kitty 🥞

I can’t believe 102 of you guys have enjoyed my writing enough to follow me!!!! thank you so much for all the love over the past month it’s absolutely insane!! so grateful for everyone who’s supported this silly little blog!! :,,))) much love to all of you and a cheeky reminder that my inbox is open hehe xxx

little wife - a.buttle ⋆°❀.ೃ࿔⋆

an: well hello mr buttle! an introduction to my peaky blinders au!! need an angry husband to take care of me like :,( hope this feeds the brain worms xx also sorry abt the silly banner photo but it made me giggle

content warnings: violence, blood, use of a gun, established marriage and a bit suggestive x

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Being Alfie’s little wife had its perks.

You had an unlimited amount of spending money, writing cheques from his bank as you spent ludicrous sums in the glamorous department stores in central london. You were also driven to and from those department stores in the flashy white Bentley he’d bought just for you, insisting he couldn’t see his girl in anything but the best.

You had a beautiful house in the country, far away from the smoke and smog where you’d grown up. Every room in the house you’d been given free rein to decorate - even his office. He’d nodded, lips drawn into a half smile as he patted your ass and kissed the top of your head, examining the pale yellow office he was now stuck with.

“Anything you like, baby, all on me.”

That’s what rang through your head as you bought new hats, designer shoes, silk bedsheets and French perfumes. You’d taken your time especially with yours and Alfie’s bedroom - all dark oak furniture, with lace runners covering both your and Alfie’s bedside tables, real gold swan-shaped lamps on each one. Your side had little photo frames of you both, a crystal carafe, a pink leather pen you don’t think you’ve ever used and a collection of tiny ceramic animals (the price of which being the closest Alfie had ever come to saying no to you). His side didn’t have much, just one simple photo of you from before moving down to London. You knew there was nicer photos he could have chosen, but he was stubborn, so you’d caved and accepted the ugly green frame. The bed itself was impossibly large, one that fit you both perfectly - something that had been hard to imagine when you’d squished onto the single bedroom in his mother’s house back home.

Your bed was dressed in the palest pink silk sheets you could find, with large fluffy pillows and decorative animals that you scolded Alfie for throwing on the floor before bed. A white tule canopy hung around your bed frame. Alfie would draw it for you when it got dark, cocooning you both in the frilly little bubble you’d hand designed for the two of you.

The master bedroom was your safest space - the prettiest space you’d ever been able to call your own.

You walked up to your bedroom after a long day of shopping, humming to yourself. Alf hadn’t been downstairs to greet you so you assumed he was out on business. Your feet ached in your white leather heels, and you were desperate to slip into your satin slippers. You were lugging all your shopping bags up with you, having declined the help of the butler. The money was easy to get used to, the constant help from people you were actually no different than was harder.

The bags dropped when you opened the door, hands going slack and shooting up to your mouth as you screamed at what lay behind your bedroom door.

Your husband standing above a bloodied man who was laid out on your baby blue chaise lounge, face barely even recognisable as human. It was covered in lacerations, swollen and bloodied. He spluttered out when he saw you, spitting up blood on the arm of the chair.

Alfie turned with a start, his hands and white shirt splattered with blood. His enraged face softened at the sight of you, as he mentally cursed himself for not checking the little gold clock on the wall. He slowly walked up to you, bloody hands outstretched as if he was approaching a stray animal. You felt your knees buckle, bile stinging the back of your throat as you couldn’t stop yourself examining the room. Being the wife of someone like Alfie meant you were used to seeing blood, but you weren’t exactly immune.

“Hey, angel, what’re you doing back, baby? Been shopping?” He asked you tenderly, as if he was in your room just lounging on the bed.

“Alfie, what the fuck! Who is that?!” You cried out at him, voice wobbly and high as you registered that the trail of blood splatter hadn’t just ruined your pretty chair. It seemed whoever this man was had been over by the window - the delicate pink floral pattern of your wallpaper stained with streaks of red. It was on the carpet too, the fawn skin rug Alfie had given you last Christmas. He’d found the poor animal dead in the woods, and had said his pretty girl could take better care of it than just leaving it to rot. Clearly he was wrong, because the soft brown fur was polka dot white and red. Tears stung the back of your eyes as you scanned your bedroom, it seemed like every single thing was ruined, even the clean things becoming tainted in your foggy brain.

“C’mon, baby, I wouldn’t do anything in here if he didn’t deserve it.” The man behind Alfie was moaning, trying to say something but just spitting up more blood when he tried. It made you wince, whole body trembling.

“I was just in here, on the bed, waitin’ for my pretty girl to come home and give me a fashion show, when that fucker thought he could try and rob my fucking house.” Alfie had turned and shouted the last part at the man, his hands trembling with rage as he pointed a large finger in his direction. He flexed and unflexed his hands when he turned back to you, jaw set and twinging. The look in his eye was wild, pupils blown with adrenaline and something much more sinister. But they softened ever so slightly at the corner when he looked at you.

“But, Alf-“ Your high shaky voice was cut off by a loud attempt at shouting from the man in the room. In one fluid movement, Alfie reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his gun. He aimed it at the man in question, who had begun shrieking, sending out thick globs of blood all over what was already ruined, rubbing it even further into your face that your favourite chair wouldn’t be saved.

“Interrupt my wife again, and I’ll blow your fuckin head off. Clear?” Alfie shouted, flicking the safety off of his gun with a smooth swipe of his thumb. The man’s shaking body attempted what you thought was a nod, and he fell silent, occasionally moaning or crying slightly.

Alfie turned back to you, drawing in a sharp breath at the tear tracks running down your face. Thick black streaks of mascara stained your cheeks as you began to properly cry, rambling something illegible as you choked on air, attempting to speak through the stuttered gasps of your sobbing. It made the blood climb back up to boiling point in his chest. He wanted to blow that fucker’s head off right this second - the only thing that was allowed to make his wife cry was choking on his cock, anything else needed destroying. But he thought if brain and skull chunks ended up on your vanity, and no doubt all over your perfume collection, he would probably loose the chance to see you cry on his dick tonight.

So he shushed you, wiping his bloody hands on his suit trousers the best he could before brushing the tears from your cheeks, smearing the black marks in a way that made his dick twinge in his trousers.

“Shh, shh, shh, girl, c’mon, what was I meant to do? Let him steal all your pretty things? Y’think I was gonna stay put whilst he did it?” He asked you, eyebrows raised expectantly as he hunched slightly to meet your eyes. Your eyebrows were low down on your face, a pout on your lips as you shook your head at his words.

“Not good enough, baby, answer me.”

You sniffled, eyes not leaving his as you tried to desperately avoid assessing the damage of the situation even more. His large body in front of you pretty much blocked out everything you could have looked at anyway.

“N-no, you wouldn’t have just stayed on the bed.” You replied, voice small and defeated as a few empty tears rolled down your cheeks, sobs eased by his attention and the smell of his cologne as you took deep breaths in.

“That’s right, baby, because Daddy always looks after his little girl, doesn’t he? N’that means looking after her silly expensive trinkets too.”

His words made you giggle slightly, still sniffing as you nodded along with his voice. He looked at you expectantly, head tilted.

“I didn’t hear you, baby, answer me when I speak to you.” His voice had an edge, but the weight of his thumb rubbing your cheek made you melt.

“Daddy always looks after me.” You repeated out to him, your brain slowly becoming goo. Your voice slightly less shaky as you moved forward to cling to his chest. Even in your heels, you were lucky to brush his shoulder. You breathed in the smell of him, pressing your body against his hard chest as closely as you possibly could. His words had taken you up to a floaty part of your brain that didn’t care. His hand tipped your chin up to look at him, leaving a smear of blood that he told himself he’d swipe off before you saw it.

“Looks after who?” The vibrations of his chest as he spoke made your bones become jelly against him.

“Daddy always looks after his little girl.” You repeated, the strangled gasp of the man in the room reminding you of your present company making you go shy, cheeks burning up as you nuzzled against him, trying to hide from the stranger’s judgement. Alfie chuckled, humming and leaning down to kiss the crown of your head. He tapped you on the bum sharply, making you jump against the warm comfort of his body.

“Right, angel, you go into that perfect little bathroom you made us and run a bath - you gonna get daddy all nice n’clean and tell him how you’re gonna redecorate, hm?”

He wasn’t really asking - you’d learned that if you hesitated when Alfie gave you instructions it normally ended up with you over his lap. You shivered at the thought of it.

A bath would be nice, your dazed brain mused as you thought of being enveloped in bubbles, bloody furniture nowhere in sight. You nodded in agreement, before pressing a kiss to his lips.

Standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, he clutched the meat of your ass in his other hand, and you realised he was still holding his gun. The sharp bite of metal through the thin silk of your skirt made goosebumps flutter up your thighs, making a deep throb blossom between them. This man was a murderer, a violence-crazed criminal who made his fortune written in blood. But he’d chosen you to be the one to spend it with him.

Pulling from the kiss, you admired him for a few seconds - before pecking his lips again and turning around to move toward your en-suite. Your shoulders were still tense and your knees wobbly as you walked, but you were fine. You’d seen worse. Alfie knew that.

He waited for a second, until he heard a flurry of water hitting the pink claw-foot bath. You listened to everything he ever told you, following his orders dutifully. He knew if you had a tail, every time he patted your ass it would wag faithfully under his palm. The twinge in his dick at the thought told him he needed to wrap up his business. He would do anything for you, his most loyal and loving pet, anything to keep you from tears and then later, anything to get you to the point of tears around his cock. The pile of clothes and bloody, flapping skin on the blue chair - that Alfie had never really liked anyway - was keeping him from the latter.

He turned his gun over in his hand and walked over to the man. He dragged him to his feet by the scruff of his neck, and angled his gun just underneath his chin.

“Wouldn’t have shot you, mate, but the Mrs will probably want the excuse to get a new chandelier.”

bang!

an: i wrote this to go in the original story, but it just ended up not fitting! hope everyone enjoys xx soz abt the spam but I just want this au published 😭😭

content warnings: unprotected sex, cheating, sex in public

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The stone wall of your tower scraped your back, as Arthur lifted your leg up to rest on his metal clad hilt, using his sword hold as an anchor to hold it there. Perhaps you shouldn’t have teased him so much, whispering toward him all day about bedding the king, maybe then you wouldn’t be spread out and dripping for the Knight who served your husband. If you had just been quiet, you’d no doubt have had your usual languid fuck with Arthur, wrapped in silk bedsheets. But no. There you were, on the turret stairs, dangerously close to your husband and his courtiers partying at the bottom of them, with Arthur’s weeping cock nudging at your cunt.

“A-Arthur. You know we can’t do this here, please, you can’t put it in.” You whispered desperately, back quivering against the stone and legs like jelly in his hold. “Please, let us go back to the party, what if someone catches us?”

He grunted, dragging his wet tip through your slick folds, catching you in a high whine as he nudged your swollen clit.

“You have no problem teasing me, do you princess? But you can’t handle your consequences.” Arthur hissed out, tugging down the front of your gown. You gasped as the cool night air made contact with your nipples, Arthur’s fingers rough as he rolled one of them over in his grip.

You pouted up at him.

“But you know we cannot do this here, take me to bed later, Finchy, please.” Your voice was high and whiny, and your body squirmed against the wall, betraying your words as your cunt chased the feeling of his tip nudging into you.

“Hm. I think you want me to take you here, don’t you, princess? You’re fucking filthy, all spread out for me here. Just think how good this little pussy is going to feel stretched out over my cock, you want that don’t you?”

“I do not want to do this here, Arthur! My husband is at the bottom of these stairs! Do you really expect me to-“ You cut yourself off with a high moan as Arthur’s thick cock entered you in one stroke, nudging into your gspot. You clawed desperately at his back, shooting him your best attempt at a glare as he grinned down at you.

“Yeah you be quiet, eh princess?” His hand moved from your breast to grip your jaw, holding you still as he began to thrust his hips, deep into your hole. His cock was thick and your back arched against the wall at taking him with no preparation. The stretch of your walls burned, but feeling his fat cockhead nudge that spongy spot inside of you that made you see stars made it worth it.

“Yeah, princess, you’re finally learning not to be a fucking tease, aren’t you?”

You nodded desperately, noises caught in your throat coming out garbled and whiny. You felt the metal fingers of his gauntlet come down and begin stroking circles over your clit. Your walls squeezed his length, making him hiss into your ear. He sucked the sensitive spot below your ear, letting out breathy pants. He continued rutting into you, his attack on your gspot never faltering.

The knot in your stomach began to tighten, and you grasped at the curls at the nape of his neck. He let out a sound akin to a whimper at the feeling, making your walls clench around him again. Your back arched against the wall, thighs trembling against his body. Head falling forward onto his chest, you panted out as your high neared. Everything was building up perfectly, his cock pistoning into your creamy walls and his fingers never leaving your throbbing clit. Stars began to burst behind your eyes, white hot pleasure coursing over you and-

“Reader?”

The sound of your husband’s voice calling from the bottom of the stairs made you both halt. Your release crashed and burned around you, and you strangled back a moan at the loss. Your legs shook, head springing up to look at Arthur desperately. His face was stony, but you could see a pang of fear flash across his eyes.

“Darling? Are you well?” His voice was closer, as if he’d walked up the first few steps.

“Reply!” Arthur hissed at you, holding your head up against the stone. You shook your head feebly, chin wobbling as everything seemed to start crashing around you.

“I-I can’t.” You croaked out in a whisper. A sharp slap came across your cheek, making you gasp. Arthur’s face turned pleading.

“You must snap out of it, princess. Reply to him or we will both be hanged!” The reality of the situation dawned on you and you swallowed thickly, your mouth suddenly dry.

“I-I am well, dear! Just taking a break from the merriment.” You called out, hoping the shakiness in your words would be attributed to drunkenness.

“Okay, would you like my company?” Was the reply, his voice sounding unconvinced. You opened your mouth to reply when Arthur’s cock twitched to life inside of you. The cocky grin you both loved and despised flashed across his face. You shook your head at him, face contorting into a scowl.

“N-no, thank you, I just need a few-“ Arthur’s thrusts seemed to punctuate every word, the fingers on your clit resuming their rhythm and making your eyes roll back into your head. He was looking down at you, eyebrows raised and mouth open in a condescending way, nodding you through your pitiful conversation.

“A few minutes!” You cried out, pleading with every god you could think of that your husband would not round the corner of the stairs and see you being fucked like a common whore by his most trusted friend.

“Alright, dear, join us again soon.”

You barely even registered his response, your orgasm building quickly and desperately, Arthur’s thrusts becoming sloppy, making your high crash over you, gushing down your thighs and painting his armour, he groaned and released deep into your cunt.

Panting into eachothers mouths, your sticky foreheads rested together as you both came down from your highs. Your ears felt blocked, Arthur’s words sounding as though you were underwater, and white stars flashed over your eyes. He slowly lowered your leg from his hip, moving to hold you by the waist. He steadied you as your legs gave way, chuckling to himself.

“Well done, princess.” He punctuated it with a kiss to your sweaty forehead, brushing the stray hairs back from your face. You smiled at him dopily, throwing your arms round his neck. Kissing him lightly, you giggled and squirmed as you felt his seed leaking down your thighs. In that moment, the noise from downstairs and the difficulty of your affair seemed to melt away, as he held you to his chest, hands rubbing soothing patterns into your back as you slowly drifted down from your high.

“Such a sweet girl f’me, nobody would ever believe the things you let me do to you.” He murmured into your hairline, huffing out a laugh when a limp hand came up to swat his chest plate.

“And best believe they’ll never know,” you replied, a cheeky fucked out smile covering your face. In your haze you didn’t notice that Arthur’s smile didn’t quite meet his eyes, or that he stiffened slightly.

“I must go, darling, but I will see you downstairs, do not come after me too quickly.” You told him, stepping down one step and ensuring your gown was fixed in all the right places. “Do I look okay?”

His eyes were soft as he fiddled with his helmet, having picked it up from where you’d flung it down on the windowsill. His cheeks were flushed, lips bitten red and curls sweaty on his forehead. He looked fucked out. And beautiful. You smiled softly, admiring how the low moonlight shone through the windows to cast a white light across his armour.

His eyes looked you up and down, the smile softening on his cheeks. He reached out and tenderly brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Stepping towards you, the metal of his gauntlet cooled your burning cheek as he held it. Your lips met in a soft, gentle kiss. “You look perfect, princess.” He whispered against your skin.

an: guys. This might genuinely be piss and shit from a butt but yk what IDGAF! I’ve been writing Ts for so long…..Arthur I love u but this was a challenge. Also sorry for the george whackings I’m sure he would be a 10/10 husband irl 😭😭 just couldn’t be arsed to make up a random man tbh x also! this is a medieval au, but there is no reference to the reader’s hair texture/skin colour because I’m writing this shit from a butt for everyone xx also why this has a mature rating idk I’ll just kms

tags: @wroetofinchy (eek! first tag!!)

content warnings: unprotected sex, cheating (oops), dry humping, sexual acts whilst riding a horse, oral (female receiving), arthur hill x reader, some george clarke x reader

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The war had changed Arthur.

Serving under the King was his right of passage as one of the sovereign knights of House Finch. His entire lineage had been loyal soldiers to the crown, and he was no different. On his eighteenth birthday he had been knighted, having spent his entire life being trained for battle. The next decade of his life were to be spent leading a battalion of men in combat, finding victory in every stretch of land they touched down in.

He had not seen the kingdom in that time, his only connection to his home being the correspondence between him and the king. When he slept, under the cover of a makeshift shelter of tweed held up with sticks, he allowed himself to return home. It was slightly warped in his dreams, the castle looked lopsided and wrong. He couldn’t quite remember all the corridors he’d chased you down, nor the secret passages he’d used to steal cakes for you from the kitchens. It was in his dreams that you visited him. Long after the sun had set, your soft smile and bright eyes would shine in his minds eye. He could still remember the warmth of your hand in his, the tenderness of your kiss. The secrecy had been thrilling - stealing kisses in the stables, posting love notes beneath your door, horseback rides through the forest. A fleeting summer romance between two lovestruck teenagers still haunted him long into manhood. He felt your kiss on his lips, an almost ghostlike feeling that lingered long after he’d woken. After years of war, it felt as though his home belonged to his dreams more than him. The long passed love of a princess, a blur of sun-kissed memories.

His dreams took him back to a day in the fields, your castle a glint in the distance. He had been practicing combat, twirling his sword in an exaggerated manner to impress you. You had cheered him on, perched on an uprooted tree. Flipping his sword, he had stumbled slightly, crying out before rolling into the long grass. He remembered the sharp gasp that had left you, your calls of his name as you hiked your skirts and ran toward him. He’d laid face down, groaning into the grass.

“Arthur! Oh Arthur! Are you okay?” You’d cried out desperately, kneeling beside him as you fretted over his body to find where he’d maimed himself. You had tugged his helmet off in a way that scraped his ears, but your terrified face made him burst into laughter. “Oh you are wicked!” You’d snapped, smacking his chest with a huff, beginning to turn away from him. Catching your waist, he tugged you down on top of him, rolling you over in the grass until you fell about in giggles. There, under the mid afternoon sun, as he hovered above you, admiring the way your gown glimmered in the light, a large smile painted over your face - he had committed the moment to memory perfectly. He’d kissed you softly, capturing you in a way that left you both breathless. Every time he dreamt of it he wished he’d kissed you until the sun had set.

In the day, he had your handkerchief - it was grubby now, frayed at the edges and ripped in places. But once, it had been a pristine white, with scalloped edges and blue roses embroidered in the middle. They formed a delicate little heart around your initials. Embroidered in gold, in the looping handwriting he had always teased you for. It was frayed now, the gold a sickly grey. He remembered you giving it to him, in a hurried meeting on the turret stairs of your tower. You had tugged him up the stone stairs, pouting at the new metal armour that prevented you from feeling his hand. You’d stood above him, fumbling to lift the visor on his helmet. Choked sobs had bubbled up your throat as you looked at him, a fresh man of eighteen, dressed for a decade of service. Everything in that moment had felt impossible. You pressed a searing kiss to his lips, both of you babbling promises of lifelong love into each others mouths. His eyes had watered, his entire body weighed down beneath layers of chain mail and silver armour.

“Wait for me, princess. I’ll be back to love you again, I promise you.” He had managed to choke out. He could still remember the way your face scrunched up in pain as you nodded, before you stuffed the handkerchief into his hand and turned to retire up to your bedroom. The sound of your echoing sobs still haunted him. He hadn’t been able to follow you, the call of his duty drowning out the sound of your tears.

Early on in his service, your handkerchief had been an anchor for him, reminding him of his promise when he got drunk and needy. As his men found solace amongst the women in whatever village they had marched through, he would lay beneath the stars, mind foggy with drink and cock heavy with need. He’d pump his cock, wrapping the fabric around himself, imaging the stretch of your smile and the scent of your hair. He would cum with a grunt, and an almost instantaneous sense of shame would wash over him. You had always been so virtuous, never going beyond kissing him, and yet there he was painting your token of affection in ropes of cum. It had made him sick with guilt, nausea building until he threw up the combination of mead and sweet wine that had led him to defile your memory.

From that moment, he had thrown himself into his service, becoming a brutal force amongst his battalion - the handkerchief stayed tucked into the sleeve of his gauntlet, tucked away and a secret from even himself. Under Driven by self loathing and regret - he banished you from his mind, only ever seeing you in his dreams. He fought like a wild animal, a ruthless and unmovable force. Until a bitter winter and an injury he couldn’t recover from disabled him from continuing his fight. He was stubborn, insisting to those around him he was fine, but the burn in his hips was unbearable. His most loyal squire had sent word to the kingdom, telling them of the ailments of their strongest soldier, and with that, Arthur’s service was cut short by a year.

The eve of his twenty seventh birthday, a calm spring evening, was his passage back home. His service was incomplete. He hadn’t felt the weight lift from his shoulders as he had expected. It seemed heavier. The promise made all those years ago to you seemed childish, merely an escape from what had been a brutal reality. As his horse slowly trudged towards your kingdom, a long months travel behind him, he felt sick to his stomach.

He hadn’t expected fanfare on his return, contented with a brisk handshake from his father. He knew that his early return was shameful, an insult to the long line of knights before him who had struggled on through injury to complete their service. In the solitude of his bedroom, sightly more dusty than he had left it, he allowed himself to breathe. The weight of his injuries were heavy on his mind, every twinge in his hip a reminder of his failure. Finch House was a fine estate, fit for the kingdom’s most prestigious soldiers, and yet there he was, a black smudge on his family’s perfect history. The comfort of a hot bath eased Arthur’s sore bones into jelly, hoping the steam would help clean some of the wounds in his brain as well as his body. You didn’t visit him in his dreams that night, and he woke feeling groggy and tired. The sun was rising, making him squint as he looked around his room. Everything seemed too bright. He stretched out, groaning as his arms pulled away from his body. He was stiff, hips aching. Drowsiness washed over him, rearranging in the bedsheets as he tried to go back to sleep. A knock on his door roused him awake. His squire entered, holding a tray of food and a letter.

After placing the tray on his bed, and the letter in Arthur’s stretched out hand, his squire bowed and left the room. He ripped open the letter - the script on the front was unfamiliar to him.

‘Sir Hill of House Finch,

I acknowledge the termination of your service under the king, and would like to offer you the opportunity of serving in my court. Please attend an audience with me this afternoon.

Prince George’

The letter provided little explanation to Arthur’s building questions. He did not recognise the script of this man, nor the title or claim of Prince. You had no brothers, only a flurry of younger sisters. He resigned himself to believe he had wed one of them, ignoring the nagging in his mind that swirled anxiety into his stomach.

Despite this, he could not rebuke an invitation to the castle. To ignore the command of any member of the monarchy would have far dire consequences than returning home from service a year early. He briefly wondered if he’d catch a glimpse of you. The thought made his heart jump, stomach tying in knots as he dressed himself. His armour had been cleaned over night, every scratch and dent that had mapped nine years of battle buffed out until the silver gleamed. Trudging from his childhood home to the castle in a pristine suit of armour made him feel eighteen again. The ache in his hips from every step reminded him of how much he had changed. Even if you were at court, surely you would not care to see him, a crippled knight that had disgraced his family name. He snapped down his visor with a grunt and a metal thunk, pushing every thought of you out of his mind.

Court had not changed much. The bones of the room were still the same, a circular shape with a long carpet trailing from the door to the feet of the dark oak thrones that sat there. There had been six thrones last time he was here - your father’s, your mother’s, yours, and one for each of your little sisters. Now it was only four. The Kings and Queen’s were still central, but a much larger throne had been placed next to yours. Arthur could not make out the inscriptions on the wood, as a broad man sat in it, lounging back and eating grapes.

The man was handsome, with fair skin and a shaven beard. He had curly hair, long in the back when he turned his head. A golden crown inlaid with sapphires sat on the brown curls. He laughed with the men stood around the room, cavorting around to throw grapes into the air and catch them in his open mouth. Arthur noticed he had a large smile, and a loud laugh that echoed against the stone walls. He stood awkwardly about ten paces from the man. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood to attention, analysing the man’s every move through the thin slit in his visor. The imposing presence of his armoured body seemed to capture the his attention.

“Ah, hello, you must be Sir Hill. I am Prince George, a pleasure it is to meet you.” George said from his seat, not moving to stand or sit in a more formal manner. He continued to crunch grapes in his mouth as Arthur nodded and bowed to him. “You might be wondering why I have summoned you here.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Arthur managed to mutter, glad the prince could not see how his eyes were trained to your throne. He scanned over it desperately. He noted your crest, a rose framed by looping bluebells and the Latin inscription he’d never been able to read. Deep deep down in his heart he hoped that his initials were still carved into the back of it. He’d done it whilst drunk, all those years ago, tipsily scratching AH in a heart shape as you clung to his arms, giggling about how he could get arrested for defacing property of the crown. He’d shushed you with kisses. The memory made him shiver.

“I’m in need of a knight, not for me obviously but for the protection of my dear little wife. She is a good girl, but can get quite hysterical. I’m sure you understand the pain of a woman’s feelings getting in the way of men’s work.” George laughed out, egged on by the guffaws of his men. A creeping nausea washed over Arthur, that nagging feeling in his brain turning into church bells screaming in alarm.

“Yes. Your majesty.” He managed to grit out, hands clenching into fists behind his back.

George looked him up and down curiously, a smirk playing on his face. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was drawn away by the sound of women’s voices entering the room.

“Here she is! My little wife. Come here, darling, and greet your new knight.”

Arthur’s eyes blinked back stinging tears as every dream he’d ever had burned into a nightmare.

There you were. Walking up to this man who could barely class as a Prince, much less someone who should be your husband. You were maturer, arthur noticed as his throat dried up. Hair pinned up in an elaborate fashion, cheeks slimmer and eyes somehow burning brighter, you were the picture of beauty as you perched yourself on the prince’s lap. Your red brocade gown framed a womanly body, bust heavy at the front and corset drawn tight to exaggerate the curve of your waist. You were so different. But as you smiled cheekily at George, stealing one of his grapes and popping it into your mouth before turning to face the Knight in question, Arthur saw the girlish features he had fallen in love with.

His knees buckled. Your eyes still sparkled in that ever curious way, as you titled your head and smiled at him, blissfully unaware as to who was standing in front of you.

“Hello, Sir. I am delighted to meet you, though I am less delighted by the prospect of being guarded.” Your remark made George roll his eyes. It had made Arthur’s well with tears. He choked back a noise, and sniffed hard. He forced himself to stare at the way George’s hand settled on the small of your back, the way you perched on one of his thighs. The way your crowns matched. The rings on both your fingers.

Arthur’s spite slapped him round the face. Tears were wasted on you. He stood at full attention before bowing.

“Sir Hill of Finch House, your majesty. At your service.” He barked out, ensuring no emotion laced his tone. His eyes burned into your expression, watching the smile fall from your face. You scanned him from head to toe, eyebrows knitting together. Your mouth gaped open slightly, unable to look away from him. He hoped the guilt ate you alive.

George’s brows furrowed, sitting up slightly on his throne.

“Are you alright, dear?” He said quietly, though the entire room was silent. Arthur knew the courtiers would be eagle eyed. He recognised some of the men as noblemen he had grown up with, as well as some of your ladies-in-waiting. It seemed everyone except George knew exactly what was wrong with his little wife. Your romance with Arthur had been a secret, but he knew you were easy to slip up gossip after some wine, and the hushed chattering amongst your ladies told him everything.

You plastered an impossibly large grin to your face, before turning to George.

“Oh, darling, of course I am well. Simply overwhelmed with the love I have for you. This gesture of employing me with a knight of my own, you truly are the finest husband in England.” You declared, making him burst out into a prideful grin. He looked incredibly pleased with himself as he turned to nod at Arthur.

Arthur could have recognised the way you acted when you lied even if he was blindfolded and facing the other way. He stood rooted to his spot when you flung your arms around George’s neck, tugging him close into a truly indecent kiss. Bile soured the back of his tongue. He cleared his throat. Breaking the kiss, you turned to him. Breathless and panting slightly in a way that made his blood boil.

“Let me show you the grounds, Sir Hill. Follow me and I’ll show you my tower.”

You breezed past him after pecking george goodbye with another spit-filled kiss. Arthur nodded stiffly at the Prince before turning and following you. As if he needed reminding where your tower was.

His hips struggled to allow him to match your pace. He thunked along behind you, as you hurried away from the throne room. You led him down corridors and through rooms, his mind becoming reacquainted with the castle. Every dream being painted into a reality in his minds eye. He swore he would commit everything to memory. He was so swallowed up by his analysis of every archway and carved stone that he walked into you. You had stopped at the end of a dark corridor, just off from the kitchens and a sloping staircase away from the dungeons. A deserted area of the castle at this time. You stared up at him, brow furrowed and anxious confusion painted across your face.

“What are you doing here?” You hissed out at him, as he stumbled slightly after bumping you. Rage bubbled in his chest. The gaul of your tone, to be angry with him, as though he had not just watched you lick the inside of another man’s mouth. Your husband’s mouth.

“If you must know, I was invited here by your husband.” He spat the last word through his visor, nose curled up in a snarl as he stared down at you. Your chest heaved as you drew shaking breaths.

“But I do not want nor need a knight. And why is it you? How can it be you? You are not due home for another year.” You asked incredulously, flinging your hands about to emphasise your words.

“Well it does not seem that way, Princess. And do not act like you care why I am home, it is not as if you have been waiting for me. Would it have mattered if I came home in one years time? Or would the only difference be a baby on your hip.” Arthur’s helmet shook as he berated you, the rage of your betrayal mounting into an unshakable hatred of you in that moment. You had betrayed every promise you’d ever made to him. Everything had been a joke.

You gasped out at him, shoving him back by the chest plate. You pointed one of your perfectly soft and manicured fingers at him, jabbing him directly in the centre of the silver covering his body.

“You have no right. How much choice do you think I had? A man unwed by twenty is enjoying his youth. I was unwed at twenty and my father began talking of the convent.” You spat out, chin wobbling and fat tears gathering on your waterline. “Do you not think if I had the privilege of waiting I would not have done it? What was my best option, Arthur? Waste my days away in empty prayer as a nun or become the dutiful wife of a foolish man just to stay in my kingdom. To stay where you could find me.” Your voice wavered and sobs broke from your chest.

Arthur’s stern words spat out of his mouth before he had entirely thought about them.

“So I am to be grateful to you? For picking the first stupid Prince to stick his tongue down your throat?”

He stumbled slightly as you shoved him backwards, burning pain jolting through his hips at the movement. He hissed in pain, leaning against the wall and clenching his face. The ache throbbed, swelling into sharp bolts of pain through his legs.

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh stop it. Your childish fits won’t get you out of this. You are cruel and unkind. I cannot prevent you from being my guard but I forbid you from talking to me.” You shakily blurted out at him, tears still rolling down your cheeks. You turned away from him and stomped down the hallway, disappearing behind the stone as Arthur stood, eyes clenched in pain as he willed himself to push through it.

The following days were agony. His hips burned, his mind blackened and tormented. He pushed through the pain as he trudged after you to every duty you carried out. Picking flowers in the gardens, consulting the chefs about feast recipes, gossiping with your ladies as you embroidered and took tea - every single mundane activity you did, Arthur stood behind you, silently. You had managed to go without uttering a single word to him. Every morning you waltzed out of your tower door and breezed past him, entirely ignorant. You changed plans at the last second, taking calls in the east wing instead of the west, making him trail after you like a dog. His legs ached, the never ending hallways and staircases making his job near impossible. But he still followed you. He had to, it was his duty. He didn’t complain, didn’t hiss in pain every time his hips burned. He just followed you.

You were similarly annoyed by Arthur’s presence.

The only solace from him was in your chambers, high in your tower away from court and the endless droning of your husband. It was difficult to truly relax and enjoy being alone when you knew he was stood directly outside your bedroom door, loyalty to the commands given to him outweighing your mutual dislike. However, any faint noise from your room had him banging his gauntlet against your wooden door, barking through to see if you were well. When you dropped a bottle of perfume to the floor with a smash, he charged into the room, hand hovering above his sword ready to draw it on whatever threat had managed to creep in to your room past him.

“Oh for heavens sake, Arthur, I just dropped a bottle. I do not need you saving me from the powers of my own clumsiness.” You snapped at him, beginning to collect the shards of glass in your hands. “My room is going to smell like a tavern barmaid now.” You sighed, the overpowering scent of lavender and oud already pungent.

Arthur crouched on your carpet.

“Let me.” He said, voice flat and muffled through his visor. You rolled your eyes at his chivalrous defence of you, against glass of all things, and ignored him.

“I am perfectly capable of clearing this up, I am not a child.” You replied, shoving him away from you with a scoff. He didn’t move, still leaning down to pick up the glass. “Arthur, I am fine, it is only-“ you cut yourself off with a sharp gasp. Looking down, the palm of your hand pooling with blood, having caught one of the jagged edges of the glass. You hissed in pain, tears pricking the back of your eyes. You stood up, turning away from him. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of being right, clutching your palm with shaky hands.

His hand on your shoulder made you jump. He turned you round gently.

“You never did listen to me.” He scolded you, voice barely a murmur behind his helmet. He took your hands in his, the cold metal making you shiver. Tears rolled down your cheeks, the pain in your hand a sharp bite as he stretched out your hand flat. Tugging something greyed from his sleeve, he dabbed at the blood on your hand.

“You should go to the physician - you don’t want it getting infected.” The softness of his voice and the tenderness with which he touched your hand made your tears flow down your cheeks freely. The sting of your hand had dulled, but the closeness to him after weeks of silence and unthawing anger was enough to make you want to crumple to the floor and weep.

“C’mon, princess, it can’t hurt that bad.” He muttered to you, hesitating slightly before reaching up and brushing a stray tears from your face. You leaned into his touch, a desperate sigh leaving your throat. He tilted his head at you, and you caught a glimpse of his half-lidded eyes through his visor. The sight of them, soft and gentle behind the rough mechanical exterior of his armour made your stomach twist. You nodded and sniffed, holding the handkerchief he had wrapped around your hand to your palm.

“I’m okay, thank you.”

He hummed slightly, leaning towards your hand exaggeratedly. “Y’sure? We might have to amputate it, princess.” His voice went serious, low and concerned. “I think it may bleed out and I’ll be beheaded for letting the princess die of her own clumsiness.”

He repeated your own words back to you in a dramatic way, making a small laugh ring from your chest. He continued to examine you, declaring he feared the worst until you laughed properly, the tears just dried up tracks down your cheeks.

“I am sure I’ll be fine, Arthur. Although, if anything will cause an amputation it would be this handkerchief! Has it been washed in all those years you’ve been away?” You laughed, inspecting the fabric wrapped around your hand. It was dingy, a washed out greying scrap of a thing. Stained with your blood, and god knows what else. It was also terrifyingly familiar in a way that made the room pause.

It wasn’t his. It was yours. You scrambled to tear it from around your injury, eyes narrowing to inspect the cloth. You looked up at him, eyebrows arched and face completely void of expression. You could hardly believe it. He had crossed his arms over his chest, head turned away from you.

“You-you kept it?” The words came out in disbelief, scanning over him for any kind of reaction. He wordlessly nodded.

“You had made me a promise. Of course I kept it.” His low voice affirmed, not looking up from the spot on the floor his eyes seemed to be trained on. Your heart clenched in your throat at the words. You searched your brain desperately for any response, anything to break the tense silence that hung over you.

“But you did not keep your word, so I have no need for it now.” He murmured, before turning on his heel and leaving the room. He shut the door with a slam. You stood rooted to your spot in the middle of the room, hands shaking around the article of fabric. Tears began shining your eyes once again, and you flung the handkerchief away from you in frustration, balling your burning hand into a fist and scrubbing it against your eyes. You resolved to waste no more tears on him.

Arthur soon found that he felt incomplete without it. Like he was walking around all day having forgotten something. It made him distractible and dazed, like he was lost at sea without an anchor to keep him steady. He drifted after you the following week, barely even registering you. You didn’t seem to notice, invested in an upcoming feast. You had bandages around your injured hand, pristine white. He normally dreaded feast days. The last day of each week, the great hall would be filled with courtiers, and a grand luncheon would be followed with dancing, and then an even larger dinner. He would have to watch you dance, being twirled and dipped around the room by George. You would laugh and dance, holding yourself with a beautiful elegance that made his heart clench. He hadn’t found himself caring at all. You still weren’t speaking to each other.

He stood in your open doorway as you got ready for the feast, giggling and gossiping with the flurry of ladies maids who swept in and out of the room. He caught himself staring at you, zoning out on how your smile never left your face as you chatted or how your eyes sparkled as you laughed. Through the thin slit of his visor, you were all he could see. The world around you blurred, everything becoming static as he stood there, silently. His mind raced with admiration for you, but it was mixed with the pungent stench of betrayal. He had found that hating you was easier than admitting the truth. But as he looked at you, he wondered how he had managed to ignore you. A cough snapped him from his trance. Everyone in the room was staring at him.

“Um, can you please leave? I have asked you four times, her royal highness needs to be dressed.” one of your ladies asked him, a judgemental look on her face. The burning hot flush that washed over his face made him grateful for his visor.

“Sorry, your highness.” He managed to blurt out, moving quickly to leave the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Embarrassment made his palms sticky as he heard the flurry of awkward giggles behind him.

“He is a peculiar man, isn’t he?” He heard one of your ladies say through the door, followed by murmurs of agreement.

“Perhaps he is in some ways - but I have always admired the peculiarities of men.” Your hushed words made his mind race. You’d always been terrible at whispering, but something deep in the recesses of his mind told him he was meant to hear it.

The feast dragged on for hours. The great hall was decorated with streamers of ribbon and floral arrangements, the food laid on the table an extravagant spread. The night continued until the small hours of the morning. You were dressed in a beautiful gown, raspberry pink velvet trimmed with gold thread. You were the perfect host, greeting every courtier in the room. You were, however, never without a cup of wine in your hand. He watched as drunkenness took over, and you became giggly and pliant with the prince in a way that made his stomach turn. After a particularly long kiss with George, you stumbled up to Arthur, hiccuping as you struggled to stand upright in front of him.

“I-I think….bedtime.” You slurred out to him, eyes half lidded. He sighed through his nose and jerked his head in the direction of the stairs. Trying to commandeer you towards your tower felt like herding cats, frustration burning in his mind.

You were babbling and giggling to yourself the entire way up the turret stairs. Though the repetitive nature of your spiral staircase made you queasy. You had been drinking mead and sweet wine as though you were running out of it, and your stomach felt disagreeable after walking up in a circle. You turned and flopped down onto the stairs, your many layers of gown insulating your backside against the hard stone stairs. Arthur let out an incredibly deep sigh, halting from his place behind you. Your ascent to bed should not really have been his job, but he had seen George in a competition of chugging mead the quickest - and he would have rather died than watch you two stumbling up the stairs together, unable to keep your hands to yourselves.

“What on earth is the matter?” Arthur snapped, his patience worn thin after an entire evening of spectating you and the prince flirting.

You flopped your back down on the rest of the stairs, staring up at him with sleepy eyes.

“Take off your helmet, Arthur.” You murmured, tilting your head to look at him. He began to shake his head no, but when you pouted and kicked your feet on the stone, somehow becoming even more petulant under the influence, he sighed and succumbed. It was not as if you’d remember any of this. He pulled his helmet off entirely, and he let out an uncontrollable sigh of relief. He had been sweating all day, hot and sticky under the heavy metal. You were staring at him with round, glazed eyes. You admired every freckle and mark on his face, attempting to commit it to your very hazy memory. Seeing him properly made heat settle low in your stomach, mind racing with improper ideas.

“Can you take me to bed please, Arthur?” You purred, reaching your arms up at him, causing him to roll his eyes and sigh deeply. Had you been sober, you’d have known he was getting agitated. But in your drunk state, he seemed to be wearing down. He carefully wrapped his arms around your body, before hoisting you bridal style into his hold. You giggled and squealed as he did so, reaching out to grip his hair at the back in a way that made him loose his balance. After recovering his stance, he began his ascent further up into your tower. Opening the door with his foot, he lowered you from his arms. Holding them out to ensure you were steady, he huffed and grumbled as you giggled and stumbled around your bedroom.

He watched vacantly as you attempted to undo your gown, clawing at the laces on the back of the velvet. Had you been successful he would have turned away from you, not wanting to impose on you in such a state. But as you twisted and contorted your body in an attempt to remove the gown, he just watched, stifling a laugh at your drunkenness. You whined, frustrated that you couldn’t reach. You had never laced yourself in or out of a gown in your life, and with fumbling fingers that couldn’t reach, you resolved that you would just be sleeping in one of your finest gowns.

Unless?

You turned to Arthur expectantly, a cheeky and pleading grin painted on your features. Realisation dawned on him and he shook his head vigorously ‘no’.

“Princess, you know I cannot do that, if you sit and wait I can fetch one of your ladies.” He began, heat slowly rising in his cheeks as he tried to look anywhere but from where you had sank to your knees on the carpet. Your hands were clasped beneath your chin, lips formed into a pout and eyelashes batting up and down.

“Oh please, Arthur! I cannot sleep in this dress. It is far too pretty. And you would not be doing anything wrong, just assisting your princess.” You giggled as you said it. In your drunken delirious state, you saw no harm in Arthur aiding you to sleep. He was sworn to protect and serve you, and why should that not also apply to helping you to bed?

Every single thought in Arthur’s head told him to turn around and leave. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave you. Not in the state you were in. Arthur’s heart was racing, his hands trembling as he nodded slowly and helped you up. You turned away from him, swaying slightly as you stumbled in your heels. His hands hovered over your hips. He swallowed thickly, eyes clenching shut as his mind raced a mile a minute. What was he doing? He thought of your virtue, of his position as your servant. He thought of how soft you used to be with him, how you used to flirt and giggle with him when you got too drunk all those years ago. That was what had made you trust him. He argued with his brain that this meant nothing, he was only helping you, nothing else.

“Mm I don’t feel well, Arthur, spin me round.” You mumbled, and you felt his hands shakingly settle on your hips, spinning you round and recoiling as though the fabric of your dress had burnt him. You smiled at him dopily.

“Untie me then.” You muttered, arms suddenly coming down to rest on the nape of Arthur’s neck to steady yourself. Your fingers found themselves playing with the small curls there, unaware that your actions were making Arthur sweat. He clenched his eyes shut, and allowed a desperate grunt to leave his throat. He hadn’t been this close to a woman in months, years even.

With a shaky breath, and a desperate ignorance to the curve of your bust pressing into his chest, he reached behind you and began unlacing your dress. His hands trembled and his lip quivered, completely overwhelmed by the closeness of your face as he leaned closer to unlace you. The smile on your face was casual, as if this was a regular occurrence and not one of the most peculiar moments of Arthur’s life. The front of your dress sagged away from your body. It took the will of his entire bloodline for Arthur not to look down. He clenched his eyes closed. He thought of his father, of your husband, anything to take his mind off of the way you smelled like rose petals and musk. Your hand touching his face snapped him back to reality and he moved away, reacting as though you had slapped him. He turned on his heels and marched out of the door, slamming it behind him and leaning against it, lungs wrestling to take in oxygen. You stood there, dazed, not entirely sure what had just happened. You stepped out of your dress and flung yourself down on your bed, eyes shut tight to stop the room spinning.

Arthur stood at the top of the stairs, outside your door long after he had helped you. his mind was reeling. Your tower was silent, the only noise being the distant coo of owls outside the windows. Everything was still. Arthur allowed himself to sigh, relax slightly and allow his hips to ease. He leaned against the wall, head ripped back by your door. A sound caught his ear.

A quiet, barely there sniff. And a hiccup. Silent, choked, muffled by something. Beyond his better judgement, he apprehensively raised his gauntlet and knocked on your door. The tugging at his heartstrings far outweighed the devil on his shoulder that shouted at him to leave you to your misery.

He got no response. He knocked again. He waited a moment. Nothing. But the barely there sniffles continued. He moved away, standing back at his station. An idea flashed in his mind. Fumbling for his bag, he found a scrap of parchment and a stick of charcoal. Scribbling something barely even legible to him, he bent down slowly, hissing at the pain pinging through his hips. He shoved the note under your door, a sickly wave of dejavu washing over him.

A few minutes passed before he heard your light footsteps near the door. The creak of the hinges made him turn. There you stood, in your nightgown and a dark silk robe. Your face was puffy, cheeks tear stained. You were clutching his note in your hands. You’d sobered up since he left you, no longer stumbling.

Silence hung between you. Arthur stood in the darkness, and you noticed that you could almost catch a glimpse of his eyes through his visor in the light from your room. You sniffed hard, wiping your eyes with your hand.

“I’m okay.” You gestured to the note in your hand. You’d always been able to read Arthur’s handwriting.

“Why’re you crying?” The words left Arthur’s mouth before he could stop them. His jaw clenched as he scanned over your face, trying to read you.

You nodded. “I was just thinking of George. He is-“ you drifted off, as if you were unsure where you were going. “He is a nice man. A kind one. Just not the man I had hoped for.”

Arthur swallowed. It seemed you must still be a bit drunk. Though the steadiness of your voice told him otherwise. His mouth was thick, suddenly dry and tight. He nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak.

“I know I cannot understand what you are feeling. But I wish it was different. We may not lovers anymore,” Arthur looked away, scoffing. “Arthur don’t make this harder, please, I want us to be friends.”

“We can’t be friends.” His voice was tight. Stern. He meant it. He couldn’t pretend you hadn’t hurt him. But the defeat that crumpled on your face and the tears that welled in your eyes made him sigh.

“But I am in your service. Perhaps we could go for a ride tomorrow, princess. I remember how you used to like it.” Your face lit up, eyes creasing as your smiled at him, nodding your head. You went to reply but he held up his hand. “I will accompany you as your Knight. Nothing more.”

You nodded at him, tight lipped.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Arthur.”

He nodded, turning back to his position.

Before you could shut the door fully, he replied.

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

It made your stomach flip upside down. Your cheeks were hot as you settled into your bed, eyes trained to the door he was stood behind. You slept eventually, giddy anticipation keeping you awake for almost an hour after speaking with him.

You’d woken up as soon as the sun rose, springing out of bed with an unusual amount of enthusiasm for the early morning. The stone floor of your bedroom was cold as you padded to the door. Peering round it, you noticed Arthur was gone. In his place stood Will, a friendly knight from the north, one of your husband’s many friends who came with him when he arrived. You spoke to him briefly, asking about Arthur as innocently as you could.

“Aye, he’s fine, princess. Went off duty bout two hours ago, told me to tell you he’d meet you in the stables.” His accent had been difficult to understand at first, but you nodded at him gratefully. You began closing your door when Will began again - you’d noticed he was difficult to shut up once he’d started. “I dinna what he’s doing on a horse, shouldn’t be doing too much with all his injuries. But he’s a bit of a radge like so I didn’t say anything.”

You just blinked at him. Injuries? Arthur hadn’t said anything. Well he had barely said two words to you since the day he got home. A flush of shame rose to your cheeks and you thanked Will again, shutting the door. Thoughts of Arthur raced around your mind. You hadn’t even seen him with his helmet off. What if he’d been burned or maimed? Anxiety settled in your stomach. You sat with your thoughts until the sun rose, and a flurry of ladies maids came through your door to dress you for the day. You swept your concerns to the corner of your mind. You’d be able to figure out what was wrong with him on your ride. Just you and him.

And George, apparently. He’d been waiting for you at the bottom of the turret stairs. Dressed in a blue silk waistcoat and a white shirt, you could see the trail of his chest hair behind the untied laces of his collar. He was wearing riding breeches and boots.

“Good morning, darling.” He’d said, already leaning in for a kiss. You kissed him back, tentatively. You looked him up and down expectantly. “Sir Will told me you were planning on riding this morning, and I thought you’d rather not just have to go with that dreary old Knight of yours. You know, I thought he’d be more jolly, coming home early from service to a job and not a banishment.”

You just hummed in agreement, mind racing with what on earth Arthur’s reaction would be. Curse Will and his big mouth. Arthur had outstretched an olive branch, and you had seemingly snapped it half by bringing your husband. You were silent the whole walk down to the stables, not that George noticed - he talked nonstop about the feast last night, and how his head was thick, or how funny one of his men had been. You just hummed along occasionally.

Arthur was there waiting for you. What was almost a smile at the sight of you dropped into a scowl when he registered George beside you. You didn’t even care. You were looking at his face. Not the metal helmet that had followed you around for two weeks, but him. You had hazy memories of seeing him last night that made you shiver, but seeing him so clearly in the shining daylight was like seeing him for the first time all over again.

His face had hardened in his years away, but he was still so handsome. He was olive toned, the distant shores he had fought on making him glow. His soft jaw was peppered with stubble, a thick moustache on his upper lip. His dark eyebrows furrowed over his gold eyes, the bags beneath them dark but endearing. As you got closer you noticed a tiny gold hoop in his earlobe, almost hidden by the long chestnut curls on his head. His hair was long in the back, no doubt overdue for a haircut - but you liked it. You had always thought George’s hair was foolish, but on Arthur it made your stomach flutter. The curls on his head shook as he roughly pulled his saddle into place. The silver rings on his hands make your stomach flip.

“There are only two horses prepared.” Arthur said monotonously, not looking up at you when you and George reached him.

“Ah, well my wife does not need a horse! She has the pick of two fine men to ride with.” George spoke cheerily. “Who should you like to ride with, darling?”

You blinked up at him dumbly. Your throat dried, feeling anxiety creep up your spine. It felt like a test. Had one of his men told him of your affair with Arthur? Your moth opened and closed, entirely unsure of how to answer him. The answer should have been obvious. You should pick him, your husband. But Arthur’s scowl on the face you’d begun to forget made your heart twinge.

“I’ll ride with Sir Hill, darling. Just because you ride far too fast for me, you know that.” You replied boldly, Arthur’s eyebrows shooting up his forehead in shock. A shit eating grin spread across his face and you almost regretted your decision. George seemed unfazed, already moving towards his own horse.

“You know me too well, wife!” He laughed heartily, mounting his horse in one fluid motion.

“Thought he treated you well, princess. He seems all too willing to give you up.” Arthur’s voice teased you. His grin never faltered. You rolled your eyes, definitely regretting your decision now.

Begrudgingly, you hauled yourself up onto Arthur’s horse. You struggled to arrange yourself into sitting side saddle, moving the heavy layers of your gown over your legs. Arthur rolled his eyes at you.

“You never used to sit like that.” He muttered, almost to himself. You shot him a look.

“Well it is how I sit now.” You bit back at him, keeping your voice low as you eyed George sat on his horse.

Arthur raised his leg to the stirrup and hauled himself up behind you. “Try not to fall off then, princess.”

You rolled your eyes. Arthur’s body behind yours made you distrust the use of your voice. He was solid, one of this thighs resting against yours. There were layers of fabric between you, but just the heavy weight of his body made your head spin. Arthur grabbed the reigns of his horse, an arm either side of you. It made you shift slightly, a burning sensation in your stomach.

The ride was short. You hadn’t considered going very far after George’s abrupt invasion of your plan. You watched him trot ahead of you and Arthur. His horse picked up speed until he was a great distance from you, just a blue blob you could make out the features of if you squinted. The forest was a delightful place to trot through. Tall trees, in their full green glory at the height of summer. Sun rays beamed through the gaps in the trees, cascading light down into the bed of the forest. It caught the small stream you were trotting alongside of, making the water glint. Flowers and water plants bloomed across the floor, and you admired the peacefulness of it. It should have been relaxing.

But Arthur was humming. Right by your ear. A tune you didn’t recognise, grating away your patience. He seemed to be entirely absentminded, doing it without meaning to. It was a low vibration of noise. But paired with the painful ache that was building in your left thigh as you sat with all your weight leaning on it, jolting up and down uncomfortably when the horse moved through the uneven surface of the forest, it had made your brain twinge with annoyance. You sighed out of your nose. He didn’t notice. You did it again. It was on your fourth deep exhale that he snapped at you.

“What is it now?” He asked, exasperated. His voice was so close to your ear that it made your stomach twinge.

“I am uncomfortable, and your incessant humming is annoying me.” You looked back at him as you spoke, catching him roll his eyes. He dropped one side of the reigns to gesture to your lap.

“Perhaps if you were sat properly it wouldn’t be so uncomfortable.” He deadpanned out.

“I cannot sit the way you are, it is unladylike.”

“It is unladylike to be sat on your Knight’s horse instead of your husband’s, princess, but that didn’t stop you.” He retorted, raising his eyebrows to punctuate his words. You had forgotten how easily he wound you up.

“Well maybe you should have saddled my horse then.”

“Oh because you cannot do anything yourself?”

An exasperated cry of frustration left your chest. He got under your skin, poking and prodding at your buttons to rile up your temper.

“You are impossible.” You hissed at him, turning to look forwards into the forest once more. You heard him exhale through his nose behind you, laughing at your short fuse.

You sat in silence, not turning to him as you trotted deeper into the forest. The grass was uneven, rocks and fallen trees blocking the path slightly. You bounced on the back of the horse as it moved, body jolting up and down. An incline of grass made your body slip back. You came into contact with Arthur. He grunted at the contact, and you forced your eyes to focus on the distant blue of George’s waistcoat. Anything to distract from the way your body suddenly burned.

His tunic was soft against you, but his chest was sturdy. He radiated warmth. Every breath you took you smelled him. Musky, herbal and laced with tobacco. It was intoxicating, and felt so familiar that it made your chest tight. He was breathing deeply, right by your ear. The heat boiling in your brain made you wish he was still humming, annoying you instead of turning your brain to mush. You cleared your throat and shifted your legs slightly, trying to focus on easing the ache of your muscles, willing yourself to stop focusing on the way his arms caged you in against him.

You shifted again, doing anything to stop him from invading every corner of your brain. A grunt from him, right by your ear, low and laced almost pained sent a twinge between your legs, brain mush. Your body moved against his as the horse tracked over an uneven stretch of grass. He grunted again.

“Stop moving.” Arthur’s voice was quiet and gravelly in your ear, having leaned close enough for it to be silent to anyone but you. His breath fanning across the expanse of your neck made you shiver.

“I cannot help it. What is the matter?” You replied, still facing forward. Your hips jolted again, somehow rocking backwards into him even further. You felt something hard dig into the side of your thigh. The solid object pressed into your skin through the skirts of your dress. “Arthur, move your sword, the hilt is digging into me.” You turned your head at him as you said it, shocked to find a pink flush over his cheeks.

“It’s not my sword.” He struggled out, eyes darting down. You followed his gaze lower.

Oh. Oh.

The front of Arthur’s trousers were tented, nestled against your body amidst the fabric. A hot wave of desire washed over your entire body. Your eyes flicked back up to him. He was looking anywhere but your eyes, the flush on his cheeks creeping up to his ears.

You looked away from him, clearing your throat slightly. Your wedding ring caught your eye. The sun glinted on it in a way that made it sparkle. It shone off of Arthur’s rings too. The rings that framed long fingers, rough edges and veins that ran up into his shirt sleeve. You could have blamed the heat. The hysteria your husband claimed you to have. You blamed a million and one other things, but when you rotated your hips, making Arthur gasp out, you could only blame your impossibly fragile willpower.

“Stop, princess,” He whispered into your ear, breathless. Your hips moved of their own accord, rubbing against the firm weight of his cock. The rotations of your hips pressed the rough fabric of his trousers into the sensitive skin of his length. He hissed out as this cock throbbed, straining desperately against you. It had been so long since he’d touched a woman. The barely there contact between you, stifled by layers of linen and silk may as well have been the velvet heat of your cunt to Arthur. It was bliss. Despite his words, he believed that if the circular movements of your hips stopped he would explode.

“Princess, what are you doing? Are you mad?” His voice was ragged in a way that made your heart skip in your chest. Heat was blooming all over your body, rushing down to between your thighs. You felt wetness between them, a slick feeling that made you squirm.

“I think I must be. Do you want me to stop?” You asked him, keeping your voice low. His hand dropped the reign, coming down to grip your waist.

“If you stop, I will take you right here in the forest, princess, and do you want to risk the Prince seeing you getting fucked properly?”

His words made you whimper, eyes darting to where George was - he seemed closer suddenly. Closing in on the illicit actions you couldn’t stop yourself from continuing.

“You certainly think very highly of your self.” You laughed slightly, rolling your hips back sharply, raising up slightly from the saddle to rub the entire length of Arthur’s crotch against you. He hissed, a groan leaving his throat. His hand rubbed up and down your dress, pulling and holding you against him. He began rutting his hips to meet the rotations of yours.

“You forget I hear you with him. I know what a woman sounds like when she is unsatisfied.”

Shame made your entire body shiver. His words made you throb in a way that was more intense than you wanted to admit. Arthur’s head rested on your shoulder, panting out against you. His hips moved deliberately, desperately rutting against the curve of your thigh. The sensitive tip of his cock bumped against your thigh, making a strangled groan leave his throat.

“Fuck, princess, feels so good.”

Your body keened at his praise, your brain going gooey and slick leaking between your thighs. An idea flashed in your brain, a dark wicked idea born from desperation to hear him groan again. You shifted slightly, pulling your leg up and over the saddle, straddling the horse properly. The contact of the soft leather against the sticky heat of your panties made you gasp. You arched your back against Arthur, leaning your ass against his crotch. You rolled your hips back into him, the reposition of your body and the sudden pressure of your round ass against his heavy cock making him groan out. His hand rested on the dip of your waist, rings heavy against your body through the thin material of your corset.

“Fuck, you’re so filthy, princess. Such a good girl, I knew you’d come back to me.” He panted out against your back, hot breath fanning over your skin. He was babbling, hips bucking sporadically against you as he desperately chased his high. The friction of his trousers against his length rubbing in a way that made his head fuzzy. You rolled your hips against him desperately, your slick rubbing against the saddle in a way that made your eyes roll back into your skull.

Arthur let out a low grunt as he came, hand tightening against your waist in an attempt to ground himself. It took every inch of his willpower not to cry out as he painted his trousers in thick ropes of cum. He shuddered, holding you still as he came down from his high.

“I’ll always come back to you, Finchy.” You said quietly, breathlessly as you ground your clit down into the saddle desperately. You were turned to look at him, eyes half lidded. You examined his face, eyes blown wide from pleasure. His cheeks were pink and his entire body radiated heat. Sweat had made his curls stick to his forehead. He gave you a shaky, fucked-out smirk. You swallowed thickly, desperate to close the gap between you. Your lips twitched, leaning toward him slightly when a sudden shout of your name burst the the bubble that had built around you.

You’d forgotten about the world outside of you and Arthur. About your husband. Panic rose in your throat as you scanned the surrounding forest for him.

He was alarmingly close to you and Arthur.

“Would you like to ride with me on the way home, poppet?” He asked, calling out to you as he turned his horse and trotted back towards you and Arthur.

Hurriedly, you swung your leg around and jumped from the horse. Your knees buckled slightly, legs jellied.

“Y-yes! Thank you, darling. I will ride home with you.” You called out to him, voice slightly hoarse. You turned back to Arthur, a crestfallen expression on his still pink face. You leaned back toward him. Eyes darting to George, you expected you had a moment to bring Arthur back to earth. The gleam of your wetness on the saddle caught your eye. You’d soaked through your panties, a streak of wetness where you had been sitting. You swiped your finger through it, reaching up and brushing it across Arthur’s lips. His eyes fluttered, hips bucking up unexpectedly as the heady scent of your cunt reached his nose. His tongue darted out immediately, licking the taste of you from his lips. He groaned, eyes rolling into his head slightly.

“” You kept your voice low, desperation laced in your tone as your stared into Arthur’s lust-blown eyes. The sound of George’s horse whinnying made you turn, painting a bright smile onto your face as you walked toward him. Your legs were like jelly, and you felt the burn of Arthur’s gaze follow you as you neared your husband.

He helped you up onto his horse. He pecked the damp skin of your nape. You looked into Arthur’s eyes. His face was vacant for a moment, before he shot you a wink, a triumphant smirk tugging at his face. George clicked his tongue and you began your journey back to the castle. You hummed and nodded along to his conversation, not listening at all as you clenched your thighs, a desperate attempt to satiate the need between them. You stayed with George for the rest of the day. As the slick between your thighs dried, guilt had begun to swallow you whole. You had been reckless, stupid. You had risked everything you knew, to pursue a foolish fantasy of your girlhood. It made you sweaty, mind racing and swimming with shame for the rest of the day. You hadn’t seen Arthur since the stables, feeling entirely foreign to not have him one pace behind you. It made you feel vulnerable, like you were missing your most important limb. You had fidgeted all through dinner, unable to meet George’s eyes.

Night drew in all too quickly. After a tight lipped kiss to George’s cheek as you bid him goodnight, you stood apprehensively at the bottom of your tower stairs. You paced in front of them, mind racing faster than you could keep up with. After a concerned look from a passing courtier, you began your ascent to the top.

Every step felt like you were climbing further and further to the edge of a cliff you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from jumping from. The rational part of your brain told you to lock the door, ignore the tapping of Arthur’s knock, and sleep thinking of your husband. Chewing your lip, you looked at the plain gown you usually wore to bed. A throb bloomed deep in your loins. You decided you had always been an irrational person, anyway.

Almost an hour later, when the night had truly settled in and the entire castle was quiet, there was a knock on your door. A gentle rap of knuckles that sent a full body shiver through you.

“Come in.” You called out, just loud enough for him to hear. The handle shifted and the wood creaked as Arthur stepped into the room. He had changed his clothes, a relaxed grey tunic hanging over his broad shoulders. The look in his eyes was wild, animalistic.

“You ready f’me, Princess? Been such a good girl waiting all day. C’mere.” Arthur’s voice was low, gravelly. It wasn’t quite a command, but it wasn’t a request. His wide stature stood in your open doorway, commanding your attention. You sat on your bed, the quilt ruffled and crumpled over your lap. You sat staring at him, ignoring the creeping feeling that told you to cover up in the presence of him.

Your nightdress was thin, a linen chemise with rosebuds embroidered on the ruffled sleeves and neckline. It was loose and hung low on your chest. Arthur’s eyes traced over the slope of your collarbone and the rise and fall of your breast as you took in shaky breaths.

“You come to me, Arthur.” You replied, trying to make your voice seem confident, though it wavered under his stony gaze. The deep sigh and roll of his shoulders made your toes curl under your blanket.

“I won’t ask you again, princess.”

The way he said your title made a shiver crawl up your spine. It was scorching hot in your bedchambers. The late summer nights were unusually warm this year, making the air thick and sticky. And yet, under Arthur’s gaze, you felt cold to your bones. Your arms were alight with goosebumps, and you squirmed under his unfaltering watch.

To submit to the commands of a knight, someone so far beneath your station, a man who had sworn under oath to serve you was an insult to your crown, your bloodline. It ridiculed the entire monarchy, everything your husband’s kingdom and your title of Princess stood for. You brain screamed at you to stop, to apologise and send him off to his station. To swear you’d never say a word of this to anyone, and be content with only one foolish mistake on your conscience.

But your legs stood up all the same. Padded across the stone floor. Looked up at him, gulping at the sound of a shaking sigh leaving his chest. His eyes burned their way up and down your body, examining the way your curves were illuminated by the candlelight through the shapeless fabric of your chemise. His jaw clenched, fingers twitching at his side.

One of his hands reached up slowly, and he brushed the backs of his knuckles over the swell of your breast. The coldness of his rings made you tremble, gasping in a sharp breath. He traced the soft curve of your collarbone, stepping closer. His hands were rough and war torn, the rings a cold bite on your sticky skin. He trailed his way slowly up your negligee, brushing the soft skin into goosebumps, tracing the delicate lines of your throat that bobbed nervously under his touch. You looked down at his hand, trembling breaths shaking out of your chest. He caught your jaw, tilting your head up to him.

Your eyes met his. There was a beat. Silence hung between you, the only noise the faint crackle of your candles burning.

You’re not sure who moved first. Teeth met in a clashing kiss, tongues sloppily licking into each others mouths desperately. Arthur’s large hand settled on the small of your back, tugging you roughly towards him, hands balling up the fabric of your nightgown. His other gripped your jaw, pulling you closer desperately, your body melting into the harsh lines of his. His tongue rolled over yours, lips melting together in a searing kiss. Your hands raked through his hair, feeling the curls melt over your fingers as you reached up to scrape his scalp with your nails. He groaned into your open mouth and it made your thighs clench together.

The heat between your thighs was unlike anything you’d ever felt. A hot, sickly feeling that had consumed your entire body. It felt like jolts of lightning were waving over you with every flex of Arthur’s hands on your body. Your hands travelled down the nape of his neck, scraping down in hopes of retrieving that sound from his lips again. The soft silk of his tunic brushed your finger tips as you dug into his shoulders, craving the closeness of his warm solid body. That was when you felt it, thick hard and heavy against your scarcely covered thigh. Arthur’s cock stood full mast in his trousers, throbbing against your thighs through layers of fabric. It pressed desperately into the meat of your thighs, Arthur’s hips beginning to rotate in languid circles as he continued kissing you. Your body stilled against him, lips suddenly unmoving. You let out a shaky breath as he continued to kiss you, peppering them across your jaw as little noises caught in his throat, hips continuing to rotate against you, his hands clutching desperately at your gown, beginning to ball up the fabric higher and higher up your thighs. It sent a wave of reality over you.

What were you doing?

You pulled away from him, ignoring the string of spit that connected him to your neck. Arthur’s mouth chased yours, eyes hooded and desperate. His hands fumbled to hold the soft skin of your hips, clutching the linen fabric.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” You gasped out, breathless. His brow furrowed as he shook his head, leaning back in to kiss you. Planting your hands against his chest you pushed back further, making his hands drop from your waist. You shook your head and took a step back.

“Arthur we can’t, you know this is wrong.”

The heat in your stomach seemed to cry out as you stepped away from him, your brain clawing inside your head as you ached to rejoin the desperate kiss that had set your entire world on fire.

He spluttered where he stood. You blinked as you took in the tented crotch of his trousers, and his heaving chest. His cheeks were pink and his lips bitten raw. The look in his eyes was that of a man possessed.

“Princess, please, one more kiss.” He panted out, swallowing thickly and moving towards you. You moved backwards until your knees hit your bedpost. Shaking your head at him, the reality of your situation overwhelming you as you caught sight your gilt family crest hung above your doorway. It represented your position, your responsibility to your kingdom. You had a duty, and it would be squandered if you continued your sordid activities with Arthur.

“You know just as well as I do that we shouldn’t be doing this, it is forbidden. Imagine if my husband knew of this, you would be hanged!” You said desperately, trying you ignore the throb between your legs as Arthur’s body caged you in.

He leaned down, lips almost brushing yours, his breath hot on your face as he stared into your eyes.

“So let me die a happy man.”

Swallowing thickly, your eyes examined his face - his expression painted with need and desperation, eyebrows knitted together softly and eyes burning with desire. It made your cunt throb, pressing your thighs together to ease some of the wetness that had gathered there. Against all your better judgement, you took hold of the nape of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss.

Your lips moved together in unison, his moustache scratching your upper lip. He tasted like mead and chewing tobacco. It was bitter and unlike anything you’d ever tasted, different to all those years ago, but you found yourself tonguing deeper into his mouth. Everything about him was intoxicating. His rude attitude, the slight curl of his hair and the taste of beer on his tongue. Arthur had you enraptured. Every hesitation you had seemed to melt away, everything about the kiss feeling right. It was so different with Arthur, the movement of your lips felt purposeful, like the answer to a question you’d asked yourself over and over again. His soft lips explored the wet opening of your mouth, hands holding you against him like you might disappear, and the apprehension melted from your gut.

The kiss deepened, and your bodies slowly lowered down onto your bed, Arthur’s wide stance caging you beneath him. He propped himself up, your legs intertwining with his as he toyed with the hem of your nightgown. A whimper left your mouth as his rough fingertips traced the soft skin of your thighs. He smirked slightly at you, eyes gleaming as your chest drew in sharp breaths at the contact between you.

“Can I?” His voice was low, as he began to push the dress even higher on your thighs. He halted there, looking down into your eyes expectantly. Not trusting your voice you nodded quickly, and leaned up to help him. Arthur pulled the dress from your body in one quick motion, leaving you naked beneath him. He outright groaned at the sight. Soft curves were illuminated in the low light of your room, round breasts that heaved with every breath you took and a thick thatch of hair between your thighs. You squirmed under his gaze, beginning to become self conscious and closing your legs, bringing your knees closer to your chest.

“No, no no, princess, I have waited far too long and you are far too beautiful to hide yourself from me, lower your legs.” Arthur’s husky voice encouraged you, and you did as he said. He kissed the shell of your knee before dropping his gaze to the hair between your thighs. His large hands stroked up your legs, before pushing them apart. Eyes trained to the glistening spot between them, a sharp breath entered his chest. You stared up at him, eyes wide and expectant as he examined you, thumbs hovering above your mound. A breathy moan left your lips as he slowly parted your lips, opening the wetness of your cunt to him. He ran his middle finger through your folds, opening you up for him with the other two.

He swallowed back a moan and rearranged himself, lowering down so he was knelt on the floor, eyes level with your pussy.

He looked up at you, desperation painted across his face.

“May I, princess?” He whispered, eyes never leaving yours.

You weren’t entirely sure what he was asking for permission for. But you were desperate for the heat in your belly to be relieved, and you expected whatever he had planned would subside your need. You nodded shyly, sitting up slightly to watch him as he grinned and lowered his face.

He pressed a few barely-there kisses to your inner thighs, the tickle of his facial hair making you shiver, your legs twitching in his grasp. His ringed hands were cold on your legs.

The first kiss to your clit felt like a bolt of lightning. A feather light touch that ignited every nerve in your body. He pressed kisses over the nub, before darting his tongue across it, making you cry out. His tongue drew languid patterns over your cunt, his face moving in tandem, smearing your slick over his chin. His tongue moved lower, circling your hole in a way that made your toes curl. His eyes met yours, his hands reaching up to grasp your breasts. Rolling the sensitive buds of your nipples over his fingers, the sensation distracted you from his tongue entering you. The wet muscle licking in and out of you made your back arch from the bed, crying out a strangled moan as his nose bumped your clit. The noise made him hum against your cunt, that all familiar shit eating grin on his face even as he knelt between your thighs. The sounds leaving your throat as he worked you over were completely foreign to you - high breathy moans and strangled cries.

Arthur pulling his face from your cunt made you cry out a sob, hands clawing down to the back of his head. He had the nerve to laugh slightly, looking down at your hips rutting off the bed towards him.

“I’ll get back to you, princess, but you need to be quiet. Can’t have your husband hearing us, can we?”

You shook your head pitifully, shame creeping up your neck and flushing your entire body. You were in far too deep now to be regretful. You thought of him for a moment, your husband, no doubt somewhere in the castle more content playing some ball game with his men than with you. You were snapped out of your mind as a glob of spit land on your cunt, looking down at Arthur smearing it around, making your thighs quiver.

“If you think about him again, you’re going to be in deep fucking trouble, princess.” His voice was dark, jaw clenched and eyes stony as he rubbed his spit into your wetness, rolling over your clit. His fingers spread the slick combination of you both over your clit in slow, deliberate circles. You shook your head.

“I-I wasn’t, I promise.”

“Hm. I dunno, I lost you for a second there.” He replied, not loosing eye contact with you, his fingers never stopping moving over your cunt. They dipped down, and in one fluid motion two of his long, ringed fingers entered you. The stretch was delicious, the cold metal of his rings making you shiver against him. He curled his fingers slowly, torturously, stroking a spot inside of you that you’d never felt before. It made your entire body go loose, tingling all over, your brain not forming any thoughts as his long fingers continued pumping and curling inside of you.

“Does he make you feel this good, princess?” Arthur asked, a smug look on his face as he brought his mouth down to give slow kisses to your clit. It made your back arch from the bed, a desperate moan leaving your mouth.

“No, no he doesn’t, you know that.” You replied, breathless. He grinned, pumping his fingers faster and sucking your clit into his mouth, tongue rolling over it. You cried out, hips bucking up to meet his face.

He pulled off of your cunt with a pop, fingers still curling deep inside of you.

“Sensitive little thing, aren’t you? I know he doesn’t touch you like I do, princess. He doesn’t know how.” He teased you, the grin never leaving his face as you squirmed and bucked up into his hand, hips desperately chasing the feeling of his fingers hitting that spot high up inside of you that made you see white. Need coiled up low in your stomach, back arched and dripping with sweat as Arthur drew you tantalisingly close to the edge. He pushed a third finger into your dripping hole, making your whole body shake. Wetness was soaking down his wrist, coating your thighs and pooling into the bedsheets. Your cunt made lewd squelching sounds, mixing with your pants and whines to create the best song Arthur had ever heard. He watched you intensely as your body bucked, a moan catching in your throat.

“Let go for me, princess, you can do it, cum f’me.” The vibrations of his words against your swollen clit sent you barrelling over the edge of bliss, a wet gush of slick coating Arthur’s hand and mouth. You let out a howling moan, body coated in a sheen of sweat as you shook all over.

“Well done, baby, such a good girl.” Arthur’s husky voice praising you sent aftershocks of bliss through your cunt, making you clench around his retreating fingers. He pulled them out of you with a squelch, bringing them to his mouth and making a show of licking them clean. You felt yourself clench around nothing at the sight, his tongue swirling around his rings and hollowing his cheeks to suck every drop of your cum from his hands. With one last chaste kiss to your clit, arthur reached for your nightgown.

“No, please, I want to continue.” You panted out, mind fuzzy and warm but desperate for his cock. You reached out for him, tugging the dress from his grip and throwing it behind you. You clutched him as close to you as possible, panting into his ear. “Please, fuck me, Sir Hill. Fuck me like I need to be fucked.”

The groan that left his mouth was almost animalistic. His hands traced up and down your back, scraping his nails down your spine. You knew he was considering it, and as you had never not gotten what you wanted, you dug your heels in.

Peppering tiny little kisses to his neck, alternating between feather light pecks and sloppy licks across his jaw, you settled by his ear. “Please, Arthur, I want you so badly.”

The pained expression on his face spurred you on. A wicked idea crossed your mind.

“If you do not, I suppose I will just have to find the king. I’m sure he would-“

Arthur flipped you onto your front before you could finish your sentence. A hard smack came down on your ass, making you cry out, hands gripping the sheets.

“Don’t know when to fucking quit, do you? You want my cock so bad, you’ll get it.” He all but spat at you, one hand working open his trousers, the other coming down again on the flesh of your ass. His rings stung against your skin. He scoffed as your back arched after every slap, hips wriggling for more.

“Fucking filthy. Desperate for me to put you in your place.” He growled out at you, before sheathing his cock into you in one thrust. His cock was long and heavy, stretching open your cunt and burrowing deep into your spongy walls. His thighs touched the back of yours, white flashes sparking your vision. He was impossibly deep inside of you, bulging into your stomach. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt, your entire body feeling fizzy just from one thrust.

“Fuck-Fuck you’re so tight, never been fucked properly. Practically still a Virgin.” Arthur panted out, thrusting his hips in a deep rhythm that made your toes curl. You were a mess beneath him, face pressed against the bed, hair fanned over your face as you gasped at every movement of his hips.

One hand gripped the meat of your ass, the other coming down to pull your head up by your hair. He tipped your head back, making you stare at him. Upside down he was just as beautiful - curls sweaty and stuck to his forehead, eyes possessed and lip twitching. He pulled your hair further, back in an impossible arch. The shift drove his cock even deeper inside of you, and your eyes rolled back into your skull. Spit landed in your open mouth, making a moan leave your throat. It tasted of him, of tobacco and mead, and something inexplicably Arthur. You stuck your tongue out greedily, expectantly.

“That’s my girl. So needy for everything, just fucking filthy.” Arthur all but laughed, amazed, spitting again into your mouth, continuing to piston his hips against yours. His balls smacked against your clit, the rough stimulation making your legs begin to quake. Your body shook, completely overwhelmed by him. He was electrifying every nerve in your body, melting your brain so all you could do was say his name, over and over, desperately.

Arthur’s hips began to stutter, his hand leaving your hair to wrap around your stomach, finding your swollen clit. Your head fell forward against the sheets. A strangled cry left your throat, and your orgasm crashed over you. The shaky rhythm of Arthur’s hips told you he was close behind you.

“You belong to me. Only me. Say it. Only me.” He gasped out desperately, forehead resting on your sticky back, whining with every thrust. The sticky ring of white at the base of his cock almost pushed him over the edge, the vision of your slick like a brand on his skin.

“I belong to you, Arthur, only you, always you.” Your desperate words unravelled the coil in his stomach, and he painted ropes of cum into your cunt. A trembling hand ran down your back, stroking you down from the spaced out place your mind had taken you. Your cunt quivered as he pulled out, clenching around nothing and pushing out a lewd mixture of yours and Arthur’s cum with a squelch. The sight made his cock twitch.

Strong arms lifted you up, rolling you onto your back and placing you down onto your soft pillows. You watched dreamily, as Arthur retied his trousers, and fumbled with your water jug to wet a rag.

He touched it almost apprehensively, as if it was impertinent for him to be using your water. You giggled slightly at his valour, as if his cum wasn’t pooling between your thighs. He cleaned you up tenderly, wiping away the combination of sweat, slick and cum that had collected between your thighs. He shushed you as you hissed, his other hand intertwining with yours.

Deciding you were as clean as he could get you, Arthur placed the rag on your bedside table. He sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed, hand still in yours. His back was stiff, tension gathered in his brow.

“Arthur?” Your sleepy voice snapped him from his daze, looking up at your reclining body, splayed out on the bedsheets in all your nude glory. His eyebrows twitched expectantly. “Can you stay with me?”

The question hung in the air, Arthur’s mouth opening and closing, eyes looking between you and the door. He knew it would be the change of the guard soon. If he wasn’t in his place outside your door, suspicion would be raised and the grounds would be searched for him. He expected the last place they’d look would be in the princess’s bedchamber, but his throat went dry all the same.

“I don’t think that’s wise.” His voice was soft, and he brushed the outside of your thigh slowly. The pout that settled on your face made his heart clench. Tears gathering on your waterline was the straw that broke his reserve. “Don’t cry, angel. I’ll stay, but only until you fall asleep, okay? You know I can’t sleep with you, if anyone catches me here it will be dire for us both.”

“But I have waited so long for you.” In your sleepy, exhausted state you babbled to him, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. You thought of every night you’d spent crying into your pillow, thinking of him on some far off shore, wanting nothing more than to feel him hold you.

Pain twinged across Arthur’s face, crumpling into a sad smile. “I know, princess. I’ve waited just as long, a little bit longer and we can be together, sleep now for me, okay?” He lied through his teeth, hoping that in your jumbled brain it would satiate you into sleep. He brushed the tears from your cheeks and kissed the crown of your head. He felt you nod against him, and pulled back.

You smiled sleepily at him, reaching up to pull him back towards you and into a hug. It was slightly awkward, his clothes were bulky and a bit rough against your skin, but he was warm. Sighing contentedly, you twirled one of his curls round your finger.

“We are both too impatient for that, Arthur. Just stay. What does it matter if they find you here, let them for all I care.” Your voice was drowsy, eyelashes fluttering as sleep slipped over you.

With a sigh, Arthur looked over your sleeping body. In that moment, you could have been a woman of any standing. Blissed out, bones heavy with pleasure, little snores leaving your mouth. You looked normal, so completely perfectly normal. Had it not been for the crest hanging above your bed, he might have been able to convince himself to love you properly. How difficult it was to want someone so unattainable. Gulping down a bitter wave of longing, Arthur lifted the sheet over you. With a kiss to your forehead, he turned to leave. He stopped by the door, turning to look over the room.

“Goodnight, princess.”

With that, he slipped out of your room, and resumed his position. Back straight, hand on his sword, chin up, he was lost in thought. Everything about you had been so familiar. So soft, the scent of your hair and the warmth of your mouth. His heart fell to his knees when a pale face stood halfway up the stairs caught his eye. Will. He tried to force his mouth to speak, barely even getting out a breath before Will had turned on his heels and charged down the stairs. He tried to follow him, to chase after Will and stop him reaching the Prince. His hips buckled, giving out and rooting him to his spot. His hips throbbed in time with his heart beat, a pounding pain that drummed inside of his skull. Despite the bone-deep ache of his injuries, the sight of your holes spread out in-front of him, dripping wet and clenching with need had acted like a painkiller. But now, as shouting neared and his mind raced with every excuse he could try to conjure, the memory of your body didn’t seem to justify the pain. He looked back once at your door, thinking of you sleeping soundly. Blissfully unaware of his impending doom. Turning over his helmet in his hands, he pulled it down over his ears.

dr lenney making sure he stretches your legs up by your shoulders, insisting it will help ease your pain when he’s really just stretching you so your hospital gown rides up and he gets to take mental pictures of your pussy through your thin white panties…….massaging the back of your thighs and acting disgusted when you ask him if he needs to touch you so high up - making you blush and fluster over your words to apologise to him, before he resumes tracing your cunt through the fabric with a furrow in his brow

gyno dr Clarke who gives you too much pain relief for your iud insertion (can u tell this is fiction lol!) and it makes you slightly loopy, you’re drowsy and spacing in and out of consciousness, unable to tell if the cock you feel pumping in and out of you are real or not - and when you finally come round, he’s stood there with a smile and slightly red cheeks, telling you that the pain in your cervix should go down in a few days, and to come back soon for your next check up - he didn’t say anything about the fingertip shaped bruises on your thighs or the pool of cum that is somehow between them