#dick x reader

Dick's reaches blindly for the door close button, unwilling to break your frantic kissing, and you're about to dissolve into him completely when—

"Wait! Hold the elevator, please!"

Dick tenses, his movement uncertain as he pulls away from your embrace. His gaze flickers from you to the panel of buttons, and there' a split second where you watch him weigh his options— a specific brand of mischief dancing at the corners of his mouth.

You know exactly which button he's considering.

"Dick," you warn, pushing lightly at his chest.

You'd be more inclined to indulge in your more selfish tendencies if your building’s elevator wasn't notoriously hard to catch. It would be downright cruel to ignore the plead.

Dick sighs, but he's already reaching for the door open button. "I know, I know."

And even as he steps back with exaggerated reluctance, you know the protest is all performance. He would've held the door anyway. You find the act overwhelmingly endearing— the pretense of being dragged into doing the right thing when kindness is his baseline.

Dick manages to steal one more kiss before the stranger rushes in, smoothing his hair as he stands straight.

"Thank you so, so much," they say and you smile, nodding, unable to give them any real attention at all. You're trying your best to look like a normal person who definitely wasn't just seconds away from doing something extremely inadvisable in a semi-public space.

You and Dick stand side by side now, and your hands are next to each other but no longer touching. A careful inch of space that feels infinitely charged. You're so aware of his presence that it borders on painful.

A sense of giddiness sings through your bloodstream, and your cheeks are beginning to ache from the effort of containing your smile. The ghost of his mouth is burning against your lips. You can still taste him perfectly.

But despite practically inhaling him a few moments prior, you can't bring yourself to look at him now. Can't bring yourself to glance sideways because you know that if you do, you'll combust. You'll reach for him. You'll forget entirely about the stranger politely looking at their phone.

You watch the numbers climb as the elevator continues its descent.

3... 4... 5...

In a few short minutes, Dick's mouth will be on you again. The thought makes heat pool low in your belly.

You bounce slightly on your heels, restless, trying to channel this energy somewhere that isn't directly into Dick Grayson's orbit.

His hand swings next to yours. You could easily interlace your fingers, fall into that natural pattern you've worn into your lives. But Dick hasn't reached for you yet—something he does instinctively. It makes you wonder if he's basking in this too. This strange secrecy of domesticity. A performance of restraint for sixty seconds.

You shift slightly, moving your arm until you can feel his fingers next to yours. Your chest tightens as you risk a glance his way.

He's already looking at you. A barely restrained grin pulls at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes—god, his eyes—drop to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting yours again.

Desire coils low in your stomach. Tight and insistent and completely overwhelming.

His index finger extends slowly, dragging across the back of your hand. It's featherlight. More intimate than anything else that's happened tonight. Your breath catches and you tighten your lips, trying desperately to maintain composure.

But god, all you want to do is jump his bones.

You're staring at him now. Can't look away, really. His finger trails up your wrist, your forearm, drawing invisible patterns on your skin, and you feel it everywhere—in your chest, your throat, the base of your spine.

The elevator dings.

Your floor.

Dick's hand immediately tangles with yours, and he's moving, pulling you forward with barely contained urgency. "Have a good night!" he sings over his shoulder, all charm and ease.

You manage to parrot a breathless repetition of his words as you stumble after him, and you catch the stranger's knowing smirk as the doors close.

Then you're in the hallway and Dick is kissing you—unabashed, hungry, teenager-desperate. Your back hits the wall and you laugh against his mouth, hands in his hair, pulling him closer even as you're trying to move toward your apartment.

"C'mon," you breathe between kisses, but he's not listening, lips trailing down your jaw to your neck.

When you finally reach your door, you fumble for your keys with shaking hands. Dick is immediately behind you, his body pressed against your back, mouth finding your shoulder, your neck, anywhere there's exposed skin. His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, splaying against your stomach, and the heat of his palms against your bare skin makes you gasp.

"You're not helping," you say, trying for scolding but landing somewhere around breathless.

"That's because I'm not trying to help," he murmurs.

He kisses behind your ear, takes your earlobe between his teeth, and your whole body responds—arching back into him, your hand stilling on the doorknob.

"Dick..."

"Mmhmm?" His tongue traces the shell of your ear.

You manage to shove the door open.

Inside, everything happens in fragments. Kissing. His shirt coming off. Yours following. A trail of clothing leading to your bedroom. You're ahead of him, naked before he's managed his pants, and you settle on the bed, pushing yourself back until you're leaning on your hands.

The position is deliberate, calculated to drive him insane—back arched slightly, legs falling open just enough to be inviting, watching him through your lashes.

Dick pauses in the doorway, hands frozen on his belt buckle. His eyes drag over you hungrily. Everything in his body language screams that he wants to devour you, and the sight alone makes you feel bold— sexy. Unbelievably desirable.

And totally, completely, drenched.

"You just gonna stand there?" you ask, letting your voice drop lower. You put your weight on one hand, the other drifting down your stomach. "Should I start without you?"

That gets him moving. His eyes flash dark and he fumbles with his belt, yanking it free. "Don't you dare."

You smirk and let your hand drift even lower. "Or what?"

"Or I'll—" He's struggling with his button now, fingers clumsy with urgency. You bite your lip to keep from laughing. "Jesus, why are pants so—"

"Need help?"

The offer is innocent but your tone isn't.

"No, I just—" He gets the button open, shoves his pants down, and begins to kick his shoes off. "These fucking laces—"

You open your mouth to tease him when it happens.

His foot catches. His eyes widen. There's a split second where you both realize what's about to happen, where time seems to slow down enough for you to register the trajectory, and then—

The sickening crack of his face meeting your bedframe.

"Oh, fuck—" You're scrambling off the bed, dropping to your knees beside him. The carpet burns slightly against your bare skin. "Dick?"

Your hands hover over him, unsure where to touch. He groans—muffled, pained—and rolls onto his back. Blood is already streaming from his nose.

"Oh my god, are you okay?"

You automatically scan the scene even as your heart pounds: he's caught most of the blood with his hands cupped over his face, but some has escaped, decorating your rug in abstract, blooming shapes.

"No," he says, nasal and thick. "Definitely not okay."

You help him sit up, gentle hands on his shoulders, and he cradles his nose with both palms.

"Okay, shit. Uh— tissues!" You're already moving. "Getting tissues!"

"And maybe my dignity," Dick groans faintly, "If you can find it anywhere."

Dick is sitting on the edge of the bed when you return, shirtless and hunched over slightly, one hand holding a wad of tissues to his nose.

You're wearing his shirt now, and you've pulled on a fresh pair of underwear. The ones from before were already soaked through before disaster struck—and you're trying very hard not to think about how this is absolutely not how the night was supposed to go.

The blood has soaked through the white fabric pressed to his face. The sight is jarring, even to your blood-seasoned eyes, but the speed of the spread doesn't raise any concerns. Just the normal profuse bleeding of a normal hurt nose. Dick seems more inconvenienced than pained.

He looks up at the sound of your footsteps and his shoulders relax, posture straightening slightly. His eyes catch on what you're carrying. He raises a brow.

"...Pizza rolls?"

You tilt the bag, examining it in all its frozen glory, and bite back a laugh as you wrap it in a thin cloth. "What? I don't have an ice machine, remember?"

The corner of Dick's mouth curves upward, the expression slightly obstructed by the blood-stained tissue. "You bought some cold packs a week ago."

He's right. You’d bought them specifically for moments like these—the inevitable injuries that come with your lives, the sprains and bruises and apparently sex-related bloody noses.

"I know, but I keep forgetting to put them in the freezer," you admit with a sheepish shrug, walking closer. It's not your fault that your lives are so busy.

"I need to get you an ice maker, then," Dick says.

"For what?"

"Emergencies. Drinks."

You tilt your head. "And all of your future horny-fail wipe-outs?"

He tsks, shaking his head, but his eyes gleam with mirth even as he winces slightly at the movement. "Too soon, babe. Too soon."

You bite back a smile, the muscles in your cheeks aching from the effort, and close the distance between you, stopping just in front of where he sits. He pulls the tissue away from his face, examining it briefly.

"Still bleeding?" you ask.

Dick shakes his head carefully. "Nope, thank god."

He tosses the wad of tissue onto the bedside table. It lands half on the wood, half on his phone screen, and you grimace slightly at the mess but don't comment. You've both dealt with worse. Blood and bodily fluids stopped being squeamish territory a long time ago.

You take in the sight of him—hair disheveled, nose already swelling, dried blood crusted at his nostrils and smeared across his fingers. Still as handsome as ever.

He reaches out and wraps a hand around one of your wrists, tugging gently. When you resist, he makes a sound of complaint—somewhere between a whine and a grumble, like an upset dog who's been denied his favorite spot on the couch.

He tugs again. "Come closer."

"No."

"Why nooot?"

"Because you need to keep your head level."

"My head is level."

"It won't be if I'm closer." You raise an eyebrow, waiting for protest.

Dick's eyes gleam with something mischievous. He won't even bother lying. You both know he'll tilt his head back to look at you the second you got close enough, injury be damned.

"Please?" He tugs again, more insistent, and you feel your resolve cracking. "I'm injured and in need of comfort."

He wins—as he always does—and you let him pull you close enough that he can wrap his hands around the backs of your thighs. His palms are warm through the fabric of his shirt, fingers spreading possessively, and something in your chest goes soft.

You raise the bag of pizza rolls, holding it carefully as you try to find the best angle to press it against his swollen nose.

Catching his expression, you pause.

He's looking at the bag again, nose wrinkling slightly before he winces at the motion. "And you're sure that's all we have?"

"Yes."

"One hundred percent?"

"What's the difference? It's frozen and big."

He doesn't say anything, and you know he's just drawing it out for the fun of it. You roll your eyes affectionately. "You expect me to pull a bag of ice from my ass, or something?"

He laughs, the sound immediately followed by a wince. "Ow. Don't make me laugh." But he's grinning despite the pain. "Wouldn't that'd be a neat trick, though."

You're so over him right now. Affectionately, but still. You narrow your eyes. "Do you want the pizza rolls or not? They're getting soggy."

A dramatic sigh leaves him. "Fine. Roll me."

His stupid words make you snort—an inelegant sound you'd be embarrassed about if it were anyone else. "You're such a loser. C'mere."

Thumb pressed gently against his chin, you tilt his head downward into a better position. Your other hand brings the bag to rest against the bridge of his nose.

Dick is still looking at you through his lashes. You can only imagine the slight strain there must be in his eyes to look so directly upward despite the downward tilt of his head. But he seems determined to keep his gaze on your face, unwilling to look away even for comfort.

Something in your chest shimmers with warmth.

You ignore his gaze on purpose, wanting to bask in it a little longer—the idea that the man you're in love with enjoys simply gazing at you, even when there are more important matters at hand.

But you start to feel too exposed, almost nervous under the weight of his attention. "You're staring at me."

"Can't help it," he murmurs, running his hands up and down your thighs in slow, soothing strokes. "My pretty girlfriend—being so sweet to me, using her pizza rolls."

You shake your head, but his words sink into your bloodstream anyway, warming you from the inside out. This is different from the heat earlier—less urgent, more tender.

"And the bag is unopened," you say softly, playing up the tragedy. "So I'm basically sacrificing them for you."

"Oh, sacrificing, huh?" There's amusement in his voice. "Liar. You're just gonna put them back in the freezer."

"Uh, no. They're gonna be all soggy and wet, so they won't freeze the same again. I'll have to throw them away."

You're being serious, and from his expression, he knows it. He's amused all the same.

"Well, I'm so sorry for inconveniencing you with my bleeding nose."

"Apology accepted." You grin, unable to help yourself.

You gently lift the bag to peer at his nose, the skin now slightly pink from the cold. Your free hand cups his cheek, thumb dragging along the line of his cheekbone.

"It's totally broken, isn't it?"

He tightens his mouth and gives a small nod. "Oh yeah, no question."

You frown, something sweet and aching blooming in your chest. Poor sweet, pathetic man. You press the bag back against his nose and Dick grimaces as a few rolls shift, redistributing their weight.

"Sorry," you say softly. "I think they're thawing."

"Hmm. You think?" There's no real bite to it, just teasing.

You roll your eyes affectionately, applying slight pressure to hold the bag steady. It shifts again—barely, a minuscule movement—and Dick lets out an exaggerated whimper.

"Ouch."

"Oh please, that didn't hurt. You're such a faker."

You've seen him take hits that would hospitalize a normal person. Watched him shrug off injuries that make your stomach turn. But here, now, with just the two of you, he turns into this—soft and needy and dramatic about the smallest discomforts.

You love it.

Dick grins, unapologetic, and reaches a hand to hold the bag against his nose. The other grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away from his cheek, and he guides it to his lips to press a soft kiss to your palm.

"Why are you being so sassy to me, hm?" you ask.

"Because I was so excited to fuck my beautiful girlfriend, and instead I broke my nose on her bedframe."

The words send heat curling through your stomach—a reminder of where this night was supposed to go. You laugh, opening your mouth to respond, when you find yourself thinking about how he'd bought the frame just last week.

He'd been very enthusiastic about having bedposts, for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with aesthetics and everything to do with other nights. Silk ties and murmured praise and—

"What is it?" Dick asks, watching your expression shift.

You shake your head, trying to dismiss it, but the image of him begins to replay in your mind. His widening eyes, the split second of realization, the sound of impact. Fighting back your laugher, you attempt to distract yourself by running your fingers through his hair.

His face falls, unamused. "You're thinking about me falling, aren't you?"

Your chest is tight with barely contained glee, eyes almost prickling with tears. "I'm sorry! It was just so funny."

"I'm glad my pain amuses you," he mutters, but he's biting back a smile.

The laughter breaks free now, spilling out of you. "And you, of all people. So much for those quick, agile reflexes, huh?"

Dick pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, looking away as he shakes his head. "You're so mean, you know that? A real bully, laughing in the face of a wounded man."

"You love me."

"I love you," he agrees without hesitation, and your laugh turns soft.

Your fingers are still in his hair, gentle and soothing, and his eyes have gone half-lidded from the attention.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the doctor?" you ask quietly.

"I've had worse."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I'm giving."

He removes the bag from his nose, setting it on the covers beside him, and you immediately start to protest. "You should—"

"C'mere," he says, hands reaching for your hips, pulling you forward.

You resist, hands now bracing against his shoulders. "Dick, you're hurt—"

"Yeah, my nose." He looks almost offended that you're protesting. "Not my lap. Sit."

There's something so affectionate in his insistence, so earnest in his need to have you close, that you let him pull you down, settling carefully onto his thighs as his arms immediately wrap around your waist.

He tries to bury his face against your neck—instinct, muscle memory—but pulls back with a wince when his nose makes contact with your skin.

"Okay, maybe not that," he mutters, and you chuckle softly, fingers carding through his hair once more.

"Yeah, maybe not."

You sit like that for a moment, in the quiet of your bedroom, Dick's hands tracing patterns on your lower back through his shirt. The pizza rolls slowly thaw beside you.

"You know," Dick says eventually, his voice slightly muffled. "I still think that bedframe was a good investment."

You grin and begin to imagine all the ways you can use it.

AUTHORS NOTE: this started off as smut but then i was like lol imagine he tripped and then i was sucked in my by love for silly, goofy couples. hes just so boyfriend to me asdfgj

Your sure and light steps echoed on the marble floor of the large bathroom. A mirror adorned one wall of the large shower, opposite the white stone showerhead, as if it had been placed there with deliberate care, which it was. The mirror was particularly large and arched, resembling a passageway, a rugby player could have easily passed through it, and every time you pointed it out, he would chuckle and tenderly kiss your forehead.

The silk robe fell to the floor with a soft thud, and you turned on the hot water before slipping underneath. Everything in this room was meticulously arranged, every item of furniture, every color, every decorations had its designated place, like on a TV set. Nothing had been left to haphazard, and it had all been planned by him with you in mind.

Your reflection quickly appeared on the misty mirror, your hands gliding over your skin to spread soap while water trickled down your chest and stomach.

After a few moments, something in the air shifted, and you knew, you knew he was there, on the other side of the mirror, enjoying the view. Probably sitting on a wooden chair by the fire with a glass of wine, or blood, depending on his mood. Because he always was.

It had been his idea to put that mirror in the bathroom, of course, and every time he admired you leaning forward so gracefully, he thanked the devil for having such a brilliant idea.

..honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago

idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword

innocence died screaming, honey, ask me i should know

i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door..

blood, so much blood. dick was unable to fathom how it was leaking from the sturdy metal of jason’s armor, but it seemed to seep from every crevice. 

a brutal berserker, wielding a mace, kept jason’s attention from the front, taking shots at his torso, his arms, his legs. another attacker came along, hitting jason in the head with the butt of his sword while he was distracted. 

a cheap, dishonorable trick. one only used by cowards, those unable to truly hold their own on the field of battle. 

dick had watched jason’s legs crumple underneath him, shoving his way through the battlefield to land on his knees next to his fallen brother. the enemy knights ran off to find their opponent, he was too late. too late to save jason, too late to repay the pain tenfold to those responsible. 

a strained smile stretched his boyishly handsome features as he realized it was dick kneeling over him. his helmet was dented, twisting dick’s stomach further. he had been there when jason had first tried on the same helmet. gleaming, shiny, freshly smithed. it had been a proud moment for dick, to see his younger friend, nay, brother, try on his first suit of battle armor. his last suit of battle armor. 

jason coughed, spit and blood painting his lips an enchantingly terrifying shade of red, one dick’s sure he’ll not soon forget. 

it faded around him, the battle, as he zeroed in on every labored breath jason took, every pulse of the vein in his neck. dick couldn’t breathe himself, the air thick with smoke and the harsh sound of metal hitting metal. he’s never felt anything but clear headed in battle, easing through them the same way he would a game of chess. critically, his face a mask of cold emotion as he fell enemy after enemy. this was different. 

“dick,” jason croaked, his brows knit as his lips struggled to form words. dick nodded, his attention solely on jason, solely on the last moments of his brother’s life. “thank you.” 

dick nodded again, choking on a response he didn’t have. 

“tell the king..” he coughed again, and dick felt like his heart had stopped. was this it? 

“..i tried my best.”

he fell silent after that, very silent. 

dick swallowed down his heart from where it was sitting at the opening of his throat. his hands shaky as struggled to take off jason’s gauntlet. he pulled off his ring signifying rank, slipping it into jason’s middle finger, putting the gauntlet back into place. 

“grayson, to me!” 

at the cry of his name, dick tore his gaze from jason’s body, still warm in the cold, metal coffin he wore. a fellow knight was in trouble, and dick was sworn to help.

his heartbeat grew louder and louder in his ears until it pounded through his whole body. a reminder: you-are-still-alive stay-alive you-are-still-alive stay-alive 

dick blinked back the burning sensation in his eyes, squinting through the haze of ongoing battle. he couldn’t see anything, truly, except for the way life had faded from jason’s eyes. 

you-are-still-alive stay-alive you-are-still-alive stay-alive 

and that was all he would see, all he would be haunted by, for the rest of his life. 

at least, that’s what it felt like. nightmares plagued him, waking and asleep. 

you-are-still-alive stay-alive you-are-still-alive stay-alive 

the deep blue of jason’s eyes, his laugh when he first ever disarmed dick in practice, his eagerness to join the fight.

you-are-still-alive stay-alive you-are-still-alive stay-alive 

a cup dropped in the kitchen, the dining hall, might sound too akin to the clanging of swords, metal on metal ringing in his ears as his knees gave. 

it’s not very becoming of a knight to faint. 

he grit his teeth and bore it when his superior lit his favorite pipe, his eyes blurring like he was still kneeling in the smoking ruins of battle, eyes locked on jason’s. 

you-are-still-alive stay-alive you-are-still-alive stay-alive 

knights often partake in illicit substances, often with each other, and often without nausea roaring through their body until one is unchivalrously emptying the contents of their stomach in front of all of their peers. 

you-are-still-alive stay-alive you-are-still-alive stay-alive 

wiping his mouth, he unfolded from where he was bent at the waist to see the varying reactions of his colleagues. harper looked concerned, west was cringing, gardner’s mouth twisted into a sneer. 

you-are-still-alive stay-alive you-are-still-alive stay-alive 

alcohol did nothing but make him see jason’s face contorted in pain from across the battlefield. 

his body rejects it, sees it as the poison it is. the blue of jason’s eyes tinging his vision, blurring it until he could feel metal weighing his body down like he still had armor on. 

nothing made it better. alcohol, tobacco, food. nothing helped. 

sleep barely took him and when it did he was usually just unlucky enough to be plagued by nightmares. 

he never got to stay asleep for very long. 

the dark circles under his eyes grew as his appetite shrank, as his will to live withered. 

his sword hand shook around the familiar leather hilt, struggling to hold up the weight of it. 

dick grew slower, sluggish. unable to keep up, unable to pass his peers like he once could. 

he lost the alertness that came with the position he held; didn’t catch when his supervisor quietly spoke to a squire about an audience with the king. 

“i’ll admit, i’m troubled by my youngest daughter,” the king starts, leaning closer to dick from the throne. “she’s a slippery one, richard.” 

dick chuckles, immediately stopping when he sees the lack of mirth in his king’s eyes. 

“i understand, sir.” 

the king sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. his crown tilts at the movement, the position of his body more casual than normal.  

“richard, i hate to do this to you, to your honor, son, but..” he trails off, spreading his palms. the king winces at the next words he has to deliver.  

“my hands are tied.” he sighs. “you’re full of fight, but it seems like you’re unable to perform at the level we’re all used to from you.”

dick nods silently, his face hardened into a mask. a toothless, old dog. that’s what he is, in the eyes of his king. something harmless, lacking bite. lacking the energy and fervor he once had. sluggish. slow. 

“i need to move you, son. from fighting for the kingdom, yes, but to protecting one of the most precious things in the world to me.” 

dick nods again, fighting to keep his face expressionless as he accepts his fate. 

“if you need to be upset about it, son, be upset with me. not my daughter.” 

like dick could ever really be mad at his king. 

used to the heavy padding, constant clank, of his armor, dick felt lighter, his presence no longer announced from across the castle. 

the uniform for his new position now included a thick padded vest, worn over a standard tunic and pants. 

some leather shoulder and forearm guards, sword at his hip. his everyday boots were polished and resoled, his hair trimmed, his scruff shaved. 

it was unspoken, the expectation, but he was being pulled into a different sort of ranking, now. 

one directly under the king’s daughter. 

he needed to look somewhat professional, somewhat presentable. he’d no longer be facing the brutality of battle, would he? just another painted pawn on the chessboard, one guarding the breathtaking beauty that was the youngest princess. 

you’d always been beautiful, curious, funny. something that piqued his interest. an interest that lied deep within the darkest depths of his soul, sure, but an interest nonetheless. 

dick remembered many a time he’d tuned in on you and your sister’s conversations, chuckling low at your dry responses. 

when he’d glanced up to the castle windows during training, noting your watchful expression as your eyes followed their rote drills. a thrill running up his spine when your eyes would connect with his—silly, but he couldn’t help it. there was just something about you. 

seeing the feisty way you’d greet haughty princes, possible suitors. like you couldn’t be bothered, and so you’d make your own fun out of it. 

he’d never expected to get to see you so consistently, so up close. 

dick shouldn’t really—an old dog doesn’t learn new tricks. controlling himself, taking orders from a little thing like you.. well. 

it’s not his fault if it goes wrong. no one thought to muzzle him. 

he’s let in by your maid just as you’re poking your head out of the castle window for a quick smoke. you note the creak of hinges, the heavy thud of his boots. 

you sigh out, into the night air, trying to push out all of your emotions with it, where no one can see it. 

you’re being given a knight. 

why?

are you too hard to handle? are they trying to forget about you, to give you a babysitter? 

you haven’t been married off yet—is your dad planning something, trying to keep you out of his study? 

thoughts twirl through your head like falling leaves, pushed this way and that by gusts of wind. 

one keeps being blown to the forefront, persistent. 

your command..not your father’s. 

the thought is comforting. 

you set the roll alight with a match, puffing on the end. you can feel his presence in the room, behind you. sturdy, male. under your command.. the heady, relaxing feeling, one of a standard buzz, seeps into your system. 

smoke floats into the room as you turn to face your knight. 

he stands tall. back straight, wearing a simple but sturdy outfit, his eyes narrowed as he zeroes in on your hand. 

“your highness,” livia warns, her eyes wide in borderline terror. 

you shrug in response, rolling your eyes. 

“‘s my castle, liv,” you say, watching the way her eyebrows touch her hairline as she glances to the knight. without looking at him, you continue. “gonna bow?” 

livia squeaks. 

he raises an eyebrow at you, crossing his arms. “don’t plan on it.” 

you’re not really all that worried about formalities, but his eschewing of etiquette still shocks you. 

he’s walking over to you, coming closer, his eyes never leaving yours. his steps are slow and deliberate, a march towards you. you fight the urge to gulp, taking another drag of the roll, blowing the smoke out of your nose. 

looking away once, just once, to make sure you ash out of the window and not onto the carpet like last time (much to liv’s chagrin) and ever the soldier, he strikes.

he hits your elbow up with the back of his hand, causing  your wrist to flail, and effectively making you drop the cigarette out of the castle window. 

blinking, you sputter, absolutely appalled. all you can manage is a comically angry face as you look up at him. a small smile cracks his mask open, and you almost shiver at the night and day difference. he leans in, and you stop breathing. 

“the princess, rendered speechless. what a sight,” he growls, a hot flush growing up your neck, to hit your cheeks, the tips of your ears. 

you’ve just realized you forgot how to breathe. 

livia waves her goodbyes as she unties her apron, heading off to her neighboring chamber. you nod, your eyes never torn away from the knight’s towering frame. you feel possessed. 

livia shakes her head, smiling as she closes the connecting door. finally a matched playmate for the princess. 

“you always at attention, knight?” you say, tapping the hilt of his sword. 

dick stands as still as a statue, tall over you, an unimpressed look sewn into his features. 

“just around you,” he mutters, his expression dropping when he realizes what he’s said. 

you cackle, the glint in your eye shining something fierce as you preen in front of him. 

“i knew it!” you declare. “i’m irresistible!” 

dick snorts at that, his shoulders dropping from where they’d risen to his ears. 

“whatever you say, your highness.” he jokingly concedes, and you hum in satisfaction. 

“exactly, knight. i think you’ve got it down pat.” 

he shakes his head, exiting your chambers to stand guard at the door. 

it’s almost hard to sleep, knowing there’s someone outside your door all night. 

not that you’re not used to being protected, but it’s never been someone like sir richard grayson. 

deep blue eyes plague your dreams, a low, roughened voice is all you can hear as you fall into sleep.

“you sure your father wants you showing up to breakfast like that, princess?” his gruff voice, still thick with sleep, sends satisfaction rooting into your bones. 

“who cares?” you reply, a smile spreading across your sleepy features. wrapping your silken robe tighter around your form, you tie the sash in a dainty bow. his eyes track every single one of your movements. 

the iridescent blue of his irises is deeply contrasted with the dark under eyes he’s sporting. 

you bat your eyelashes at him, and his stomach drops to his knees. 

his expression doesn’t change. 

damn. you’d thought that would get him. you start down the hallway, towards the stairs. 

the silk of your robe hugs the curve of your hips, the shape of your thighs. it has dick’s throat running dry, his body reacting eagerly at the sight. it’s unconscious—he hasn’t worried about carnal pleasures since before jason. 

the thought of his little brother sobers dick up quickly. 

“you cannot go to the great hall like that.” he growls. that gets your attention. you turn, walking back the way you came. his voice has chills tickling their way up your spine, your body misbehaving. 

“fine.” you say, tone lofty, royal. dick decides then that he might hate you. 

turning again, you head back into your chambers. the door’s pulled shut behind you, wood scraping on stone. he hears you call for your maid, sounding frustrated. 

dick can’t help the triumphant smile dancing on his lips. first battle, won.

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

you’ve never been in such constant proximity to a male unrelated to you before. 

you’re not sure if the thoughts you’ve been having are because of that.. 

or just because of sir richard grayson. 

and you’re not sure how to act around him either. 

so you act in the only way you know how—like a brat.

“how in the hell did you—,” dick hisses, his eyes wide. his hands scrub through his hair, gripping. eyebrows practically touching his hairline. “where have you been?”

you exhale, smoke fluttering out of your mouth. ashing your lit cig, you smirk. 

“here, obviously. do try to keep up.” 

dick looks like might scream, or try to run and jump off of the roof’s edge just in front of you. 

“i’ll be in the hallway, princess.” he turns, going back through the window he’d so unceremoniously entered through. 

you nod, stifling a giggle once he’s gone, thinking of the look on his face when he found you. 

night sits below you, hearths in the village sending streams of smoke into the sky, no doubt countless families in front of them. 

you stare at the jewels on your heeled slippers, lip curling. taking them off, you set them away from you, tucking your feet underneath the hem of your dress. 

so much wealth. wealth you have no control of. wealth that’s not really yours. wealth that your loyal subjects will never get to see. 

you squeeze your eyes shut, tilting your head up. you reopen them, staring at the stars above you. 

there’s a bang from behind you, and you startle, nearly dropping your cig down the side of the castle. 

you sputter, turning to see your knight coming back through the window. 

“yes?” you squeak out, eyebrows furrowed. your heart’s beating fast as anything. 

“figured i should watch you if you’re out here. if you jump i’m responsible.” 

you snort, rolling your eyes. 

“sure are, knight.” 

you stub out the flame, setting it by your slippers. you’re not going to let him knock it from your hands a second time. 

your eyes are set on the roofs of the village as you listen to the beat of his boots towards you.

he tries to hide a groan as he sits next to you, his knees popping as he settles down onto the stone. 

you don’t return the favor, letting out a snort as you look over at him. “old man.” 

dick looks over at you, incredulous. “you try laying siege, and then we’ll talk, princess.” 

you raise your eyebrows, your lips quirking into a smile. 

“not even ten years older,” he mutters, huffing out a breath. 

“you should teach me how,” you start, smirking. “so i can protect myself.” 

“if you can protect yourself than i’d really be out of a job.” dick replies, his voice like gravel. it rasps through your ears, making a home in your long term memory. “y’sure the king would want you around a sword?” 

“you’re always around me and you have a sword,” you reply, smug. 

the haughty look on your face falters as dick starts to laugh, his face crinkling with mirth as he chuckles like he hasn’t in years, like he forgot how. 

like it’s surprising his body remembers how to make the sound. he gasps for air as his hand clutches at his stomach, the muscles tensing as he laughs. 

you cross your arms, raising an eyebrow as you watch him fall apart over nothing. 

“what’s so funny, knight?” you ask, voice flat. void of amusement.

“you’d never be able to get to my sword,” dick says, coughing. his cheeks are pink, his body much more relaxed than you’ve ever seen it. you feel exhilarated, despite not joining in. 

you must say stupid shit more often. 

“says who?” you respond, leaning back on your hands. “i’m sure i could take you in a duel.” 

dick sputters, unable to get the words out as another fit of laughter bursts from him. satisfaction pounds into your veins as you watch him unravel again, hoping to make a habit of it. 

“sure couldn’t.” he gasps out, barely able to form the words. you roll your eyes, making to stand up. 

“shall we wager?” 

you move forward, grabbing for his sword—but before you know it, he’s got you to the ground. he’s won, but you aren’t sure how.

“nice try,” he mutters. trying to play it cool, you roll your eyes, barely able to concentrate on anything but the heat, the weight of his huge form. 

“point taken, knight.” 

“what about that wager, highness?” dick sneers, his face mere inches from yours. you can feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours, the length of his body against yours. 

dick’s hands encircle your wrists, pinning them over your head as he adjusts to straddle you, pressing you to the stone of the castle. 

“what about it?” 

“i’m here to claim my prize.” he says, the deep timbre of his voice so close to your ears causing a dull throb to start between your legs. his being on top of you was not helping, either. 

there was never a prize, at least in your mind. your only goal in this endeavor was to make him laugh again. you weren’t in it to win. 

“close your eyes,” you sigh, mentally bracing yourself. your knight complies, and you’re given the sight of his lengthy eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheeks. 

your lips press to his cheek, the skin stubbled from his daily need to shave. 

his eyes fly open in surprise as you lean away, your skin heating at initiating such a familiar gesture. 

dick pushes himself away, his face unreadable as he stands, helping you up. you brush off your dress, trying not to die from the embarrassment. 

“thank you, princess,” dick says, his tone somewhere between teasing and reverent, appreciative. “i’m deeply honored.” 

you swat his chest, grabbing your slippers as you make your way towards the window. 

“oh, stuff it.”

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

“hey, grayson,” west greets, patting dick’s back as they briefly hug. “missin’ you.” 

dick returns the sentiment, distracted as his eyes follow where you round the corner, talking to one of the maids. 

“look, we’re understaffed today…,” west starts, grimacing. “and there’s no one of rank available to teach grappling to the new round of squires. are you able?” 

dick makes a face in return, eyes slotting back towards his princess. he has no problem doing his duty, but it’s entirely up to you. 

“i know this is rather last minute and you have a full schedule today, but any chance you’re willing to give up some free time?” 

you look up from your needlepoint, eyebrow cocked as dick watches you, waiting for an answer. 

“whatever you have to do will probably be infinitely more entertaining than this,” you reply, standing. 

your skirts swish around your legs as you swiftly exit the room, looking expectantly towards dick as he still stands on  your rug. “you coming?” 

“you’ll need to get over that, if you plan to join the royal guard,” dick smirks, his eyes tracking the gaze of his student to you. “can’t have you distracted, now can we?”

the young knight gives you a sheepish smile, darting forward at his teacher who swiftly takes him down onto the mat. “use momentum, squires! use someone’s trajectory against them, if you can.” 

you smile at the kid pinned beneath your knight, his smile back wide despite losing. 

“no princesses for you, logan,” dick chides him, getting up and extending a hand.

“stay alert, stay alive. can you all repeat that to me?” dick says, the students watching the demonstration echoing his words. “great. now split up into partners—your goal is to get your opponent to hit the mat before you do.” 

“are you entertained?” he asks, running his hands through his sweaty hair as you uncross and cross your legs. his clothes cling to his body, bare feet exposed. dick uses his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow, and the sight of his stomach makes you forget his question entirely. 

“princess?” 

oh, yeah. 

“sufficiently.” 

dick takes a gulp from your cup before sputtering, coughing as he hastily wipes his mouth. 

“is that wine?” he asks, laughing in surprise. you nod, shrugging. 

“i was going to get mead and a turkey leg from the vendor stand, but apparently the only sporting event with one is jousting. how disappointing.” 

dick chuckles, patting your knee as he moves to stand, get back to teaching. 

the familiar gesture sends you reeling, lightheaded at how pleased it makes you. 

“was it torturous? just as bad as needlepoint?” he asks, eyebrows raised as he walks you back towards the castle. 

wind brushes through the trees, flirting with the leaves as it dances around you. birds chirp to each other from across the sky, chasing past the highest turrets of the castle. 

“only slightly less. i’m really lamenting the lack of turkey legs.” you reply, brushing a stray hair from your eyes. 

“you love this stuff, highness.” dick says. “i remember learning these same lessons and seeing you up in your window, watching us.” he chuckles at your stunned face. “can’t act aloof if you can’t even properly hide your interest.” 

you blink, sticking your nose up to avoid the validity of his words. 

“you have no proof,” you say, mouth desperately pouty as you look at dick. he wants to sink his teeth into your bottom lip. 

instead, he points to himself, a stupid grin on his face. “eyewitness.” 

“not if my father throws you into the dungeons.” you retort, trying to stop the smile that’s threatening to ruin your act. 

“you wouldn’t dare.” 

“would too.” 

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

"knight!" you shout, joy threaded through the exclamation. the shuffle of his boots through the tall grass is the most reassuring sound you've ever heard, his tall form coming towards you. 

"yes, princess?" he hums, his eyes scanning you, the area. always confirming your safety. 

"look!" you shout, again, your arm outstretched, finger pointing towards the tree. dick's gaze travels up, noticing the fuzzy, orange and pink piece of fruit you're pointing out. 

there's a few on the lower branches, but they look measly, unripe. 

"alright," he starts, sighing. dick tries to ignore his knees cracking as he lowers himself to kneel in the grass of the meadow. you look at him confused, but he grabs your hand, pulling you over. 

"mount my shoulders." he says, looking at you like you're deranged.

"was that a command?" your mouth says, words teasing, as your thoughts refuse to let go of his use of the word mount. is it too vulgar to wish that this won't be the last time you proceed to mount him? 

"would you like the fruit, or not, highness?" he replies, eyebrow raised. he continues when you don't answer. "it's not like you can climb the tree in your dress. it would be nearly impossible, and livia would have my hide for how dirty you'd get." 

stuck, you make a face, causing him to chuckle. with his sturdy hands guiding you, you carefully place one leg over his shoulder and then the other, squeaking when he starts to stand. 

"i've got you, princess," your knight says from under you, his hands spanning the tops of your thighs as he steadies himself. 

"i'm..so tall," you whisper when he straightens, tone gleeful. dick chuckles. you have him smiling so much his cheeks are starting to feel strained. 

"you gonna pick the fruit, or shall we be here 'til sundown?" 

sheepish, you reach forwards, your crotch pressing into the back of dick's head. he tries to not think about it too hard, lest he grow to be exactly that. 

with a stifled grunt (not ladylike) you pick the peach, your fingers tightly closed around the perfectly ripened fruit. "down we go," you tell dick, bracing yourself as he lowers, bending at the waist so you can touch your feet to the ground and move off of him. 

eagerly, you sink your teeth into the peach, incisors slicing through the lush fruit, juice dripping down your chin. sweetness hits your tongue as you chew, swallowing with a smile on your face. 

when you look up at dick, his eyes are affixed to your mouth, the slick on your chin. the tips of his ears that poke from under his hair are pink, the expression on his face rather odd. 

"good?" he bites out, voice slightly hoarse. you nod, smiling widely, uninhibited. his fingers brush yours as you pass the dripping fruit to him, nodding as he raises an eyebrow at you. 

"wow," dick starts, dry as a bone. "a princess who shares." 

you smile at him, rolling your eyes, and he continues, just before biting into the peach himself: 

"how novel." 

sunset-colored juices gushes down his chin, his hand, as he tries it, eyes lighting up at the taste. 

"that's amazing, good find, princess." 

you barely register his words as he glances over at you, affixed on the way he looks when he's eating something so vigorously. hands wet, lips covered in peach juice. something about the sight was so deeply erotic to you, even if you couldn't quite place why. 

"..thank you for your help, dick." 

he nods, digging in once more before he replies. 

"anytime, princess." 

a heat ignites, burning between your legs as you stand next to him. the heavy layers of your dress are stifling, your throat dry as you try to swallow. "would you like some more?"

you're not too worried about it either way, but his words have you nodding, your hand outstretched. 

"what's the magic word," he says, tone taunting, grin teasing. 

"please," you reply, the word rasping from behind your lips in a laid-bare whisper that has dick's heart pounding in his ears. 

"mm-hmm," dick replies, barely able to form a word, never mind a sentence.

you walk out from the attached room, dick’s eyes glued onto your scantily clad form. 

you’re glowing, your skin shimmering with silvery gold powder, a pair of equally incandescent wings sprouting from your exposed back. 

your hair cascades past your shoulders, the strands curled and wavy, braids and woven thread hidden within the tresses. 

artfully draped cloth covers your breasts and the junction of your thighs, but the expanse of your midriff is exposed, dick’s mouth dry as it gapes open. 

“close your mouth, knight.” you trill, humor lacing the command. 

he nods, swallowing so hard you can see his adam’s apple bobbing. but he’s silent. dreadfully silent, the muscle in his jaw feathering as he drags his gaze down the length of your body.

your maid smiles, bursting with pride as she finishes tying the bow that secures your costume sandals, the lace crisscrossing up your legs. he would’ve done that, for you. if you’d asked. 

“there you are, your highness.” 

“thank you, livia. it looks wonderful.” she grins at you as you turn, admiring yourself in the mirror. the whole outfit is pinned into place, and you doubt anything’ll move until she pulls the pins she so carefully placed herself. 

you turn to dick. 

“where’s your costume, knight?” you ask, and dick bursts out laughing. 

“c-costume,” he says, gasping for air between guffaws. “funny, princess.” 

“ha-ha.” 

you knock on the wall, and a male valet enters. 

“sir.” 

dick gapes, but quickly recovers. 

“no.” 

“not a suggestion, knight.” you reply around a tight-lipped smile. 

he groans, following the valet into the room you exited. the door closes, and you and livia dissolve into giggles. 

“good one, your highness!” you high five, wearing matching beaming smiles. 

“thanks, liv. i meant to ask, what outfit did you end up pulling for him?” 

livia smiles, a hint of mystery in her tone. 

“you’ll see, your highness. you’ll see.”

it feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. 

your knight’s in..well, not much. 

creamy white cloth drapes around his waist, dipping lower to cover his crotch and backside. two harsh lines of muscle point in a v-shape beneath the fabric. a trail of hair drags your eyes from his navel down to the bulge between his legs. 

a brown leather studded belt sits on his hips, a gleaming sword hanging off of it. a matching harness crosses over his bare chest, straining over his large pectoral muscles. 

there’s a slight shimmer to his skin, like a type of body oil was used, and his hair is tousled, pushed back from his face. 

he looks strong, fierce, yet vulnerable. you see so much of him, but he still holds that guarded look in his eyes. 

your mouth is dry, your eyes hungrily looking him over. 

“satisfactory, your highness?” dick says, dryly. laughter dances in his blue eyes. 

you sniff, mentally slapping yourself across the face. pull it together! 

“yes.” you bite out as livia stifles a giggle. 

he walks you to the great hall, flanking you like he’s expecting an attack. 

“fake sword,” dick grumbles, fiddling with it. “can’t believe this shit.” 

he trails off to himself, waxing about the absurdity of giving a knight a wooden weapon like he couldn’t handle the real one. 

noise pours from the great hall, the thick oaken doors only slightly muting it. 

as usual, you get a double-door entrance, the attendants at each pulling them wide as you walk in. 

the music lilts around you, the sound mingling with voices as it swirls through the air. 

lanterns are covered in multicolored scarves, painting the room into a kaleidoscope. the room is filled with costumed subjects, in hats, layers of clothing, barely any clothing, etc. you fit in perfectly. 

various costumed guests greet you: a satyr, who bows low. a cupid, miming a hit with his bow and arrow. a nymph, who kisses your cheek. a gnome, shaking your hand heartily. a mermaid, who hugs you. 

you continue deeper into the revelry, looking around, hoping for a drink. you know the wine cellar’s been cracked open for this. 

dick trails you, alert. you look to the other side of the room, missing dick’s signal to a roaming waiter for a goblet of wine. 

they quickly bring it to you, handing it over with a curtsy. you’re cheered, thanking them profusely. 

you sip at it, the dark, fruity liquid cold as it goes down your throat. dick watches you, watches the way your throat bobs as you swallow. 

you offer it to him, but he declines. you finish off the rest of it yourself, the sourness hitting the back of your throat. 

someone that rather reminds you of an imp twirls through, stopping to hand you a brightly colored pellet. you smile, nodding in thanks. they’re off into the crowd, guests folding them into the crush until they disappear. 

you look to dick, and his expression is hardened into stone, eyebrows angry slashes on his forehead. 

“none of that shit, princess.” he growls, and you look to him, surprised. you usually indulge. 

you’re not the sort who wants it every day, but in a scene like this, it makes the lights twinkle and the music enchanting. everything is much happier. you don’t mind it. he has you thinking twice.

“you don’t even know what’s in it. that’s how someone like you ends up poisoned.”

his face is curled with disgust, and you drop the pill, crushing it under the heel of your sandal. the moment feels dramatized, probably due to the wine coursing your veins. 

the look of surprised pride on his face sends satisfaction slipping off the shelf of your ribs and clattering down to your stomach. 

he stands by you, watching as you sway to the music. you poke him, trying to get him to move, loosen up, but he shakes his head, smirking as he looks away. you can’t get enough of the way his body looks under the low light, skin shimmering in a way that highlights every hard-work formed muscle. 

you grab his hands, placing them on your hips. his eyes are bright, burning in the low light. 

you slide your hands up his wrists, forearms, biceps. you loop them around his neck, pulling him closer. his skin is radiating heat. you guide him through the steps, moving your hips to the music.

“princess,” he says, his tone a warning. he looks concerned. like he shouldn’t be doing this. but he’s not doing it. you are. 

his warm hands on your bare hips is like a brand. like if he removed them you’d have the glowing shape of his handprint on your waist. you couldn’t wish for anything more. 

you dance through the rest of the song, through the chorus, the bridge. the tune is haunting, almost melancholic. 

the song ends, and your knight immediately drops his hands. the loss is profound. 

you drag your hands from his neck down his chest, down the fluttering muscles of his stomach. 

suddenly, a rousing country tune fills the hall. revelers go up in cheers as they recognize it, joining in the middle to start the accompanying dance. you grab dick's hand pulling him into it before he can refuse. 

luckily enough for him, knights are plenty familiar with these types of dances. they flood the dance halls in the surrounding village, all the local girls ready to claim dance partners as they giggle to each other over the size of their choice's biceps. 

dick grasps your hand, falling into the muscle memory he has of the steps. he's light on his feet, no doubt a perk of the job, swinging you around with ease. 

if the song and dance gave you even a second to stop and think, to breathe, you'd be standing stock-still in amazement that he knows it, that he's participating with a huge smile on his face. laughing as he switches partners, winking at the girl you're passed to. 

it's riotously fun, your giggling permeating through the bustle, causing dick to turn and look. 

your hair swings as you're spun by your partner, laughter bubbling from your lips as you sparkle under the lamplight. dick wishes he could freeze the moment so he could see it forever, but it's gone before he knows it, the beat slowing down to a halt as the music changes. 

the dancers disperse, and you're dragged over to the serving counter, placing a small vial in your right hand and a trail of sugar onto the back of your left. 

it’s tossed down, the harsh liquor blazing a path down your tongue, your throat. 

“another!” you cheer, and you’re quickly obliged. 

you hastily throw back the second shot, chasing it with more sugar. 

maybe it’ll be easier to forget something so you won’t miss it. 

if you think you never had it, you won’t mourn it like you did. 

hand raised, you signal for another shot. 

you sigh, rolling your shoulders. 

wound up into a little ball of stress, weren’t you? he can't wrap his mind around why you might want to become so intoxicated, how anything in your life could be so difficult that you're itching for release. 

dick clenches his jaw. why do you even need to go this hard? precious little princess that knows nothing of the real world. his teeth grind, the dull ache in his forehead growing stronger. 

the acrid smell of smoke starts to fill his nostrils. his hands start to tingle, sweat. he blinks, hearing the clashing of battle in the cheers of a nearby group. the music’s gotten louder, the crowd rowdier. 

you watch the heightened rise and fall of dick’s chest, your pulse turning frantic. this shouldn’t be happening to him anymore. it’s why he’s with you. you flounder, your hands flapping a little at your sides as dick falls farther into his own little world. 

a world where he’s on the battlefield, his body burdened by the weight of armor. 

metal clangs around him in the toasting of goblets, wine sloshing over their rims like blood pouring from a stab wound. 

his heart pounds in his ears. 

“dick.” 

nothing. you’re trying not to shout at him, but he’s not hearing you. 

“dick, please. dick.” 

he zeroes in on the hand lightly resting on his shoulder. he practically jumps out of his skin, knocking the hand off, stepping away. he blinks. the image flickers between a scarred berserker and his dear princess, his pulse slowing as he comes back to himself. 

“dickie, i’d like to leave. please, escort me out of the party, into the hallway.” 

he can hear you now, hear your order. almost there. you rack your brain, trying to recall the way knights are talked to. you’ve listened in on many a drill, out in the courtyard. 

“grayson, to me.” your words are slurred, but they have the intended effect. 

dick’s alert, his hand grabbing yours, the other pulling his sword like it’s not made of mahogany. he wields it, cutting a way through the crowd as people shy away from the metallic gleam of paint. 

you make it to the hallway, and he drops his stance. it’s quieter, there’s a noticeable lack of fumes. the stone walls are painted in the familiar flickering candlelight. his breathing slows, steadies. you rub your thumb in circles on the back of his hand, and he lets you.

dick looks around, eyes scanning your figure, his own. obviously noting the sights and sounds of his surroundings.

his face crumples, realization dawning. he drops your hand, scrubbing his over his face.

“happened again, didn’t it.” 

his voice is low, deep and dark. he’s not really asking you. he knows the answer. 

“no matter, knight. escort me to my chambers?” you ask, feeling silly for the charade. you know it helps him. you’re a little weak in the knees from the fading adrenaline, the wine you drank. 

the panic seeps out of your system, seamlessly replaced by a buzz. you’re tipsy.

“babe,” you giggle, hooking your hand into the crook of his elbow—a princess's reflex. “there’s something so magic about you..” 

dick sighs, shaking his head. 

“you’re drunk, princess.” 

“am not,” you reply, a smile betraying your words. 

he sighs again, your heart crumpling a little at the sound. 

“what? can’t have a little fun?” you ask. 

he looks down at you in muted surprise at the way you lean in, a little smirk forming on his lips. 

it’s addicting, knowing his mouth can form the shape, knowing you might’ve had a part to play in it. 

“don’t you ever let loose, dick? like really, really just let loose?” 

the mask slots back into place like it never left, and you’re locked out, like a dog, dutifully waiting for its owner in the rain.

“used to.” he says, indulging you nonetheless. even as you slip your hand from where it was resting, he feels the residual warmth from your skin on his. 

you walk in front of him down the hallway, doing a twirl. his eyes snap to yours from where they were watching your hips move. 

“why haven’t you told me how pretty i look yet?” you ask, insecurity swimming beneath artificial vanity. 

“pretty, princess?” he asks, his face incredulous. his tone stops you in your tracks. 

he doesn’t think you’re pretty? shouldn’t be as earth shattering of a revelation as it is, but there you were. you feel stupid, but maybe that was the drink talking. 

who cares what he thinks anyways? he’s just some knight, right? 

dick sweeps his gaze across the corridor, ensuring that you two were alone. his hand snakes out, pulling you to his chest. you attach like magnets, your hands resting on his chest, fingertips brushing his collarbones. the weight of his strong arms anchors you, pulls you back to earth. 

“you look stunning, princess. ravishing.”

you blink, caught off guard. 

“..why didn’t you say anything before?”

“couldn’t tell you earlier ‘cos my head wasn’t cooperating.” dick says, sniffing casually. 

“which one?” you ask, faux innocently. 

dick coughs, trying to cover up a laugh as his cheeks turn a delicious shade of pink. 

“none of your business, princess.” he shoots back, still recovering. he catches a glimpse of your expression: the shit-eating grin on your lips. dick snorts, shaking his head. 

livia’s long gone, either at the party or taking the night off for herself. you hate being in charge of her. her free time is hers and hers alone. 

while that usually results in you attempting to unlace yourself from gowns and costumes—often drunk—you weren’t too worried about it. 

tonight was something else entirely, however. no matter what, you could not get the wings off of your back. the rest of your outfit was attached to said wings, and so: 

“dick?” you call, voice almost pleading. 

he’s there before you can blink, his big body at your back. 

dick nods, wordless. 

“can you help me get undressed?” you ask, heat rising up your neck and to your cheeks, ears. 

“course, princess. anytime.” he says, the familiar sentiment rolling off of his tongue. 

your eyes widen in unison as the combination of question and answer sets in. his cheeks set aflame as he fumbles to correct himself. 

“i—not that, that’s not what i meant. you know what i meant. not that i won’t help you, but—,” he cuts himself off, turning away. 

he slides a hand down his face with a heavy sigh. you watch him, amused. mortified. he shakes his head, steeling himself.

“never mind. c’mere.” 

dick tugs at the laces tying your wings to your clothes, undoing the clasps. the pressure of his hands at your back has a rather curious feeling growing between your thighs. 

his breath sends shivers down your neck. he’s so close. you hold the fabric to your breasts, so it doesn’t fall and expose you to him. not that you’d really mind it. it’d make things a lot easier. 

the sight is extremely erotic, sensual—dick’s trousers are starting to feel tight. 

he finishes, dropping his hands and stepping away. 

“m’eyes are closed, princess.” dick says, his voice thick. you’re naked. his hand clamped firmly over his eyes like a mask. not like he won’t still be seeing the smooth skin of your bare back as he stands guard tonight.   

you step behind an ornate screen, your bared ankles and feet the only thing visible. he hears the rustle of fabric as you slip the sheath over your head, put your arms through your robe. 

staring at yourself in your vanity mirror, you brush out your hair.

dick watches you, his eyes following your repetitive movements. you’re both deep in thought, and it’s an easy guess for what the other might be thinking about. 

you’d smelled it, too. the smoke. someone nearby was lighting their pipe. it couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?

you force yourself to look away from the drawer holding your secret supply of tobacco. 

right now, you want it—but not badly enough. 

not so much that it’s worth losing dick again, however briefly. it’s just a hunch, though. 

you don’t know what caused it. and you’re not sure he’d tell you. but you’re not taking any chances. 

you shuffle over to bed, getting under the covers. dick starts to retreat from the room. 

“wait!” the outburst surprises you. you said that?

he turns to look at you, expectant. 

“please, stay with me.” 

“princess..” he says, his voice almost pleading. like he’s the one asking you to come to bed. 

“i need you here, please.” you hardly recognize the begging tone underlying your words. 

a princess wouldn’t be caught dead negotiating with an inferior to sleep in her bed. but there you were.

a knight couldn’t argue with such a request. a knight wouldn’t argue. 

“i’m not getting underneath the blankets.” 

“that’s okay,” you concede, your voice small. you feel overwhelmingly triumphant.

dick blows out the candle, your eyes on his lips as they form an O.

the bed creaks as he lays next to you, his big body taking up space previously untouched. 

it’s only ever been your bed. you’re not sure you’d mind if that changed. 

“well? go to sleep.” he mutters. the darkness of the room hides the blush caressing his cheeks. 

you listen to the rhythm of his breathing, unawares of him doing the same to you. it lulls you to sleep, your hand mere centimeters from his. 

anguished blue eyes. it’s all he sees, half the time. the pain shooting through jason’s body as he takes his last breath. the relief of death, the transfer of pain from heart to heart, holder to viewer. it’s like a knife to the ribs.

it gets hard to breathe, sleep, eat, knowing his little brother can’t. 

the knife twists once more, and his body tenses like it’s really happening, his hand clenching at your bedsheets. 

he’s in your bed. he’s indebted to you.

you got him out of there. out to where he could finally breathe, finally think. 

your eyes replace jason’s, sometimes. the kaleidoscope of color, your blooming pupils as you look up at him. 

he doesn’t see them for long before the guilt sets in. 

he’s losing focus on his duties. like he didn’t already—it’s what got him reassigned in the first place. 

thoughts of honor, duty, do nothing to quell the rush of blood downward. his body aches being so close to you. he's reminded of the night he had you pressed to the castle floor, your lips on his cheeks. it doesn't help the situation he's in.

he’s lost in his thoughts, trying to tell his cock that he’s not even inside of you, and won’t be any time soon. 

it’s not listening. the steady in and out of your breath soundtracks the heartbeat throbbing in between his thighs. lot more intimate, than most realize, to be allowed to sleep next to someone. 

especially after a night like tonight, when he was allowed to see so much of you. 

dick can’t get the feeling of your smooth skin against his palms out of his head. he could scrub them until they bleed, and it wouldn’t go away. 

the way your skin shimmered in the light, your hair shining as you danced. 

dick shouldn’t have given in, danced with you. he knows his place. but he couldn’t resist. didn’t want to see a look of disappointment muddle your hopeful features. 

he knows he’ll be thinking about it for a long time: the way your hips moved under his hands, your breasts bouncing under the loose fabric. your arms wrapped around his neck.

sleep seeps out of your pores as you reach for the empty space next to you, surprise registering at a big, warm body instead. 

hair rustles against the pillow as he glances at you, your sleep-mushed features. 

“..you’re still awake?” your whisper cuts through the night, your eyes tracing over the silhouette of dick’s profile. 

“yes.” 

you watch his lips move, shape the word. you wish it wasn’t so dark. you wish you could see the color of them right now: a light mauve, a dusty, deep pink. 

“can’t you sleep? am i keeping you up?” you ask, concern lacing your questions. 

“you helped me, princess. saved me. i’m attempting to figure out how i might ever repay you.” 

your eyes widened, surprised. your thoughts thrum to life, your body waking up. 

“no need, dick. you’re absolved of the task.” you say, the words unfamiliar on your tongue. royal. 

dick chuckles, shaking his head. he won’t look at you, his eyes glued to a spot on the ceiling. like he’s seeing something that’s not really there. his arms are crossed, his ankles. closed off in every way possible. 

“can’t absolve me of a self-assigned task, your highness.” 

you lay still under the blankets, your mind catapulting through many things at once. 

“won’t you let me?” you breathe out, hopeful. 

he laughs, a disgusting, bitter sound, and doesn’t say anything else. 

before your eyes are even open at daybreak, you know dick’s not next to you anymore. 

there’s a chance that no one ever was, especially not your knight. that after the party you fell asleep in your bed alone, your dreams full of dick’s bottom lip, his harsh laughter. 

livia helps you dress, letting her facial expressions do the talking as you try to step into the corset with sore legs. 

freshly primped and pulled at, you exit your bed chambers to see dick, leaning against the wall as he waits for you. 

he looks rumpled. his cheeks pink as he takes you in with fresh eyes. 

there's something intensely intimate about having spent the night together, asleep, even having never touched. he walks you to breakfast like it's any other morning. 

you try not to cry when your mother reminds you of the day's events, trudging back to your room. it's hard to resist the urge to walk the castle floors barefoot, like when you were a child. 

"would you like your darkened glasses for the joust, m'lady?" 

you look to livia, noting the tiny smirk on her lips. 

"yes, but only if you quit looking so smug about it," you reply, groaning as she leaves to grab them from your closet. 

"i was wondering, your highness, how were you able to disrobe last night?" livia asks, the portrait of innocence. bully. "my deepest apologies that i wasn't there to help." 

you give her your most deadpan look, taking the glasses from her hands. 

"i..helped myself." you say, sniffing. 

she levels you with a look, an eyebrow raised. 

"you don't have to believe me, liv." checking your reflection one last time—pale, dark circles—you turn towards the door. 

"and i don't just want these because of my bottle ache!" you call, heading out the door. 

"sure, highness," she replies, laughter in her voice. 

you’re infinitely glad he can’t see you right now, even if you can feel his eyes on the back of your throne. 

it's so extremely unfortunate that you're now privy to what his unclothed torso looks like: because it's all you can think about. all you see when you look at him. 

it ailed you, during the silent walk to the stables, the even more silent (and borderline nauseated) carriage ride to the fairgrounds. hung over you like a sickness, your thoughts with the little line of hair trailing from his stomach to..? 

you wish to follow the path with your tongue, laving the skin until he's writing beneath you. you wish you had a very strong cup of tea, a lot of peace and quiet. the jousters bow to you and your parents, the knight participating under the green pennant throwing you a wink and a jaunty wave. 

you swear you hear dick growling from behind you. like a proper royal, you return the gesture, putting on a serene smile to wave back. the knight preens at your attention, the crowd cheering at the princess's acknowledgement. 

now there's muttering, and it makes you want to giggle. your poor knight, probably so tired from the night before. you'd noticed the bags that ring his eyes when he walked you over, heaven knows how much sleep he really got!

you've never much liked jousting anyways—it always looked like such a chore for those poor horses. 

and there's no way it was fun for the knights, either! riding a horse with all that armor on, holding a big poky stick. who was benefitting from this? the crowd roars as the green knight knocks over the blue knight, drumming up the cheering with a movement of his arms. you roll your eyes at the gesture, putting your chin in your hand on the armrest. 

the next contender gallops into the arena, his color a deep red. the jousters bow again, the green knight really hamming it up now, especially towards you. he waves, before faltering, quickly dropping his hand and turning back to his horse. his eyes were on something behind you, and somehow you just know your knight was glowering down at him. 

the match begins, the horses and their riders picking up speed as they race towards each other. but you've had to watch enough jousting in your life that something about the angle looks off. there's a horrible cacophony of sounds, horses whinnying loudly, the crowd gasping, wood splintering: and that's the last thought you have before you're moving, arms flailing. 

dick grabs the back of your throne, tipping it to the ground as smoothly as possible as he also ducks. a surprised screech leaves your throat as a jagged piece of wood flies over your head, past dick. you hear your mother's matching scream as your father jumps in front of her, arms outstretched. 

dick rises, leaving you and your chair tipped back on the wooden viewing deck. you remembered last minute the fact of your dress, your hands clenched in the fabric to keep it from flying over your head. there was not a soul in the crowd that needed to see the princess's knickers today. 

you watch his head swivel, assessing the surroundings, the groaning knights in the dirt, before looking down at you and your parents. 

"up? please? now?" you hiss at your knight, eyes pleading. he nods, quickly pulling you back up. adrenaline shoots through his veins, screaming at the sudden call to action. it’s jarring, but it’s a good reminder: he’s alive. he’s successfully keeping you alive. 

various ladies-in-waiting have surrounded you and your mother, re-powdering your faces lest you look alive. you bat their hands away, coughing at the way they're vigorously attempting to powder pouf you. 

"everyone alright?" your father calls, to the cheers of the crowd, the guilty looking knights, but more obviously, his family. you and your mother reply affirmative, and he stands, waving his hand to call the event off. 

dick still looks slightly murderous. you think you can see the knights wilting in real time under his gaze. with a nod from the king, he stalks off, no doubt to investigate the situation.

"i think this calls for a strong cup of tea and some peace and quiet." he declares, except only to your cheers this time.

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

spring's drifting through the air, proud as ever as it blooms under the bright sun shining. you're switching back to dresses with shortened sleeves, less layers of fabric, all in silky pastels. 

you stroll through the castle gardens, dick trailing behind you. fat bees float in and out of the freshly bloomed flowers, the air thick with sunshine and a warmed floral scent. the grass is thick beneath your slippered feet, the hem of your dress whispering through the green sprouts. 

it feels like the only place in the world, filled just with the two of you and the sounds of nature. no one else exists, and a weird little feeling nestles into your rib cage at the thought. odd, but, you’re not sure you’d want it any other way. 

you hold out a hand, and dick hands you the intricately gilded stem cutters he’d put into his pocket for you. 

you snip a white chrysanthemum from its sisters, carefully pull white clover from the ground beneath your feet. gardenia is next, heliotrope soon following. an iris stands out from the rest of the bunch, and you cut it off of the stem, turning around to your knight. 

“hold this.” you hand him your bouquet, and he dutifully grabs it from you, holding it carefully in both hands. a strand of hair falls into his eyes, and he blows it out of his face with a puff of air. you step closer to him, his scent strong even in the castle’s edenic garden at the height of spring. you’re hit with the smell of leather, a soft hint of lemon leaf and something deeper, something you can’t place, but it’s mesmerizing all the while.

you carefully tuck the flower into one of the loops in his shirt, adjusting it carefully. the slow, almost deliberate rise and fall of his chest sets the rhythm to your heart, a feedback loop of feeling, breathing. 

“thank you, princess.” 

“course, dick,” you say, trying to brush it off, hide the look on your face you’re unable to stop. “anything.”

dick scoffs to himself when you turn around, shaking his head with a smile. 

if only anything could accurately describe the lengths he’d go for you. 

greeting the guards at the castle door with a smile, you enter the entrance hall. a pink camellia falls from your makeshift bouquet, onto the intricately woven carpet that covers the stone floor. 

folding at the waist, you bend down, picking up the flower before an attendant can. dick, however, hadn’t realized you’d stopped, and runs into you. his hips connect with your ass, the force sending you forward. 

his hand swoops in, catching you before you can fall, but effectively pressing you back into his crotch.

ever the royal, you carefully place the flower back into the bunch, standing up. grinding against him in your movement.

“thank you, knight.” 

he growls in reply, a pulse running from his body into yours. you feel him growing harder, and you arch your back, still pressed up against him. 

“princess,” he says, half groan, half plead. you grin to yourself, wiggling your hips against him as you look back at him. 

your eyes are wide, the picture of innocence. whatever could you possibly be doing to bother him?

“knight,” you reply, the tone of your voice pitched into something deeper, something more sultry. 

that ends it for dick, and he makes you do a weird sort of spin as he grabs your hand, darting down a corridor.

he pulls you behind him, his hand tightly clasped onto yours, through the castle. you hear him muttering underneath his breath angrily, a thrill running through your body when you note the clench of his jaw. 

“in here.” 

he unceremoniously yanks you into an empty guest room, quickly pulling down the bar on the door. you carefully set down the bouquet on an empty dresser, looking at dick expectantly. 

“bed.” 

you start towards it, before stuttering in your steps. 

why? 

you turn to him. his eyes are on yours, dangerous and dark. you open your mouth to question him, his eyebrow raising as he speaks before you can. 

“now, princess.” 

you comply, sitting down onto the bed. you cross your ankles demurely, tossing your hair over one shoulder before folding your hands in your lap. 

he stalks over, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. he stops as he reaches you, knocking his knees against yours. 

“open.” 

you look up at him in surprise, your eyes widened. 

“no?” you reply, incredulously.

he chuckles, shaking his head. “such a tease, aren’t you?” 

he drags the rough pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling your mouth open. 

he places his thumb onto your tongue, and your lips close over it like it’s natural, like you’ve done it a thousand times before. 

“just like that, princess.” he growls out, your thighs squeezing together at the praise. “open?” 

you do it without a second thought, parting your legs as he steps closer between them. 

he pulls his thumb free, mourning the loss of the view of your hollowed cheeks, your big eyes looking up at him. 

“lay back onto the pillows for me.” dick says, and you swiftly comply, the rules of the game quickly burning their way into your mind. 

he gets onto the bed after you’re settled, watching him with anticipation. he kneels between your already open legs, running a hand up the outside of your leg. it feels like all the oxygen’s been sucked out of the room, a heady feeling that you doubt will be going away anytime soon. 

he lowers himself over you, his hands braced against the mattress by your shoulders. you gulp, hearing the way the bed creaks under his weight. 

“alright there?” he asks, concern laced in his words. 

“y-yes.” you say, putting on a brave face as you try to will your heartbeat to slow down in case he hears it. 

he grabs your wrists with one hand, pressing them into the pillow, over your head. he nuzzles your cheek, brushing a stray hair from your eyes. 

“got beautiful hair, princess. a shame you always tie it up.”

your face heats. you’ve heard countless suitors wax poetic about the nature of your follicles. 

but your knight's not a suitor, not by a long shot. 

nonetheless, you’ll hear his words every time you look into the mirror. 

you squirm against his grip, and he eases up, letting you free a hand. you tug at his shirt, trying to pull him closer, what was the point anyways, if he’s not going to kiss you?

you slam your mouth shut as you realize you said the last part out loud. 

he laughs, hearty and full, sending feel-good fluttering around in your chest. 

“mmn-mmn, highness,” he says, a devilish grin playing on his lips. “you do what i say.” 

how much lower can he go, anyways? he felt an odd sort of freedom, knowing you’d never tell, knowing this position alone was supposed to incapacitate his inner warrior. 

you nod, meek, the glint in dick’s eye making you shiver underneath him. he’s so warm, so heavy. you can’t feel, see, smell anything but him. you’re not sure you’d want it any other way. 

this context is a lot different from that night on the roof. you’re in bed with your knight, for heaven’s sake!

you reach out, hesitant to touch him, but before you can blink, your hand is slammed back into the soft mattress by your wrist. 

“princess,” he warns. noting the look on your face, the open need to feel him, run your hands through his hair, however, he relents. “if you’re good, i’ll let you touch me.” 

you nod again, but he shakes his head. 

“let me hear you.” 

“yes, dick.”

“that's right. grab the bars.” 

you reach up, grabbing the wrought iron bars of the headboard. he nods in satisfaction, his eyes traveling down the length of your body. 

he leans in again, the ghost of his breath whispering along your neck, making you shiver. he nips at your collarbone, harshly tugging at the fabric of your bodice until the globe of your breast pops free. dick hums in approval, the pulse between your thighs drumming up into something unbearable. 

“so needy, aren’t you, princess?” he whispers, your eyes huge as you watch his tongue flick over the tightened bud of your nipple. 

“yes.” you admit, his other hand greeting your still-clothed breast in response. he squeezes as he lightly bites down on your nipple, the sensation making you gasp. 

“that’s right.” he replies, his voice strained as he fights the urge to rock his hips into yours. 

you move your legs, going to hook your ankles around his back. he groans, pressing his lips tightly together to muffle the sound. 

“don’t, beautiful, don’t tempt me like that,” he asks, his eyes bearing into yours as he implores you otherwise. 

you shift, nestling him further between your thighs. 

“can’t just do what you’re told,” he growls, roughly grinding his crotch into yours. the movement feels good, so good, even with all of the ridiculously unnecessary layers of fabric between you. 

you’re moaning out, the friction he’s creating sending you to the edge, an edge you’ve never gone over before. 

you’re panting, toes curling, dick watching you carefully as he starts and stops, pushes and pulls. sparks shoot off behind your eyes, the sensation heightening, heightening, heightening—

he stops abruptly, lifting his head from where he’s been harshly sucking at the spot underneath your jaw.

“talk a big game, don’t you, princess? but once i’m in control..” dick says, trailing off. he’s amused at how speechless you are, a shit-eating grin plastered onto his face. 

“please, dick.”

“so sweet when you wanna be.” he teases, his hands kneading at your breasts. 

his hips rock again, and you gasp, hopeful. but he stops again, your face immediately falling back into a pleading pout. 

“what, princess?” he taunts, as you whine. “what’s it feel like to not get everything you want, hm?”

“like shit, knight.” you cross your arms, turning your head. 

your response sends his shoulders shaking, and you sense the movement, looking back over curiously. he’s laughing at you. 

“you’re so unfair, dick.” you say, shoving at his chest as you pout. 

“how’s that, gorgeous?” he says, his eyes glittering. he catches your hand, pressing it into his sternum. you blush, and he lets go, not before having the harsh realization that having your hands on him is grounding. 

you’re breathing heavily still, trying to quiet it in order to quickly feign nonchalance. the effort to stop it is just making it worse, and it’s not being helped by the way dick’s carefully tucking you back into your dress, straightening the layers of fabric that make up your skirts. 

he sets you to rights, getting up from the bed. he turns away, adjusting himself. you get up, following him out of the room.

“but—,” you start, whispering loudly. “we didn’t—you didn’t—..”

“doesn’t feel good, getting teased, does it?” dick asks, his smirk like a secret in the dark hallway. he walks off, leaving you rooted in place, your mouth agape. 

“you coming?” he calls over his shoulder, and you huff, stomping off after him.

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

the sun beats down above you as you sit with the queen on one of the many balconies, nibbling on a piece of dried fruit. "now, dearest," your mother continues, pouring more cream into her cup. it's starting to look more like milk than tea. you try to ignore the sweat forming on your upper lip. maybe if you pretend like you're not warm, you won't be. dick stands by the open doors, head tilted towards the balcony. he stopped trying to look he wasn't listening twenty minutes ago. 

"you know you'll need to actually entertain a suitor one of these days." 

at your loud sigh, she shakes her head. "no more of that, darling. i'm serious. you're reaching an age where it's time to start taking these things seriously, responsibly. like your sister." 

you open your mouth to argue, instead taking a sip of your tea cup (filled with mead, thanks to your knight.)

"maybe if we could bring around someone who was actually," you pause. "oh, i don't know, right for me?" 

at your mother's deadpan look in response, you roll your eyes. 

"maybe then, i would start to consider some of these men. but only then." 

"do tell, princess," dick starts, voice tight. "if you end up finding a suitor that's right for you, where does that leave me?" 

he paces the length of your room as you watch from your bed. at his words, you look to your knight, blatantly confused. 

"your father sent me to guard you. i'm no longer fit to work as a knight, to participate in battle, what i was trained to do. where do i belong, if not at your side? the king has ordered me there, no matter what. i'm at a loss here, princess."

you let him rant, listening intently before offering:

"i've wanted to tell you, you're rather talented when it comes to teaching. you just have this way about you. it would make anyone want to listen." 

dick turns, unsure whether to let the way your words make him feel or the platform he was arguing on take charge. he conveys that with a scoff, crossing his arms. 

"thank you, princess." he says, voice low, bitter. "but if your father has assigned me to you, shall i follow you to your next kingdom? i doubt your husband would appreciate our closeness very much. i especially doubt he'd want me in the bedroom the way you would." 

the absurdity of his words make you snort, but the root of it pains you, ties your hands further than the fact of arranged marriage already does. the dismissal of your compliment, your attest to his abilities, doesn't help either. 

if you did have to get married off, if they choose for you, you'd want your knight with you. you'd need him with you, someone on your side in a foreign domain. 

but it'd be up to him, ultimately. if you had your way, you'd never have to choose again. you chose the day he walked into your bedroom like he owned the place. 

"there's no reason you can't choose for yourself. my father is not so unreasonable." you bite out, face openly full of hurt. it's like a sword through dick's heart. "is your duty to me? or the kingdom?"

"i don't—," he tries to reply, cutting himself off and looking away instead. you step closer. 

"i'm not sure anymore, princess." he whispers, pained. 

"that's alright, handsome," you reply against his lips as you pull him closer with his swordbelt. 

dick groans into your mouth, kissing you hungrily as you sigh into it, lashes brushing your cheeks. his hand reaches to your back, arm banding you to him as his other hand cups your head, running through your hair. 

"either way, dick," you murmur, his lips on your neck. "either way, i'm yours." 

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

something about autumn makes you want to spend all of your time in the castle's library. 

and, being a princess, you get to do exactly that. 

dick accompanies you every time, always making the fire for you. he never has to ask or bother a valet to do so. it's undeniably arousing to you, the way he continues to meet your needs without question, without hesitation. he’ll never relax, sit down and get comfortable until the hearth’s positively roaring, fire warming the room. 

the library is one of the least traveled rooms in the castle, all of your parents' favorite books on a shelf in their bedroom. audrey never had much interest in reading, and you were the only one without many responsibilities growing up, as the youngest. 

the privacy of it is greatly freeing, leaving you plenty of space to flirt with the man sitting with you, long legs stretched out before him as he rests his hands on his stomach. looking ten years older than his actual age, the fire casting shadows in the lines on his face as he occasionally dozed off. 

you let him, happy just to see him resting. sometimes he'd jerk in his sleep, twitching like his heart was beating one thousand times too fast. 

in those cases, you'd sit on his thigh, gently trailing your hands over his shoulders, cupping your palm to his cheek until he either fell deeper into sleep, his breathing slowing, or woke up. when he would, panting, his eyes wild, you'd press a kiss to his temple, holding his hands and squeezing as you instructed him to breathe at the rhythm you were. 

it seemed to always help, and so he'd wrap his arms around your waist and pull you to sit fully onto his lap as he rested his head on your chest. the soft rustling of pages and the calm lilt of your voice as you read to him would lull him back to sleep, only rising again once you had to get back to your chambers. 

dick felt forever yours, forever in your debt because of it, because of how softly you treated a man who had only ever known grit, aggression.

"i have something to ask you, princess." your knight starts, one evening. stars are starting to twinkle out the castle window, the fire crackling in the hearth. 

you've toed off your slippers, skirts swishing around your legs as you move about the room. dick follows you through the aisles, hands behind his back as he takes note of which books you look at for especially long. "and pardon me if it's out of line. but seriously, it's burning a hole through my head, i'm so curious." 

his admission has piqued your own curiosity, and you turn, looking up at him with furrowed eyebrows. 

"what, dick? spit it out." 

he smirks, opening his mouth like he's going to ask before closing it, exhaling, visibly thinking. 

"how come," dick starts, bracing himself. "you're able to use so much innuendo in conversation. it's akin to sailors i've met—where did you learn to speak in such a way?" 

heat climbs up your throat, blooming on your cheeks as you start to fidget with the embroidery on your dress. 

"well, i—," you say, shaking your head and turning away. "just come with me." 

dick trails behind you as you find the right aisle, a dusty, older section in the back. you slide a book off the shelf, handing it to your knight with a sheepish glance. he blows dust off of the top, smirking as he reads the title. “human anatomy and copulation?” 

at your silence, he begins to flip through it, landing on the chapter you assume he was looking for. 

"i've never quite been able to figure out what that drawing is supposed to be." you half-mumble, pointing to the page dick's open to. 

a woman sits with her legs open, the man's head drawn to be between them, face-deep in the spot between her thighs. 

"i mean, with the opposite," you say, gesturing at the drawing depicting fellatio. "it makes sense. there's something to well, put your mouth on. it's the most similar to penetration." 

dick's listening intently to the way you start to ramble, his cock already half-hard from the subject matter alone. the thought of his princess thinking deeply on her own pleasure was sending all of his blood to straight between his legs. 

"but obviously, i've never had the opportunity to try it, with anyone—," you cut yourself off, realizing what exactly you're discussing with the man standing next to you, over you. 

you're not sure where the sheer honesty is coming from, but it's all-consuming, forcing the words out of you because you've never really had the chance to share them before. the feeling is intoxicating, to say the least. 

"i found it when i was probably sixteen years of age and devoured it, hiding it behind other books like anyone else ever came in here." 

the more you speak of it, the harder dick grows. 

his thoughts zeroing in on the one outstanding fact: he could be the first one to taste the spot between your legs. 

it practically has him swaying on his feet. 

unnoticing, you continue. "so that's how i have such a grasp on the concept as a whole, really." 

dick doesn't reply. 

"i can stop, if you'd like. i probably should stop, it's not exactly very ladylike. i jest with you because, well, you're a knight. you are used to jokes like that. aren't you?" 

you look up at your knight to see him glaring down at you, his expression that of a lion presented with his next meal. 

you try not to squeak in surprise as he drops to his knees in front of you, hands on the hem of your dress. 

"princess, may i?" he rasps, eyes hungry as he looks you over. "may i show you, what happens in that drawing?" 

dick's no longer bothering trying to mask his arousal, the length between his legs is hard and throbbing, his voice is thick with need. he's well past the point of no return. 

you nod, before remembering how he likes it. "y-yes, dick, you can." 

one hand presses you back into the sturdy wooden bookshelf, the other grabbing your bare foot to kiss the instep, the ankle, before he slings it over his shoulder. 

the sheer largeness of him has your legs spread wide, and a growl sounds from under the many layers of fabric separating you two as he kisses up your inner thigh. 

he moves his rough palms up your legs, nipping at the bare, so soft skin. you whimper at the feeling, your stomach muscles tensing as his hands reach the junction of your thighs. thick fingers rip open the fabric covering your cunt, causing you to jump. 

"dick," you mewl, putting a hand down to grip at your skirts. he nods beneath them, spitting at the already glistening folds. the wet on wet feeling causes you to moan again, slapping your other hand over your mouth when you remember where you are. 

his fingers are first, and while you're not quite sure where this part was in the book, you're not complaining. one rubs at your clitoris, the other teasing around your cleft, gathering slick. it feels much better than anything you've ever tried on your own, the sensation tightening deep in your belly as it threatens to shatter, coat your muscles in pleasure. 

his finger breaches your entrance, and you forget everything you were just thinking. slowly, it enters you, dick rocking his other finger on your clit with a pressure that's making your legs start to shake. you moan into your hand, eyes shut tight as you sit back and feel, his finger knuckle deep inside of you. his finger on your clit is replaced with his lips, his tongue, and you whine, barely able to still hold yourself up. 

dick notices, moving his free hand up to brace your waist as he tries to get you towards finishing, his tongue moving rapidly in tandem with his finger. 

another digit is added inside of you, slipping in easily as he works at you, wetness producing itself in the process. you can barely breathe, taking one last deep, shuddering breath as it echoes through your whole body, your legs shaking beneath you as the tension crests into a crashing wave, pleasure coursing through your veins. 

dick continues his pace, letting you ride out the feeling as you fall apart for him. it's not long before the sensation starts to become too much for where you are, who you are, who's..under you. 

you pat his head, trying to move away. your knight gets the idea, coming up for air. "i can't—gimme jus' a moment," you breathe out, blinking.

your juices on his shiny lips, his chin, the pink tip of his nose, his ruffled hair—all of these things make you want to tackle him to the library floor and ride him until the favor's returned. 

dick smiles at the look on your face, his face equally blissed out as he looks at you with such an open expression it feels like your heart's melting out of your pussy. 

your eyes fall to his crotch, at the dark, wet spot blooming on his pants. it knocks any breath you had left in your lungs out, heart sputtering in your chest. 

"w-would you want to do that again, sometime?" you ask, slightly delirious as you stumble towards dick. the sight causes him to laugh, the feeling bubbling through his chest and out of his mouth as he catches you in his arms, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head. 

"whenever you would like, princess." he whispers into your hair, rubbing your back as you sigh into his chest.

by the time you're usually heading back to your bed chambers, the castle is deserted. 

tonight you're not so lucky.

“dickie,” you moan, barely able to keep it to a whisper as his hands pin you to the freezing stone wall. 

you could spend hours like this, dancing your way around the castle with your knight, his body pressed to yours. 

he starts to kiss his way down your neck, but a noise down the hallway makes him freeze. 

“..dickie?” gardner repeats in surprise, his eyes full of delight. dick’s eyes widen, and he curses to himself. he should’ve fucking known. he’s in the east side of the castle, and it’s past the late tenth hour. gardner’s on duty. 

he quickly shifts, and blocks you from view. you carefully set yourself to rights behind the shield of his massive back. dick's just glad it's dark enough that the cum staining his pants should go unnoticed. 

“gardner.”

the knight spots the intricately woven hem of your gown, a gleam in his eye.

“that can’t be..” he trails off, somehow looking even more gleeful than before. the candlelight sets off his features, dramatizing them. turning them into a flickering mask that fills dick with dread.

 but gardner shakes his head, obviously working something out for himself.

 “no, no..” he continues, smirking. “that’d never happen.”

dick must make a face or something, because gardner clarifies. 

“the princess, grayson. no way you’re tuppin’ her under the king’s nose like that.” 

you feel yourself holding back a snarl, but it would’ve been hidden behind dick’s, a rumble you can feel from how you’re pressed up against his back.

“do not talk about a member of the royal family like that, gardner. have you no respect for the king? for what we serve?” 

“..what i serve, dickie. you, not so much anymore.” 

you can’t breathe, your body stuck between dick and the wall, your skin turning colder and colder as you press into the stone at your back. you’ve no doubt you could turn into stone yourself, standing so still. 

“you don’t know what you’re talking about, gardner.” 

“yeah, but i do know this: you’re one lucky fucker if you are getting to swive the princess.” 

dick tenses, and you rub his back gently, your heart pained. how horrible for an old comrade to talk to him like this. wasn’t dick a head officer, anyways? this little asshole, talking down to his superior like dick can’t do anything about it. 

you’re used to people discussing you like this. being a princess..you get promised away to some guy basically as soon as you’re born. you know that many see you as nothing more than a title, a pretty face, an object. 

“she’s got one hell of a body, i know that too. bet she’s good in bed, she’s got the most wanton look to her. don’t you think, grayson?” he says, like he just now remembered he was talking to someone, not living in some kind of fantasy.

“nope,” dick says, his body moving swiftly as his fist cracks against gardner’s jaw. the man hits the wall hard, sliding to the floor. 

one punch, knock-out!

dick spits, and it lands right in the center of gardner’s chestplate. he’s out cold. 

“princess,” he says, like he’s discussing the weather. you take his hand, and he quickly leads you away. it's unspoken between the two of you, but the incident is not brought up ever again. 

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

you don’t think your sister and her husband deserve a parade just to entire the castle.

but it’s not like anyone was going to check with you about it first. 

it’s that time of year anyways: the harvest festival. 

the festivities can be heard from your window, the music and raucous cheering twirling through the air. village children hand over coins for warm pastries, candied fruits. mothers chastise, stealing bites when their offspring grow full. girls giggle, running through the streets hand in hand, new dresses on. village boys watch, snickering to each other as they share cigs stolen from their fathers. 

your harvest festival memories are grown from a different plot entirely. watered by different rain, shown down on by a distorted sun. this time of year brings a cocktail of bitterness and feigned indifference rises from the depth of your psyche, brewed in childhood memories. 

you and your sister have a strained relationship. 

you weren’t sad, when she was married off to the prince of a kingdom sixty miles away. you weren’t sad, realizing she wouldn’t be around to criticize you anymore. weren’t sad she couldn’t push you around when she didn’t get her way. the monarch and his wife never felt the need to say much either, barely able to discipline her lest they turn their eldest daughter's anger onto themselves. 

you dreaded this time of year, with its promises of family, and togetherness. such ridiculous words, to describe your kin with. 

dick’s been instructed to stay as close as possible to you for the next week,  the amount of fanfare across town positively staggering. too easy for something to happen, for someone to get hurt. 

he did not take the order lightly, especially not this time of year. 

his thoughts were with jason, the little boy who used to have to beg during this time of year, holding onto the false hope of humanity’s generosity. his eyes would light up when dick gave him money for sweets, surprised him with a new pair of boots. 

knighthood was a promise, to jason. for a better life. a secured future. what a sick joke. the only security in jason’s life now was the clasps on his coffin. 

so no, dick wasn’t going to leave your side during any point of the season. 

he was lucky you’d been too preoccupied in your own thoughts to notice any change in his behavior: dick didn’t have the courage to explain it to you. 

you’re lost in the murky waters of remembrance, dick’s warm hand leading you by the small of your back through the bustling castle to an open balcony. you’re meant to stand with your parents and welcome the parade into the castle, the kingdom, with a smile on your face. 

“princess,” he mutters, bringing you to the present. you paste a warm smile onto your lips, his eyes flickering as he notes the abrupt change, the artificiality of it all. “good luck.” 

you nod. dick pats your hip, eyes on the surrounding hallway. 

his familiar touch in an overfamiliar spot knocks you back into place, reality reconnecting. the crowd erupts into cheers as you appear, your hand going up in muscle memory to acknowledge them.

the drawbridge clatters as it touches down, your sister’s horse-drawn carriage trundling into the courtyard. 

“dearest family!” audrey shouts, waving at you like you’re a child. fingers tapping her palm, a squinty smile on her face. 

she clambers down from the open carriage, pushing off of a footman to land precariously on the cobblestone of the courtyard. your face already hurts from the fake smile you're pulling, no doubt starting an ache that'll sink in and stay until she leaves. 

during dinner, dick sits opposite you. you’d insisted he gets a seat at the table. your father had cheerfully relented. (there was never going to be any pushback.)

“how come i never got assigned my own knight, daddy?” your sister asks. 

your father looks at her with amusement, eyeing her husband seated next to you. 

“because.” the king says, simply. conversation over. 

the potato you’re chewing turns to ash in your mouth. you could kill her. you eye the gilded fork in your hand, turning it this way and that. you wonder which way would be best to seat it into her eyeballs. 

can’t stare at knights all day when you’re blind, can you?

“she jests,” her husband says, a simpering smile on his lips, his eyes void of emotion. 

“i jest!” audrey agrees, smug. 

dick jumps, his fork clattering against his plate. you watch as he widens his eyes an infinitesimal amount, his breath quickening. 

“m’lady,” he mutters, so quietly you could’ve imagined it. he continues looking deathly uncomfortable. his cheeks are just aflame as he stares at the roast chicken on his plate. 

you aim, kicking your sister’s ankle. she starts, her hands flailing. you smile down at your plate: goal achieved. 

“oops! forgive me.” you giggle, the sound high-pitched. artificial. 

plates are cleared, napkins dirtied. wine drank. 

your mother suggests a turn about the garden, and the rest of the party agrees like they have a choice. 

you shuffle through the entrance hall, dragging your feet in your heeled slippers. 

dick shoots you an odd look, slyly grabbing your hand to loop through his arm. just doing his duty. 

“d’your feet hurt or somethin’, princess?” he asks, his voice low like it’s a secret. 

“no.” you sigh, looking away. you trudge after your parents, not bothering to continue the conversation. 

you can’t get the look on his face out of your mind. 

like he’s just giving himself over to the situation. to the will of your sister. you can’t stand it. the feeling makes you itchy. seeing him act like he doesn’t care. like he’s immune. numb. 

that’s fine. you can feel enough for the both of you. 

dusk blooms overhead, fireflies flying a lazy route through the shrubbery. 

the king beckons to dick, his son-in-law, and they start to walk ahead, listening intently as he points out various renovation projects in progress. 

“come back soon!” your sister purrs, patting dick on the butt. like her husband’s not right there. like she’s not surrounded by her family. like she has any right to touch him like that. you can’t breathe.

you look at your knight, and the look in his eyes is pleading. 

don’t do anything, they say. leave it alone. let it happen to me. 

you can’t promise anything. 

“audrey!” you hiss, anger flooding your system. 

“i like what you have him wearing, sister. i think all knights should dress this way.” 

you feel your eye twitching. your mom pats your arm, and you try to relax your shoulders. 

it doesn’t work. she passes the pair of you, meeting your father where the men stand around a broken fountain. 

you watch as dick crosses his arms, retreating back into himself. he can’t decide where to put his hands. they go in his pockets, ran through his hair. resting on his sword, crossed again. 

“i find your sentiments bizarre.” you reply, your upper lip curling into a sneer. 

should’ve pocketed the damned fork. 

“i suppose we’re equal, since i find it rather bizarre you haven’t bed him yet.” she says, smirking. 

“audrey, i do wish you would shut up.” 

she scoffs, brushing you off. 

“you can continue to act blind, sister. just means i'll have him all to myself.” 

the gardeners were through here recently. that means watering is done, but the supplies for it aren’t put away yet. 

your group should pass another irrigation set up soon, if you’re where you think you are. you pass a rose bush, and you’re sure if someone saw you there’d be a twinkle in your eye. 

you pull at a watering cord, watching as your sister trips in her bejeweled slippers and crashes into a shrub with a shriek. 

the leaves shake in time with your shoulders as you stifle silent laughter. the party exclaims, her husband rushing towards her. you’re closest, getting there first. 

“touch him again and i’ll do a lot worse.” 

you harshly tug her to her feet, leaves and twigs sticking out of her hair. 

you’d laugh if you weren’t practically vibrating with anger. 

dick’s wearing concern on his face, but he drops it when you look at him. 

you’re met with a small smile, just for you. it disappears as it arrives: swiftly, with no fanfare. too quick for you to notice that it doesn’t really reach his eyes. 

you pat his cheek, and there’s a faint hint of tobacco on your hands. he hasn’t seen you smoke it in awhile. did you stop?

why do your hands smell like it if you’ve stopped? why doesn’t the sickly sweet smell bother him?

“you alright, dick?” 

concern laces your words, and he kind of despises it. despises that you see him as an object of pity. he’s been stabbed before. an entitled princess groping him isn’t the end of the world. 

but you care. you would care, if it was. that’s gotta mean something, right?

it means too much, to dick. he doesn’t fight the resentment that builds—it quickly grows into a boiling point, fueled by his festering thoughts, his rotting mind. 

“i’m further indebted to you, your highness.” his voice thins like it’ll break, the next words spoken through clenched teeth. “thank you, for your action on behalf of me.”

“quit it with the indebted shit, knight.” you snap, shutting the door to your chambers harshly. “her behavior was, is, inexcusable.” 

dick leans against the wall, watching you. silent. his arms are crossed, his expression closed off. 

“it looked like an accident. no one’s going to suddenly accuse me two hours later.” 

you’re not sure who you’re trying to convince.

his fingers are gripping into the fabric of his bicep like it’s tethering him to this plane. 

he grunts, looking away. something inside of you snaps. 

“you’re not allowed to properly retaliate! i am!” 

he scoffs. it just boils your blood further. 

“what did you want me to do, dickie? she’s my sister, she’s a royal! i care about you! her disgusting behavior towards you should not go unchecked!”

“what did i want you to do? what did i want you to do?”

you nod, your stomach dropping straight through the stone floor and into the dungeon.

his voice is deathly quiet, you strain to hear him over the pounding in your ears. 

“nothing, princess. i want you to do nothing!” dick laughs, something hollow, sad. “i’ve already had my teeth pulled, i need a princess to fight my battles for me now, too? how ridiculous! she overstepped, but can you understand that you might have, too?”

you swallow, hard. his gaze bears into yours, burrowing behind your eyes and into your thoughts. shame burns your cheeks, embarrassment unfurling through your limbs, making your toes, fingers tingle.

“i bid you good night. i need to get away.” 

the unspoken “from you,” is devastating, earth-shattering. 

“who’s going to guard me, knight?”

he doesn’t reply, his back to you as he opens the door with a scrape. the next sentence is tossed over his shoulder like it won’t echo in your ears for the next fortnight. 

“i’ll get it covered, your highness. good night.”

you’d say it back if your words wouldn’t get lost in the sound of his boots down the dark hallway. 

the dagger he'd bought you for the harvest festival sits heavy in his pocket. 

an ornate little thing, beautiful but deadly. he'd looked over hundreds in the past month, obsessed with finding you the perfect weapon. 

a secret self-defense tool he'd been planning to buy you since you'd joked about stealing his sword. why should you ever have to be at the mercy of those around you, just because of your birthright?

it reminded him of you: that was why he'd chosen it. the small blade sickeningly sharp, a well made leather grip around the handle, delicate carvings on every part of exposed metal. small stones were pressed into engraved flowers, twinkling in the light. dick never intends to tell you how much it cost him. 

now he doubts he'll ever have to worry about that. 

you have the power to effectively never see him again, if you so wished. he wouldn't blame you. he's not sure he feels any differently. 

being a knight, you become used to being nothing but a body. the battle takes away what little humanity you think you have left after being trained into a moving, metal-clad machine. 

your sister was not, and will not be the worst thing that's ever happened to him, but it'll be added to the score nonetheless. 

dick pulls the dagger from his pocket, dropping it onto his nightstand. he rubs his hand over his face, his second palm joining the first as they scrub at his skin, hoping to remove the layer that had to argue with his princess. 

tonight was just another addition to the burden on dick's shoulders. 

the death of his parents, the death of his younger brother. 

growing up without enough food, just to turn to the castle's open arms, open kitchens, for the opportunity. 

contracted murder, honorable defense, whatever label was put on it—he was a hired sword. 

raised by wrestling, disciplined by the whip. right hand stuck in a permanent fist, knuckles white as he faces the world he was taught to help conquer. 

it all added up into something, someone, but what that was.. he wasn't all too sure about. 

knowing that, feeling that, somehow made tonight all the worse. 

but it was for the better. you needed to get away from the distraction of a washed up old knight. focus on your duties as princess. 

you roll over in bed, your head landing on the pillow closer to the edge of the bed. in your sleepless daze, it takes you too long to realize that the comfort you find is that it smells like your knight. angry at yourself, you yank it off of the bed, throwing it across the room with a very unladylike grunt-scream. 

no one, not a soul, shares the knowledge that you fall asleep with tears in your eyes, throat heavy with all of the things you never said to dick in the hallway. 

"squires, up here!" dick calls from the hill he's standing on. "look alive, it's only the fifth hour!" 

the crowd before him responds in groans and chuckling, warming up to the morning. 

"today, we'll get into combat on uneven terrain." he continues. "i hope everyone's wearing a trusty pair of shoes."

the lesson ends as easily as it began for dick, age-old techniques rolling off of his tongue like he's taught them a million times. it's oddly exhilarating, satisfying. disappointingly enough, it's not nearly as fun when you're not watching. 

dick doesn't let himself dwell on that. 

jason used to light up on combat-training days. he would make dick work with him for hours, taking him out into the fields so they could better practice improvisations. 

all that training, and jason still could've never saved himself from the blow that killed him. 

all that training, and all it did was make dick overconfident in the young knight's abilities. 

all that training, and dick couldn't save him either. 

"i can go into my own gardens by myself, knight. leave me be." 

the frustration in your tone is palpable, biting. you've never sounded quite like that with him. leaves crunch as you stomp off into the wilting maze holding your precious flowers. 

dick's bare feet shuffle through the grass as he walks past, his boots swinging in his hand. (lot less propriety expected when you're not next to the princess every one of your waking moments.) he'll never admit how close he's listening to the conversation carrying on nearby. 

"whatever most pleases you, princess. as is my duty." the slimy purr of wilson's voice makes dick's neck heat in fury. how dare he talk to you in that way: his suggestion so open, so clear. 

at least you're only barely putting up with it. 

dick tries not to let himself dwell on it.

time moves on, autumn falling into a slow drag, and somehow winter sneaks up on the realm. the new year draws nearer, another year closer to you becoming queen. it’s a little suffocating, your surroundings unfeeling as leaves depart from the trees, leaving them and their branches like dry, twisted hands reaching for the sky. it gets colder and colder, snow no doubt coming soon. livia’s pulled your warm dresses, long sleeves and many layers, all lined with down, fur, to keep you nice and insulated.

it’s a little frightening, how long it’s been since you and your knight have spoken. you’ll watch as he teaches sword fighting, watch the muscles in his arm ripple in tight long-sleeved shirts. ignore the body-aching throb between your legs as he takes it off, dripping in sweat even as his breath fogs in the chilled air. his cheeks pink, hair slicked away from his forehead with sweat. you’d take him right then and there, if he’d have you. 

"oh, wilson! that is too funny! the goat was her grandmother? however do you come up with these things!?" 

it feels like you lose brain power as you say it, as you pretend like you could possibly be interested in anything he has to say. but it’s alright: you’re not doing it for you. 

you follow your new knight into the castle, your eyes wide, expression naive as you listen to his stupid story, the fifth of the day. 

dick's eyes snap up from his soup bowl as soon as he hears the clack of your slippers on the stone floor. you're giggling at something wilson's said, twirling a lock of hair between your fingers. 

his jaw drops, his nose wrinkling. who are you? where did the princess from months ago, yesterday, go, with her unforgiving tone and inability to laugh at humor deemed unworthy? 

you steal a glance towards him, chest blooming with triumph when you see the gobsmacked look on his face. 

it shouldn't feel this good, making your knight jealous. a dirty sort of satisfaction dances through your veins as you walk towards the head table, joining your parents. too bad you'll have to deal with moony eyes from wilson the whole meal. it physically pains you, to be nice to someone who’s so obviously putting it on, preening, but it’s having the desired effect. 

"i thought you were in charge of her, sir?" logan says, mouth full of roast beef. west snorts into his mead, coughing as dick's eyebrows do a frantic jig in response. 

"aren't i your teacher, squire? am i supposed to have two jobs at once?" dick replies, elbowing west to get him to quit wheezing. 

"no, sir." logan replies, looking confused as he shovels another bite of stew into his mouth. 

dick doesn't finish his stew after that, muttering some excuse about setting up for tomorrow’s morning classes. 

you trudge into the library, wilson hot on your heels. vanishing into the shelves, wilson grabs the hallway attendant to start the fire. you roll your eyes. dick would’ve just done it himself. 

“well, i truly enjoy philosophy.” wilson says, and you’re not sure to who, because you’re barely listening. “there’s many wise men from ancient worlds who have much to say about all facets of life. it’s utterly fascinating.” he ponders, before shrugging. “there’s not many women, who have books. but i’m not very surprised about that. they don’t think nearly as much as men do.”

he continues to proselytize, and you continue to tune him out. you want to vomit at his faux-intellectualism, his opinions on your sex. it’s mind-numbingly droll, and you welcome the distraction at the door when your ears perk up at noise in the hallway. your eyes widen when you realize who it is. 

“don’t linger, when you visit, logan, because the princess likes to spend time in here.” you can barely breathe as you listen in on dick’s words to his student, trying to hear as wilson keeps talking. “so don’t ever disturb her peace, if she’s using the room.”

“understood, sir. do they have that book on fighting techniques you were talking about?”

“yes, it should be back in aisle seven, under sword arts.” 

“which one’s seven?” logan asks, sounding positively lost. you hear dick snort, and footsteps start towards you. you look at the sign.

aisle the seventh 

your heart leaps into your throat, but before you know it, they’re at the end you were just about to escape from. wilson’s monologue stutters to a stop, and he looks over at the teacher and his student staring at him. dick’s got a smirk on his face, and logan looks a little incredulous, both stood still in front of you. 

dick recovers quickly, bowing low as he puts a hand on logan’s back to do the same. 

“your highness,” he greets, words low, voice a little rough, like he’s remembering what you are. how he’d slung your leg over his shoulder and eaten you like he was starving. 

“sirs,” you reply, nodding to allow them to rise. 

“i hope we weren’t, uh, disrupting your peace,” logan stammers out, half-grimacing, half-smiling. 

you watch dick glance to wilson, who’s using a knife to pick at his teeth. paying no attention to you, or the situation at hand. you watch as his gaze steels into something hard, unyielding. 

“no, never. i’m glad your teacher here is having you use castle resources. it’s exactly what they’re here for.” your tone’s smooth, well-practiced. something you slip into like it’s second nature, an old pair of shoes long molded to your feet. 

“i myself was taught well,” your former knight says, smile warm as he replies to you, even as his cold eyes stay glued to your new knight’s indifferent stance. 

his words, his smile, make you feel sheepish, ears heating as you glance away. logan notices, eyes darting between you and dick. 

“a-alright, well.” you say, clapping your hands. you’re so uncomfortable, even if talking to dick like you’re actors in a play is making you feel better than you have in months. “you boys take as many books as you’d like. i need to make an appointment.” 

at that, you whirl from the room, wilson following quickly behind. dick takes little pleasure in the fact that you left without any books, his blood still boiling at the lack of professionalism from his colleague. 

"livia, won't you tell him to go do something else?" you whine, plopping onto the seat under the window. your usual spot, in the morning. you're still in your robe, your hair messily braided back from the night before, wisping into your face from a night of tossing and turning. 

"i can, of course, but there's a chance he won't go farther than the hallway. it is his job, you know." 

you groan, rubbing your hands over your face. "i know." 

setting your arms onto the windowsill, you lean your head down on them, eyes glued to the class of squires beneath you. 

the morning air is chilled, dew clinging to the grass, the treetops, the trainees shivering in front of dick as he tries to rouse them awake. it's not working, and he sends them for a lap around the castle grounds. 

he can almost swear he feels eyes on him from a certain window, but it would hurt too much to look and see it empty. it would just confirm how delusional he's being, anyways. 

the first squire returns from the run, panting, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. 

"message," he starts, gasping for air. "from the," more gasping. "king." 

"meet the king in his study!" west shouts, leaning out of the open doors to the castle

"oh, come on!" the first squire shouts, still struggling to breathe. 

dick smiles, patting him on the back. "thanks, kid." 

"here we are again, richard!" the king exclaims, pulling his knight into a hug once he enters the study.

"hello, your highness," dick says, laughing. returning the hug. he takes a seat when the king does, across the expanse of his huge oak slab of a desk. 

"i'd love a report on the assignment i gave you." the king says, face serious as carved stone. 

when dick flounders for a second, looking befuddled, he cracks into laughter. 

"i jest, i jest!" he says, dick's nervous laughter following soon behind. "i know that you're in love with her." 

dick silences immediately, eyes practically bulging from his sockets. 

"and i know, she you." 

"she..me, sir?" dick replies, a dark eyebrow raised. 

"you know what i mean." the king waves a hand, dismissing it. "my daughter can't get enough of you. it's clear to anyone with eyes in their head." 

dick nods, cheeks flushing. his head suddenly void of any possible thing to say. 

"but i've noticed that you're in a different position, now."

dick nods again, grimacing. "my apologies for that, sir. your daughter and i had a bit of a disagreement and i thought it was better if we took a break from each other. she gets sort of..stifled if she's frustrated with someone and has to be around them all the time." 

"that she does," the king agrees, chuckling. "i think you've got a good read on her. she has a wonderful read on you as well, my boy." 

"how do you mean?" dick asks, a little more breathlessly than he meant it. 

"she's mentioned before, your natural ability to teach. i'll admit, i'm jealous. it's not something that comes easily to me. but it sounds like quite the opposite, for you.

"richard," the king continues, sitting forward, hands folded on top of the desk. "if you're willing, the current supervisor of security and royal safety is looking to step down." 

"are you—if i'm..," dick says, utterly astonished. "you're offering me the position?" 

"i am," the king replies, calmly. "i can see you using it in a few ways; honoring your younger brother, for one. jason was a shining light to all that knew him, especially here in the castle. we felt his loss greatly, but definitely nowhere near as profoundly as you did, son." 

dick nods, crinkling his nose to try and fight off the tears threatening to fall. 

"i believe that you'll pick future knights cut from the same cloth. i know that you and your brother were found as orphans, even if not at the same time—i think that we could teach young boys other skills, not that their only option is knighthood, which my father seemed partial to." 

dick nods, a set in his brow that hadn't been there twenty minutes prior. 

"i completely agree, sir. if i may, i would be honored to continue teaching, as well?" 

"well, son," the king replied, a smile quirking his lips. "is that a question?" 

"..no. i will continue to teach, when my schedule allows it." 

"good. you can see sir maxwell about payment twice a month. i'm eager for your experience here, in the castle. in fact, i think you'll be seeing much of it, considering you have my blessing to marry my daughter." 

your maid re-enters from the hallway, where she was attempting to send wilson away. 

"no dice, princess. he's ranting about the chivalric code, now." 

"sorry, liv. thanks for trying." 

several emotions flit over your face over the course of an hour as you sit, thinking. watching the redheaded knight, west, teach the rest of the squire class, your thoughts on the last year. your brows furrowed as you search the area below you for your—for dick. he's nowhere to be seen. 

when you're finally dressed, all you wanna do is walk through the castle without wilson following you like a puppy dog. but apparently that's too much to ask, even being next in line for the throne. 

nothing’s working, nothing’ll get him to let up. it’s not even like he’s just attempting to do his job: he’s acting like you’re a child who needs constant supervision. you’re a little afraid he’s going to try and follow you into the bathroom, or something. it’s becoming unbearable.  

"dunno how grayson handled you, honestly." wilson sneers. "had you on a gemstone-studded leash, or what? is that what you liked best?" 

blood roars in your ears as you turn towards him, barely clocking livia's squeak behind you as she runs off down the hallway. 

"i could get your head on a fucking golden platter if i wanted, you piece of shit knight." you bite out, looking him up and down. "i am not your peer, i am especially not someone you treat inferior to you. in fact, i'm not even sure there's a position lower than yours after today, since you'll have to answer to the king for this." 

before you even see him, you know dick's walked up behind you based on his footsteps alone. he gets in front of you, putting himself between you and wilson. classic dick: just in case. 

"i'm just doing my job, grayson. no need to get involved." wilson says, crossing his arms.

"your job is definitely not to disgust the princess," dick snaps, shoving wilson away from you. "but it seems like you've got that down, don't you?" 

"who died and put you in charge, grayson?" 

"whoever's about to put you in the dungeons, you absolute chamber pot of a person," he says, motioning for the other knights stationed nearby to grab wilson by the elbows. 

they frogmarch him towards the great hall, no doubt for an immediate audience with the king. your father is not going to be happy with him, interrupting the queen’s chess game a mark not in his favor. 

 dick leaves you standing in the entrance hall, watching him walk away. he looks happy, happier than he's been in weeks, but you don't want to keep him from getting back to class. 

it’d be a lie to say you didn’t relive the moment over and over again in your head that night, in bed. and it’d be a lie to say you weren’t thinking about him with an ache in your heart and tears in your eyes. 

the next day, the queen grabs you after lunch. 

"where are we going?" you squeak, surprised when she whirls you from the great hall, barely able to put your goblet down before you're off. 

"on a walk, daughter!" she replies, scampering you down the hallway before you know what's hit you. 

you’re a little slower today, body heavy with the weight that you’re the reason dick decided to leave. your actions pushed him away, there was no true scapegoat for the root of the argument except for you. it was a sobering thought, your eyes still puffy from the way you fell asleep the night before: sobbing into your pillow. 

once you've slowed to a reasonable place, walking the circle of the castle's hallways she used to always have you and your sister do in winter, she starts. 

"i think, darling, that sometimes even royals need to admit when they're wrong." your mother says, voice sheepish. 

"what did i do?" you ask, incredulous. "i don't think i've been wrong since last week!"

the queen chuckles, her real laugh bringing forth memories you forgot you had. it automatically puts a smile on your face, before you can even really realize it. 

"it was i," she says. "i was wrong, dearest." 

you raise an eyebrow, looping your arm through hers as you walk down the hallway. "do tell." 

she shakes her head, smiling. "you get all this wit from your father. it's ridiculous. half the time i can barely catch onto the tail end of it before i can make a joke of my own." 

you giggle, eyebrows furrowing. "i didn't know you felt that way, mama. i can slow it down a little for you, if you'd like." 

she shakes her head again, giving you a look that can only be described as indulgent. "it's alright, one of these days.. one of these days, i'll catch up."

the pair of you walk the rest of the hallway in comfortable silence, and it's after you turn the corner that you recall how this conversation started. 

"what were you wrong about?"

the queen sighs, patting your hand. "well, those blasted suitors. i was so blind! all along, you had one with you everywhere you went. a man better than we could've ever found for you elsewhere." 

you're positively speechless, half-nodding, as she leads you outside, to the bench in the courtyard across from the big entrance doors. the look on her face is so confusing to you: mischievous, like she’s about to sneak you a sticky bun from the kitchens before dinner without telling your father. 

"just wait here, darling. everything will make sense in just a second." 

she’s off, heading back into the castle. leaving you in the courtyard by yourself. you sit, confusion burrowing into your bones as you fidget with your dress. is something going to happen to you? to dick? it’s cold, but not cold enough to complain, and you watch your breath fog out in front of you, watching it disperse in the crisp winter air. 

it's not five minutes that your mother's gone before your knight comes bounding out, pure joy lacing his features. you stand to meet him, and he races towards you, picking you up and spinning you around. it feels so lovely, so unreal, to see him up close again. you can barely fathom that you’re getting the chance again, your heart frantic in your chest.

"he, the king—," he starts, utterly triumphant. "we have your father's blessing. i had to get some things sorted, but we can marry. you and i, princess!" it's all you can do not to burst into tears and also possibly faint from the shock. 

but first: 

"aren't you forgetting something, knight?" 

at your words, he drops to a knee. 

obviously, you said yes. 

“i..owe you an apology, dick.” you sigh out, grabbing his hands. he’s standing with you in your room, soon to be his, too. 

you gave livia the next week off for privacy alone, full pay promised in return. she’d left with a kiss on your cheek and a tight hug, giggling about getting to be the one to dress you on the wedding day. it was adorable. 

“what do you mean, gorgeous?” he replies, dark eyebrows sewn together in the middle of his forehead. you look over his face, heart full with love for your knight. eventually your future king, although you haven’t exactly breached that subject with him yet. you’ve got a few years. he’ll figure it out. 

“i mean over the way i was treating you, your situation. i’m sorry. it was a little ridiculous, and i intend to always put your feelings over what i think i need to do, in the future.” 

dick smiles, a warm, sunny smile, and hope fills your chest. “you’re selfless, princess. honestly. you only ever did it for me, and throughout my time working with you, you’ve only ever shown me that you constantly think about others, about how to make things better. i accept your apology, love. it’s in the past.” 

you sigh again, relieved. this conversation’s been all you were able to think about, just hoping, dreaming, that you could fix things. and you did. it was a massive weight off of your shoulders, to have your knight back in your corner again. (though if you asked him, he’d never truly left.)

“put your arms around me.”

“as you wish, princess.”

you smirk to yourself as he wraps you in a tight embrace, his biceps bracketing your head. 

"take me to bed, handsome." 

his next words are muffled into your hair as he kisses your head, sniffing you like he's trying to make sure he's not dreaming. you feel him grow hard against your hip, exhaling heavily. 

"you don't want to wait until our wedding night?" 

"even just the month we didn't speak was too much of a wait for me." 

"you wanted to—," dick's opening and closing his mouth like a fish, his pupils blown wide as he looks down at you. looking up at him, you can't help but giggle. with great effort, he recovers: 

"as you wish."

"this might sting, love. please forgive me." dick says, his voice oh-so-saccharine as he looks down at you. 

dinner was long forgotten, the night stretching long and languid before you like a black cat. you finally know what that little trail of hair underneath his navel lead to. you're four and a half orgasms in, barely any feeling left in your legs. dick promised that tomorrow he'd show you how to blow him, but that if you wanted the wedding night early, it was gonna be all about you. 

you roll your eyes, swatting his shoulder. "i'm a big girl, i can handle it."

the way you look right now alone could make dick come, your hair all mussed, thighs shaking from where they're clenched around his torso. your nipples are peaked, flushed from how much attention he's been giving them. the sheets should probably be thrown out, already soaked from sweat and your still-flowing slick. he wouldn't have it any other way. 

"but please, tell me at any time if you need to stop. for any reason at all." 

"i will," you reply, nodding. dick carefully lines up with your entrance, his glistening pink tip the biggest stretch you've ever felt. the warmth of him combined with the heat, the fact that it's him, has your arousal heightened to new levels, and you're begging for more. 

dick nods, always happy, ready, to oblige, sinks in further, and you purse your lips, trying to relax. he goes slow, so slow, trying to let you completely adjust before he moves even an inch. 

he’s pierced you to the hilt, and you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding, relief at the forefront of your mind until he starts to move. you whimper, looking up at dick, and he bites out a moan in response, the sight of his length moving in and out of you more than enough for him. 

the slight pain of the stretch is nothing compared to the complete and overwhelming pleasure you feel. your nails scratch into the skin of his back, the smooth expanse of muscle rippling as he moves over you. he hisses out a groan as you do so, hips snapping into yours. 

“make me yours, beautiful,” he growls, pinching your nipple as he grinds against you. 

"you feel so good, princess," he groans, leaning forward. his lips brush across your collarbone, your neck, up your jaw, until he finds your lips, his hips moving all the while. it’s all you could’ve dreamed of and more, every fiber of your being deeply connected with his in a way you’ve never previously known. 

it feels amazing, and you whine into his mouth as he slips you his tongue. bodies moving in tandem as you hook your ankles together behind his back, just driving him deeper still. 

"'m gonna come," he groans, eyes on your face, on the way your tits bounce as he rocks the bed. moving faster, his hips piston into yours as he fights through the haze of pleasure to get you both to the edge. 

"oh, inside, dick, please," you moan, eyes rolling back as he rolls his finger over your clit. you clench around his cock, and that does it for him. he shudders, finishing with a moan inside of you, his tip brushing your womb as he thrusts his come further still. 

"can't wait to do this every night," you whisper, and your fiance growls in response, snapping his hips as his pace quickens on your clit. 

“takin’ me so good,” he coos. you want to sob, you’re so oversaturated with stimulation, body screaming out in protest, for more, as he works you, hard. 

"come for me, gorgeous. lemme treat m'wife right," dick says, smiling as you fall apart under him, pleasure overtaking your senses as you snap like a bowstring, muscles spasming, toes curling. 

"i've just remembered, i have a gift for you." dick says, surprise stirring in your stomach. it's a wonder you register any emotions at all right now. 

he gets up, digging through his pants until he finds it. quickly sinking back down onto the mattress, he shows it to you. "you bed me and then pull a knife on me?! what sort of present is this?" you exclaim, scrambling back but almost falling off of the bed. dick obviously catches you, but puts the blade back into its tiny scabbard. waits until you're settled in his lap to hand it to you. 

"it was my harvest festival present for you." he says, his words barely a whisper. 

your eyes widen, your jaw drops. "you—you spent money on me? you got me a present? like went into town and gave them money, and they gave you this? did you picked it out?" 

dick shrugs sheepishly, looking away. "yeah, but when you put it like that, it sounds crazy."

"it does not." you sigh dreamily, chin starting to tremble a little if you think about it too hard. "this is the best thing i've ever received." 

dick pales, then flushes hard. "really?" 

“really,” you reply, deadly serious. 

he grabs your left hand, planting a kiss on your ring finger. "just wait, gorgeous. i'll do you one better." 

you kiss him, and just the simple action of your hands running through his raven locks has him aroused again. you shake your head when he raises an eyebrow at you, moving to get on top of you again. 

"i won't be able to walk tomorrow, dick." you whine, and he pokes your side. 

"i'll carry you everywhere, honey. promise." 

you raise an eyebrow, considering it. 

"well in that case," you start, tapping your chin in fake thought. dick starts tickling you again, and you swat at his hands. 

"you better be careful, or i'm gonna make you help plan our wedding." 

"you won't have to make me do anything, sweetheart." 

divider: @strangergraphics

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SOME THANKS ARE IN ORDER!!

⚔️ to my wonderful friend caleb, who i refuse to let read this out of sheer embarrassment, for his help with all questions medieval: thank you SO much for being such a nerd. this is for you and your sword. yes, it’s smut.

🏹 to @cottage-worm , for beta reading and slugging through an unedited pile of scraps to help me create it into the fic before you today. i owe you everything, seriously. thank you so, so, so, so, much.

🏰 to @pink-panda-pancakes .. when mimi likes it.. i know it’s good. thank you SO much for reading it early!!

👑 @arkhamsgirl. lovely bria gave it her stamp of approval.. so that means the rest of you get to read it now!

and to my dear readers!! this is the longest fic i’ve ever written, edited, and now published! thank you so much for reading until the end. let me know your thoughts in the comments, and as always, please reblog if you liked it! thank you, thank you, thank you!!