag, and you find Kinich annoying, you think as you fall into bed. You’re happy about this arrangement. Overjoyed, even.
genre/warnings. pixelprincess!au (princess!reader x knight!kinich), one bed trope, princess is nervous to sleep alone with a man (who isn't)
summary.
after a long journey, kinich and the princess finally turn in for the night at an unfamiliar inn. the only problem? there's only one bed.
author's note. i'm finishing this at like 5am so if there's any errors i'll look over it/fix it when i wake up LOL. for now, please scream and cry about knight!kinich with me. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!!
𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬!𝐚𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
It’s too warm.
As a princess born and raised in the land of Pyro, you’re accustomed to heat—thrive in it, even. It’s one of the reasons you dread trips like these so much. Foreign nations, even those with the mildest of temperatures, tend to feel a bit too chilly for your taste. Your father often jokes that you could withstand the heat of the Sacred Flame itself.
At the moment, though, you wouldn’t mind cracking open a window or two, even in the dead of winter.
The journey here had been difficult enough, boring as it was. Kinich had threatened to leave you alone in the woods a few times if you kept poking at him, but it was all you could do to not fall asleep. Attending foreign dinners always resulted in long journeys like these, though you know how important it is to maintain close relations with allied countries.
A few bumps in the road made this trek especially long, however—a number of bandits and blocked off paths added an irritating amount of time to your travel, until you and Kinich decided to rest for the night before heading home tomorrow. It had been difficult to even find a place—most inns had been full by this time, but you’d been fortunate to find one with a single open room.
A single, open room containing a single, solitary bed.
That aside, it’s a nice enough room, really. The dark mahogany furniture is carved with intricate nature-like patterns, flowers and leaves that crawl up the legs of the chairs and the foot of the bed. The whole place smells pleasantly of teakwood—a scent that, for better or worse, you tend to attribute to Kinich.
Your knight sits in front of the darkened fireplace, fiddling with a flint until it strikes with a small flame, then enkindles the rest of the wood. A flushing warmth instantly permeates the room. Usually, you would thank him for his efforts—he knows how cold you get—but now, you feel a thin sweat forming at your brow.
Kinich stands, brushing off his hands and admiring the firelight. The lighter strands of his hair glow in its radiance. “That should last us for a bit.”
He tugs at the clasp of his cloak, pulling the garment off and tossing it onto the chair in the corner of the room. It’s a thick fur with ornate green and gold trim; you’d given it to him as a gift during the Winter Festival a year ago. You let your eyes follow the motion, watching the dark cloth drape over the furniture—somehow, you feel too awkward to look at your companion right now. He glances at you, as if wondering what you’re doing just standing there, but doesn’t comment on it.
“Actually, I’m a bit warm,” you say, thumbing at the edges of your sleeves. Kinich raises a brow, genuinely concerned.
“...It’s wintertime,” he says, an obvious statement that seems to ask what the hell is wrong with you.
“Yeah, and I’m warm,” you retort, arms crossed. He looks at you, then looks at the fire, then looks at you again.
“Alright, but if you get cold later, don’t come crying to me,” he says, kneeling down again. Then, under his breath, he mutters, “though I have a feeling you will anyway.”
He toys with the kindling for a bit longer, until the raging flames die into smaller embers and the room cools down. As much as he gives you a hard time, he prioritizes your comfort as much as he possibly can.
With the temperature now taken care of, there is still one other source of discomfort in the room, you think, glancing back toward the bed. It looks temptingly comfortable, with thick sheets and fluffy pillows, but you can’t fathom sleeping in it at the moment.
“You realize that we can’t sleep here, right?” you say, staring down at your feet.
The dark-haired knight is busy rummaging through his rucksack, only half paying attention to what you’re saying.
“I don’t see why not. The bed is big enough.”
He’s right; it’s a king-size, and the two of you would have no problem fitting. Still, the thought of sleeping in a bed with him makes your face warm in a way that can’t be blamed on the fire.
“...There’s only one,” you manage.
Kinich looks up at you, deadpan. “An astute observation. Maybe you’ll be able to count to three by next year.”
“You little—”
The nervousness turns to irritation at his nonchalance—honestly, the thought of sharing a bed with a man you aren’t married to seems a bit inappropriate. And though you won’t admit it, you’re a bit offended that he doesn’t seem even slightly nervous to sleep with you. Kinich isn’t a nervous person by nature, that’s true; it takes quite a bit to get him to show any sort of strong emotion. But a small part of you is disappointed that he doesn’t seem to care about the situation at all.
“You realize it’s just us, right?” you say, urging him toward the root of the issue. Even just stating that fact makes an anxious lump form in your throat.
Kinich considers your words for a moment, pausing his ministrations, before meeting your gaze directly.
“I’m not going to do anything to you,” he says, raising a brow.
The implication makes your face heat up, and you find it almost worse that he had addressed the elephant in the room.
“It’s not that!” you argue hastily. Kinich seems unbothered by your protests, fiddling with the intricate straps of his armor and the laces of his boots. He works about removing them in a fashion that’s so robotic that you’re sure he must’ve done this millions of times.
“What is it then?” he retorts, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Do you snore?”
“I do not—”
“Sleep talk?”
“No, it’s just—”
“Sleepwalk?”
“No! But—”
“Great,” Kinich decides, clapping his hands together as if to end the discussion. Rising to his feet, he gestures to the bed, even going so far as to pull the blankets back invitingly. “Then sleep.”
It’s hard for you to win against him, especially at times like these—truth be told, you actually are quite tired. With a huff, you begrudgingly climb into bed, nearly hanging off the edge with the ample space you leave.
Kinich doesn’t join you yet; he’s still fixing his clothes and tidying his other belongings. He takes good care of his things, you’ve noticed, almost neat to a fault. There’s a strict routine he follows during the night; before bed, he always takes special care to maintain his weapon.
You watch as he oils and sharpens his blade, brow furrowed in concentration. He’s always been very particular about the thing, as if it was an extension of himself, as long as you've known him. His movements are notably precise and intricate, and overwhelmingly gentle. Lost in watching him, you just about jump out of your skin when his eyes suddenly flicker to you.
“You know, most people rest with their eyes closed,” he hums, amused at having caught you in the act.
“You’re annoying,” you mumble, sinking deeper into the pillows to hide your embarrassment.
He shakes his head. “And you’re supposed to be sleeping. So I guess no one’s happy.”
You pull the blanket up until it brushes your chin. You don’t need it; your skin feels like it’s on fire, but somehow it feels too vulnerable to be uncovered right now.
“You’re telling me you don’t feel weird about this? At all?”
He sets the sword aside and finally removes the last of his armor, simply left in his training tunic and loose pants. The shirt is tighter than you remember, you think briefly. You force yourself to look away.
“Should I?” he asks, brushing off his clothes. “Are you going to do something to me?”
The corner of his lip twitches, and you nearly roll your eyes—he amuses himself way too much.
“No!”
“Then we’ll make a deal. I won’t do anything to you if you don’t do anything to me. Then, we’ll both peacefully sleep so that I don’t have to deal with your crankiness in the morning.”
Irritatingly, he’s right about that too. The two of you will have to head out early if you want to make it home for your lessons, as well as Kinich’s other guard duties. And, truthfully, you don’t tend to be a morning person—it’s all Kinich can do to even wake you up on time.
You huff, shutting your eyes. “Fine.”
“Oh?” You can hear the mirth in his voice, and it only makes your irritation grow. “So you were planning on doing somethin—”
“I wasn’t!”
Kinich doesn’t say anything more, likely sensing that you’re on the precipice of genuine frustration—he always knows your exact limits, even when you don’t say so.
For a few minutes, you really do try to sleep. But your heart is still pounding, and as much as you try to ignore it, it threatens to burst out of your chest. You reason that you would feel this way no matter who you were sharing a bed with—it’s just not a feeling that you’re used to. It’s certainly not because it’s Kinich.
You imagine him sleeping beside you, and your fists tighten until your nails form crescent-shaped imprints in your palms.
Definitely not because it’s Kinich.
Your stomach turns as you listen to your companion move around the room, organizing his things. Everything about him is so calm and quiet, including his footsteps—they’re barely a whisper across the floor. The anticipation nearly swallows you whole, and you wait for something to happen—the blankets to pull back, or even a dip in the mattress.
For several long, torturous minutes, nothing happens at all. In fact, you can’t even hear Kinich anymore, not even a single breath.
Did he leave the room?
Gathering your courage, you silently will yourself to open your eyes, afraid of what you’ll see. It takes you a bit, too absorbed in the awkwardness, and three silent mental countdowns later, your eyes finally snap open. Instantly, you discover two things:
Kinich is not in bed with you.
Kinich is nowhere near you at all.
Instead, the knight is sitting across the room, back against the door, head leaned back and both eyes shut. His greatsword lays across his lap, fingers already curled around the grip—he’s always ready, as usual.
“What the hell?”
You don’t mean for it to come out so loud or so aggressive, but your hand is too late to clamp over your mouth.
Kinich cracks one eye open, fixing you with a lazy stare.
“I thought you said you don’t sleep talk,” he murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion.
“I don’t—forget it, what are you doing over there?”
He sighs, pulling a knee to his chest and resting his chin on top. He looks much softer like this, in training clothes and lacking his headband—the curtain of his hair parts a bit as he leans over, and you catch a glimpse of the scar there. It’s thin and silver, barely peeking from his forehead.
“Unless I was mistaken, you seemed uncomfortable with the prospect of sharing a bed with me. I may not have been raised a prince, but even I wouldn’t force something like that on a lady.”
Your teeth sink into your lip. The explanation makes you feel stupid and guilty at the same time. Stupid, because you’re really not sure what you’re even afraid of if Kinich climbs into bed with you. Guilty, because you’d been so argumentative with him, even when he was trying to respect your wishes.
There’s three beats of silence.
“I changed my mind,” you manage to squeak out.
“You don’t have to,” he says, tracing the blade of his sword. An expected answer. “I’m fine sleeping here, really.”
And you know he really would be—he’s certainly slept in worse places. But something about him sleeping there while you warm up under thick blankets leaves a rotten taste in your mouth.
“Well, I’m cold now,” you say, shifting under the covers, “so can you come sleep?”
He looks unconvinced by your plea, head tilted. “Weren’t you the one who said it was too warm?”
You pout in reply. “I changed my mi—”
“—changed your mind, yeah, yeah, I get it.”
Kinich rises to his feet, slow and steady. He seems more tired than he lets on, likely the result of the events from earlier—he had been the one to deal with the bandits, after all. You merely watch as he strides toward you.
“Just remember, you’re the one who offered,” he warns, crossing to the other side of the bed. “So don’t kick me in your sleep.”
You don’t say anything at all, firmly fixated on staring at the wall—you don’t think you could stand to look at him right now. When the sheets get pulled back, you suck in a breath.
To your embarrassment, something warm draws up from your quick-beating heart as Kinich lies down behind you. You chalk it up to natural human reaction—you’ve never shared a bed with someone like this, after all. He’s gentle as he lays down, the mattress barely reacting to his movement. You squeeze your eyes shut as he adjusts, shifting the blankets and pillows, hoping he won’t sense your overwhelming nervousness.
“This okay?”
You chance a look in his direction. His eyes are half-lidded, heavy with sleep, but they seem to pierce right through you. He’s being very particular about the distance between you—close enough that you can feel a bit of his warmth, but far enough that none of your limbs are touching.
This is fine, you think to yourself, drawing in a long, slow breath. This is totally fine.
You nod meekly, and Kinich sighs, shuffling into a more comfortable position as you turn away.
“Good,” he murmurs, warm breath pooling at the back of your neck. It makes you shiver, somehow both relaxed and on-edge, even as he curls slightly closer to you. “Go to sleep then, Princess.”
He’ll be awake for a while, you know. He never goes to sleep before you do—even once you do, it’ll probably be another half an hour before he follows suit. The thought leaves you hyper-aware of his every breath.
So, for the next fifteen minutes, you lie awake, hopelessly thinking of the man laying next to you. And, for the next fifteen minutes, he lies awake too. Your mind grows foggy, begging for rest, but you still feel something tugging at your chest. You wonder if Kinich feels the same way.
“Kinich?” you finally whisper.
There’s a pause, like he’s deciding whether to reply seriously or to scold you for not sleeping. His voice comes out hoarse, a deep rumble from his chest.
“Yes, Princess?”
A yawn crawls out of your throat.
“...are you warm enough too…?”
Your voice trails off as you finally succumb to the clutches of sleep. Kinich listens as your breathing turns to an even rhythm, calm and serene. For once, he’s glad that you’re not looking at him—if you did, you would see the way his skin is flushed a deep red, from his ears to his neck.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I am.”
knight!kinich x princess!reader, pixelprincess!au, happy valentines day!
“The Princess is not to receive any gifts at this time.”
Kinich plucks a box of chocolates from the pile gathering outside your chambers, features painted with displeasure. The endless bouquets, chocolates, and letters are an eyesore to the otherwise peaceful hall, and they clutter up the space far too much for his liking.
The maids exchange knowing glances, hiding secretive smiles behind their hands, masking giggles with forced coughs. The head maid steps forward, head tilted.
“Captain, if I may, it’s the holiday! These are only the gifts from the palace staff. Surely the ones from your fellow knights at least are trustworthy—”
Kinich’s expression worsens, eyes narrowed as he tosses the heart-shaped box back into the pile. Somehow, that thought seems to irritate him even further.
“No chocolate, no roses, no letters. It’s dangerous, and we don’t have time to look through them all,” he counters with a huff.
The maids don’t quite look convinced, but Kinich can’t really find it in himself to care. After all, your safety is paramount. What would he do if one of the chocolates was poisoned, or one of the bouquets holds a bomb?
Your bedroom door creaks open behind him, and he stiffens at the sound. When he turns to face you, you’re halfway through a yawn, arms stretched high above your head.
“What’s going on out here? So noisy, even this early in the morning.”
The maids bow and murmur their greetings despite how you wave them off, a soft smile across your lips. Even just after waking up, you look as bright as the sun, and Kinich finds it to be a refreshing sight.
Your gaze flits to your knight.
“Kinich, I’d hope you weren’t giving the maids a hard time,” you scold lightly, winking.
One of the maids nods eagerly. “Your Highness, he’s been complaining all day. Says he doesn’t want anyone else to give you any gifts.”
Kinich reddens, looking betrayed. “That’s not what I—”
“Is that right?” you return in a sing-songy voice, leaning against the doorway. You’re teasing him, as always. Finally returning to his senses, your knight rolls his eyes, gesturing to the haphazard pile of gifts in front of you.
“It’s a safety concern.”
“Ah, yes, I’ve heard assassination by means of bouquet is quite popular these days.”
“Fine. Eat all the poisoned chocolate you want. See if I care.”
You chuckle in reply. “Maybe I will. For now, I’d like to get changed, if that’s alright.”
The maids quickly file into your room, ready to help you prepare for the day, and your door shuts with a thud of finality. Kinich releases a sigh of relief, then scowls when his gaze returns to the heap of gifts that had now somehow become his responsibility.
It’s just a precaution, he tells himself. It has nothing to do with him not wanting anyone else to give you gifts.
In fact, he couldn’t care less if anyone else gave you gifts for the holiday, he asserts, gathering a bundle of chocolates and flowers under his arm. It has nothing to do with him.
And as he walks down the hall, preparing to dispose of the various presents, the velvet necklace box in his pocket seems to burn like the blush on his cheeks.
An orphan who was famously able to pass guard training within a single day. He quickly rose through the ranks before becoming the youngest Captain of the Guard in the history of the kingdom. There are rumors about his past and his powers, including that he was raised by dragons. Since an incident the year prior, he has been assigned as the princess's personal guard.
𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗦𝗦
The princess of Natlan, famous for her wit and relatively short temper. She denies every opportunity to meet a prince for marriage, despite her parents' protests. Those who work in the castle know her as a kind person, but Kinich tends to bring out her darker side. Though she is committed to her kingdom, she often wishes she knew more practical skills due to her spoiled upbringing.
𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘
This is a universe of my own creation, comprised of several mini-stories featuring the two main characters in no particular order (though I might write a full-fic involving them one day!). The masterlist includes one-shots already written, as well as drabbles in progress. There is no real schedule for release of drabbles in-progress (though I may hold polls occasionally to gauge interest, or you can leave an ask to let me know which ones you're interested in!), so please join the taglist if you want to stay updated!
𝗝𝗢𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗗𝗢𝗠
Join the taglist here!
↣ 𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗜𝗡 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 - the princess fakes sick to avoid the ball, and Kinich (surprisingly) helps
↣ 𝗛𝗢𝗟𝗗 𝗠𝗘 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗗𝗢 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗬 - Kinich takes charge when the Abyss attacks
↣ 𝗖𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗘 𝗤𝗨𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗦 - there's only one bed.
↣ 𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗘 𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗘 - hoping to resolve your issues, you and Kinich talk in the armory
princess!reader x knight!kinich, pixelprincess!au, wdym summer is already over no it's not....
summertime means strawberry picking, silk skirts dragging along the fields' lush, manicured grass as kinich follows behind you, baskets in hand. the fruits on palace grounds are always the most delicious, owed to the painstaking efforts of the royal gardeners.
only on the sunniest days do you partake in the harvest, a light parasol leaning against your shoulder to shield you from the heat. most times, kinich seems rather unbothered by the beaming sun. you wonder if it's due to his dragonborn origins, or purely due to his stubbornness.
leaning down, you pluck one of the full, reddened berries from the plant, taking a shallow bite to assess the taste. it's sweet, even sweeter than last summer, the sugary fruit falling easily down your throat.
"it's delicious!" you declare excitedly, turning to your knight with a bright smile. he raises a brow.
before you can react, kinich licks the pad of his thumb, rubbing a stain of juice from the corner of your lip.
"are all princesses this messy, or is it just you?" he deadpans.
you have to resist the urge to roll your eyes. after all, the royal gardeners are still working at this time of day, and it would be rather unbecoming of you to pick a fight with your knight. even you have half a mind to keep some semblance of a royal image.
"i don't know," you huff, turning away to pick the rest of the strawberries. the ones from this plant all seem perfectly ripe, you think. "maybe you should ask some other ones. preferably far, far away from here—"
kinich catches your wrist in his grip, eyes meeting yours. it surprises you for a moment, a single berry dangling between your fingertips, stopped halfway before being deposited in the basket.
"i'd rather not," your knight sighs, stare not leaving yours.
you find it impossible to look away, even as he leans forward, slow, teeth glinting as he takes a bite from the berry you're holding, leaving only the emerald leaves pinched between your fingers.
a sigh leaves his lips as he murmurs, "my hands are full with the one i already have."
