#Summer Rose is Briar Rose | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cowyolks · 6 months

Note

I would like to make a request

Knight Soap X Princess Reader. I've been dying for it. The King König is amazing!

AN OATH OF ROSE BRIAR

Pairing: Knight! John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Female!Princess! Reader

Prompt: It was always nightfall when he’d sneak into your chambers, yearning for love that tears apart at the seams. You didn’t know forbidden love could taste so divinely sweet.

Words: 6.8 K

Warnings: Violence, Gore, Graves is a creep, smut, p in v sex, oral sex (receiving), fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, hint of voyeurism.

A/n: don’t come at me for the action scenes, I know they’re bad lmao. Otherwise I’m proud of this, even though it took me years.

“Hold your breathe, My Lady.” A sharp tug pulled against your waist, securing your corset even tighter to your body, almost like a second skin. You’d been exclusively told you had to look perfect this week, as your father, the King, was inviting possible suitors for you.

It left an irony and rotten taste in your mouth.

You’d lifted your arms, feeling the soft and thick fabric of your crimson dress fall over the enlarged swells of your breasts and hips. It was gorgeous, laced and embroidered with golden roses. Gold jewelry proudly sat at the hollow of your throat and smooth skin of your wrists.

The maids had done well making you look the part. It was just a shame all of this was in vain. You’d never love any of your potential suitors, for there was already a man that had thieved your affections and ran with it like a sly fox.

And it just so happened he was someone you could never have. Ah, forbidden love.

A sharp tug on your scalp alerted you of the busy hands weaving your ruby crusted diadem over your temples. They’d spritzed your body in perfume and oils, using berries to bring out the plumpness of your lips. You felt beautiful, but a type of beautiful that would burn if you stood too close.

A knock on your chamber door startled you from your daydream.

“The King has requested your presence at the harbor docks, Princess.” His voice warmed your very soul and burned your beating organ. There was no possible way he didn’t know the true affect of his voice, his body, his affection. It was killing you from the inside out.

He was a spectacle.

In the eyes of the public he was Ser MacTavish, first of his name, and knight of the Royal Guard. To you, under the cloak of darkness and seclusion, you referred to him as John, chanting his name as you panted against his lips. He made you feel good, a rush of freedom and adoration that pooled in your gut like rolling waves.

Your maids stepped away, offering you tight and practiced curtesies as you thanked them with a smile. You shifted closer to the heavy door, one of your ladies in waiting pushing the door open.

You adjusted to the gentle summer sun, squinting in the rays and enjoying the balmy warmth of the air. Breeze blew from the Sea, fluttering your hair laced with pearls and beads.

A shift of metal drew your attention to your knight, someone who swore an oath to your father to protect him. Instead, he settled on protecting you, being your main guard and secretive lover. John stood tall and proud in his chainmail, your house crest displayed across his chest.

He had his helmet off, the piece of armor hanging loosely in the crook of his arm. He had a passive expression on his features, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that he was dreading this day as much as you.

You would be married off in less than a week, still you couldn’t help but look at him with greedy infatuation. He’d shaved for the occasion, jaw sharp and shining. His rosy lips contrasted the tanned richness of his skin. Even his eyes, the color of the restless sky, shone in sheer strength and power. His high rank was exposed through the gold beads and occasional shells that were braided through his ebony hair. The middle part was much longer than the sides. He always clipped it after a victory, and you’d never known him to have grown it out.

“Good Morn, Princess.” His deep voice twanged with the lit of his accent, making slight goosebumps ripple through your skin.

“How do you do, Ser?” You stepped forward, falling into step beside him as the two of you climbed down the steps to the bay. Gulls called out from above for their partners, stooping downwards to feed their young.

“Been better, I have. The lady I love will soon love another.” He muttered, hands clenching at his side with what you could detect as wretched jealousy. You noted he was just as miserable about your arrangement as you were. At least he still had his oath—nothing would change there. But you, you would bear a blood bond to your potential suitor. To obey him and provide him with heirs.

You felt bile rise up your throat just thinking about it.

“I doubt she will ever love anyone more than you.” You admitted, knowing then by the twinkle in his eyes it satisfied and gutted him at the same time. The scent of saltwater and seaside jasmine flooded your nostrils as John led you to your father, who was patiently awaiting for the approaching ships.

Ships of different houses, all set upon winning your hand. There would be a festival held all week, the kingdom was already decorated in crimson silks and glowing lanterns for the occasion. It would be beautiful, if it wasn’t for such horrible terms. With the festivals came the games. It was always fun to see the men compete in such activities despite the reason.

You distinctly remember watching the flex of your knight’s biceps and thighs as he tossed a caber the farthest and had won. Pride surged through your veins that day, and you made sure to reward him in the dim glowing light of your chambers.

Now, your suitors would compete for your hand. While it wasn’t necessarily determined that the winner of said games would earn your hand, it was more so a tool to help decide. The Royal Court and your father would pick the best with the most assets.

The only saving grace of this tournament was the fact that several knights under your Father’s command could compete as well. Not for your hand, but just to show the strength of your kingdom. Your eyes would be on your John, as they always would be.

Your knight stopped in front of your father, bowing his head low with one hand clutching the iron hilt of his impressive sword. You performed your own curtesy, gold jewelry clashing together as you moved.

“Daughter…aren’t you the prettiest gem in the Kingdom.” And isn’t that just what you are? A shiny object meant to barter away.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” You spoke clearly, something you were taught at a young age.

“Come here,” Your father gestured to the docking ships. You stepped forward, just as John stepped backwards, always one to watch your back. You could feel his fiery stare bouncing on the bare skin of your spine. Attempting to hide the rush of blood flowing to your cheeks, your eyes pinpointed the rush of banners heading down the enormous dock.

All your potential suitors came from the East, a district called Kortac. The land was split into three countries, all ruled by different Kings.

First, there was King Kim, dubbed Horangi. Most referred to him as the Tiger King, for his ruthlessness in battle that was reminded of a big cat. You’d met him before, he was respectable and kind despite those rumors, but he certainly wasn’t your John.

Then there was King Philip, while he was definitely pretty, you’d only heard bad about the wealthy King. He was the richest of all, as he had his own battalion deemed his shadows. You met his eyes slowly, almost immediately picking up on the greedy gleam of it. It made you shiver thinking of marrying him.

Lastly, was the most mysterious of the three. You didn’t even know his full name, just that everyone referred to him as König. He covered his face, although it didn’t stop the stares. Anyone would be drawn to a man of his massive structure. You’d never met him, but you’d heard how he fought alongside his soldiers, as if he didn’t give a damn about his Royal status.

Your father held his arms out wide, almost as if he was hugging his whole kingdom. “Welcome! It’s an honor to host your districts in hopes of winning my lovely daughter’s hand. You all must be tired from your journey, my guards will show you to your chambers. Rest up, because tonight will be our first game that the princess has the honor of choosing!”

All eyes settled upon your pampered form, making you shift slightly from all the attention. Subtly your eyes met John’s— what was he the best at? You wracked your mind quickly. He was a simple stable boy once upon a time, someone who loved horses and worked hard for the hope of something better. He was tall and strong, quick and witty. You thought of the callous on his hands, from hours of wielding metal and clutching reins. Yes, you had it.

“I chose jousting.” You exclaimed, not noticing the wicked smirk that wound its way across John’s lips. Cheers and war cries broke out amongst the men and common folk, all of them excited to watch the entertainment.

“Excellent! The games begin tonight before the feast to honor the princess.” Your father informed before clapping once as his guards escorted him to his chambers. John approached you again, bowing politely in show of all the new eyes.

“Back to your chambers, princess?” He asked, eyes flickering every once and a while. He looked stiffer than normal, ever the vigilant force at your side. You could tell he didn’t like all these outsiders, specifically around you.

“No, not yet. I feel like going on a walk through the gardens.” You’d always found solstice around the sweet smelling rows of briar and petal.

Afternoon bled into evening. And with the evening time came the air of excitement. You’d been fiddling with a strand of crimson fabric, the ribbon twisting between your digits absentmindedly.

You tilted your head behind you, wishful stare settling upon your guard, who walked several paces behind. He was dressed in full armor now, the helmet covering the soft flesh of his neck and head. Dark hair still curled out the bottom, whipping around against his tanned neck.

Your eyes flickered around, spotting no one in the private gardens. Still, you cautiously shuffled into the shade and privacy of the marble pavilion, a place where you and your knight’s lips locked and fiery touches met before. John knew to follow you, his form barely making a sound despite the heavy armor.

“Princess?” He uttered, eyes full of what only could be described as pure want and adoration.

You surged forward, lips immediately settling upon his own. A large arm wrapped upon your waist, pulling you off your feet and into his scent and warmth. His bottom lip parted, allowing his tongue to swelteringly lick across your own. You parted for air, a string of saliva connecting the two of you before it broke away.

“Please win tonight.” You begged, knowing that it would mean nothing despite the victory. John had sworn an oath— an oath that sealed his fate. No children, no wife, no lands. He’d have his head on a chopping block if anyone caught him.

“Aye, I’ll do just that, flower.” He swore, smothering eyes falling downwards to your moving hands at his chest. The scarlet ribbon you fiddled with snaked it’s way under armor. You’d tied the knot against the loose end of his tunic, your personal favor. The pads of your fingers brushed his chest, feeling the strong thudding of his heart.

He had your favor, your love, your time all symbolized in that red piece of fabric.

“Go,” you whispered, nodding towards the south, where the growing arena was likely filling up with spectators. He nodded his head once, grasping onto your hand that still stubbornly clung to his chest. He pressed a gentle kiss upon your knuckles.

“Goodbye for now.”

You watched him leave, following the horizon to the stables, where his mare awaited. You’d rushed down to the stands, keeping your head covered and away from prying eyes. After shifting pass several soldiers you collapsed down into the forged steel of your throne, similar to your father’s.

He’d been waiting for you, a disappointing look crossing his features.

“Why were you late?”

“I lost track of time in the gardens. You know how much I love the roses.” You excused, hoping it was enough for your father to put on his act of King and host again. He hummed, before standing. The audience immediately dropped volume upon the gesture of the King.

“Let the games begin!”

Loud uproars broke out though the area, cheers and shouts for their own kings escaping the many districts. You stayed seated, straightening out the sheer fabric of your gown.

A large black Stallion trotted proudly into the area, a knight with gleaming armor the color of obsidian upon the saddle. John’s second in command, Ser Simon. Some called him the Ghost, for his shifty speed and impressive strength in battle. He nodded to your father beyond his visor, shouldering the large lance he held.

His opponent’s horse moved forward as well, a buckskin shire so large you could almost hear it’s thundering steps. Large horse for a large man—König shouldered his lance with precision. You had no doubts he could out muscle Simon, but the Ghost certainly held fast in his speed and intelligence. König’s armor was coppery in color, long since used and well worn in his victories. It was admirable in a queasy kind of way.

A bugle sounded to your left, kick starting the joust with a burst of added cheers.

You watched as Simon’s horse reared excitedly, happy to speed towards the oncoming opponent in long strides. You watched as the Ghost twisted his shield, jamming König’s lance narrowly, avoiding splinters to his chest. You let out a breath as the two made it to the opposite ends unscathed.

The two approached again, this time Ghost was on the offense, shifting his shield before jabbing his lance in the opposite direction that caught König on his arm between the subtle crease of his armor.

Cheers erupted from your own subjects, chanting out the name “Ghost” over and over, with a thumb up, your father declared Ghost the winner.

Next was King Graves and Horangi. A match you were looking forward to as much as watching paintings dry. But alas, you had to look interested for they were your suitors.

Horangi looked on with flashing intelligence, something you admired greatly. If he could think quickly, he’d know that Graves’ left side was always weakly guarded and possibly strike there.

The first bugle sounded, allowing Graves to lead off first with his expensive looking mare. Horangi took off a second later, visor dark and covering the movement of his eyes. The two flew forward, speeding pass with no damage done.

The crowd cheered as Graves boasted from the opposite side, his raised arms making your nose wrinkle in disgust.

The second bugle sounded, this time Horangi was faster, shouldering his shield in determined might. His lance favored and aimed to Graves side, which he narrowly missed after the wealthy king twisted away. The crowd bursted into relieving calls, while the other half sighed in disappointment.

Finally, the last horn blew, and with gaining speed, Horangi aimed to Graves’ unprotected side again, but with a dirty trick, Graves juked his lance to the side, then with a vicious twist brought his shield straight onto the nose of Horangi, essentially flattening him and having the Tiger King fold to the ground with a wounded puff.

It was dirty, but essentially fair. It made unease reside in your gut as your father held up a thumb for King Graves’ victory. Cheers and boos broke out, making you shrink back in your seat with a huff. But then, your eyes caught on the sapphire blues of your knight. He rode on his fiery mare dubbed Themis, tribute to Justice. She was a handsome bay that loved when you gave her sugar cubes in the seclusion of the stables.

John would take on the Ghost. A battle that you knew would be entertaining and competitive, yet harmless. No ill intention would breakout among the knights, that you were sure of.

John rode to his side with a determined exhale, gripping his lance tightly as Themis pawed the dirt in anticipation. The bugle sounded as you shuffled to the edge of your seat, resisting the urge to worriedly bite your lip. He clicked his tongue, urging Themis into a speedy canter as he maneuvered his body in the right position.

Simon, who definitely owned the strength, brought himself tightly together, using his blunt force to push John’s lance away with his shield. The audience sighed in anticipation as the two knights rode to the opposite side unscathed. Under their visors, you could see the hints of amused smiles. At least they were having some competing fun.

The next round started, this time with John taking up a defensive position instead of offensive. Simon aimed his lance at John’s armored chest, anticipating that he’d block with his shield. Themis galloped onwards, huffing steaming smoke like a fiery dragon.

With a heave, Simon thrusted the lance inwards just as John brought his shield up a few inches. Then, with a lightening quick speed, he lowered it again, shoving his lance instead into Simon’s side, effectively teetering his balance. The Ghost fell with grace, landing on his feet in a disappointed dull thud. You resisted the urge to cheer too loudly as your John circled, a fist pumped in honorable victory.

Your father held his thumb up to John, likely the only approval he’d ever receive from the King. You only wish he’d approve of you wanting John’s hand. But Princesses weren’t people, they were tools of power. A simple pawn in the decade game of chess.

The tourney was drawing to an end— just John and Graves left in the competition. You’d completely dropped your resolve, chewing upon your lip as King Graves pranced out on his horse again.

There was a dangerous look in his eye, something that made your stomach spin in knots for your John. Regardless, your own knight held a hard and determined scowl, his chest likely breathing in pure desperation for a victory.

The deafening horn blew again, and John took off in a thunderous offense. He looked calm and collected, ever the cool demeanor when it came to a fight. Themis whinnied in disappointment as both lances missed their marks respectfully, making you let out an exhale you didn’t know you were holding.

Time sped up, your own surroundings moving much faster than your panicked thoughts. The next thing you knew, Themis was squealing, rearing up on her hind legs as John scrambled for a tighter hold on her reins. But you knew your John, your sweet, selfless, passionate John— it didn’t surprise you in the slightest that he dismounted in a cloud of dust. He was always selfless like that, disqualifying himself to check upon his panicked mare.

Themis seized her bucking as John cooed at her in reassuring words, a quick pat pressed into her withers.

Then you noticed the searing red of a laceration. The bleeding wound leaked crimson, but it wasn’t the blood that made your nostrils flare in anger. No, it was thin stripe of such a cut. A cut only made by a stealthy swing of a short sword.

The bastard king had cheated.

Roaring applause and boos echoed across the arena. You had to bite your tongue to resist a uproar of your own, so much so that you tasted warm blood upon your tongue.

You met John’s eyes, his filled with so much apologetic sorrow you had to blink to stop your own from watering too much. It wasn’t that you were upset that he lost, more so that it wouldn’t matter regardless. He was sweetness you could never taste, love that would only burn you.

You’d realized this now. Now so more than ever, when the sight of your own summer roses extended in front of your line of sight.

A crown of beauty and fertility. You couldn’t help but focus on the wicked thorns that pierced your temples as King Graves, the victor, declared you the most beautiful woman in the kingdom. It made you sick that he was the most favorable of the Kings. You’d never wanted to run away more, to spend your days on the highland coasts in a homey cottage your knight had built by hand. Saltwater between your toes and John’s body to keep you warm on the stormy days.

Perhaps, now would be the time to throw away your titles and fortune and replace it with freedom, love, and yearning.

The evening blurred into darkness illuminated by glowing starlight. A time you relished and anticipated when your knight would slip into your chambers and kiss away the stress and pain of expectations, orders, and rules.

Now, you wanted nothing more than to be excused from this wretched dinner and to sleep until dawn.

The crown of roses sat uncomfortably upon your head, despite all the compliments you had received from the nobles. You’d see it more fair to chuck the bloody thing in the roaring fires bordering the stony hall. Sorrow crept into your soul when you couldn’t find your knight in the sea of feasting people.

Your own roast chicken and vegetables lay untouched. It was hard to even think of eating when King Phillip sat next to you, boasting and smiling with his too white teeth. You wanted to get sick when his hand subtly touched your lower back.

“Father.” You blurted, drawing attention upon yourself. Graves’ retracted his jeweled hand begrudgingly upon the careful look he received from your king. Visibly you gulped, now having the divided attention of not just your father but the three other Kings as well.

“I’m not feeling well. I’d like to return to my chambers if it is quite alright with you.” You asked, nearly squirming at the sharp look he sent you. He didn’t appreciate your resistance to being wed, but you did happen to look a tad lighter than your typical shade. He sighed heavily, but nodded anyways.

“Go get some rest. I’ll have Ser Riley escort you since your own knight is still tending to his mare.” Your heart jumped as your father confirmed where John was. But you knew, in your heart, he wasn’t just taking care of Themis— he was shouldering his defeat badly.

Despite this, you stood, making careful eye contact with Ser Simon. You’d always observed him from afar, growing unnecessarily nervous with the helmeted knight. He was strong and mysterious, not belonging to a house or clan but was simply a nomad that sworn oath. Your John liked him, that was enough for you. After all, He wasn’t so bad when he cracked morbid jokes you likely should never hear as a Princess.

The Ghost held out the crook of his arm, signaling for you to take the cold metal of his armored forearm. You did so quietly, holding the stiffness of your posture until you were through the large doors of the hall.

Simon was always quiet, really only speaking when he needed to. John told you one time, when the two fought under the same battalion that Simon wouldn’t shut up or stop cracking jokes as he dragged a wounded John through the battlefield. Your knight realized then that Simon only spoke to keep him conscious and laughing. Respect and gratitude bloomed in your heart for the Ghost.

“I assume your sickness has left?” The Ghost spoke in his rough voice that reminded you of scratchy bark on Oak trees. Your heart jumped at such an accusing question.

“Pardon?”

“The damn parasite king? Leaching onto our Princess like he’s some Messiah.” He growled.

“Shhh! What if someone hears you speak that way, Ser?” You panicked for his safety, eyes flickering around in a familiar practice of looking for wondering eyes or ears. Simon, didn’t seem bothered, only shrugging in nonchalance.

He steered you down the hall, bicep gently flexing under your palm. It was then when you noticed he took a wrong turn, instead following the lantern light to the stables.

“You turned the wrong hall, my chambers are this way.” You insisted. Simon shook his head, continuing to usher you gently down the cobble path to the growing sound of whickering horses.

“Ser?”

“You speak too much.” Simon imputed, leading you into the old wooden building that housed all the guard’s prized mares and stallions. It was dark inside, the area barely lit with gentle candlelight. Still, you made out the shuffling outline of a familiar body.

John.

It took everything in you not to sprint in his direction. To pull him into an embrace and kiss the worry lines of his face. Instead you stayed planted next to Simon, who gingerly dropped your arm with a knowing look in his eyes. You should have been worried that he knew, but you could care less at the current moment. He was friend, not foe.

“I think I hear the sound of impending doom. I must go before it’s too late.” Simon monotonously quipped in a low voice, tilting his masked face just enough for you to see his wink before he turned on his heel and left you alone.

Your eyes swiveled around, only catching on the taut muscles of John’s back, who didn’t seem to notice you over the sound of Themis’ affectionate whinnies.

You took careful steps forward, not caring that the bottom of your expensive crimson gown was being caked in dust and straw. Instead you couldn’t help but admire your knight. He was shoveling loose hay into Themis’ trough, back muscles rippling in strain. You caught the white material of bandage wrapped tightly and professionally around his horse, obviously the work of his experienced hands.

“John?” You spoke softly, as not to startle his usually alert self. It appeared he only cared about his surroundings when you were his to guard and protect.

Immediately he dropped the pitchfork, the sound muffled by the hay below his feet. Then he turned, so fast that you missed the pure looks of sorrow, surprise and adoration cross his features.

“Princess! I- you shouldn’t be here.”

Your heart strained at the rejection, nevertheless you knew he was frustrated and self loathing. You couldn’t help but approach him, just as he took a leaping bound forward, pushing pass the gate to follow you like a loyal hound.

It was common practice for the two of you to find the dim part of a room. A place where no eyes or ears could possibly look.

Here, his stiffness fled, eyes nearly glowing against the flickering flames.

“I failed you.” His head hung low, knees almost buckling from the sheer disappointment that pushed heavy on his heart. He avoided your approaching form, not taking the time to meet your gaze or see the shaking of your head.

“You could never fail me, John. Not now, nor ever.” Your palm settled upon his stubbled cheek, his body instantly reacting to the touch by pushing further against you.

“But I-”

You cut him off, placing your thumb upon the chapped line of his lip. He’d immediately stopped speaking, his hand going upwards to delicately take a hold of your own. His palm nearly swallowed your entire hand, his calloused fingertips stopping just above your wrists.

“I don’t deserve you, Princess.” He’d absentmindedly brought his thumb across your knuckles, comforting and true that made your body buzz in love and adoration.

You reached upwards, tilting your head just enough to ghost your lips over his own. You’d let him chose if he’d like to take comfort in your warmth. A small grunt of frustration fluttered down his throat, but he took you anyways.

Arm wrapping tightly upon your waist to hold you to his warm body, firm with countless hours of training and bloodshed. His other hand settled upon the back of your neck, fingers sprawling with the purpose to expand you towards his awaiting mouth. A sharp gasp of surprise exited you as he kissed you. It wasn’t his typical sensation of passion and sweetness.

John kissed you hard. His teeth clattering against your own, with his tongue pushing down your throat in a one-sided battle of dominance. He was chasing his frustration through your very body, and you certainly liked it.

“Don’t know what you do to me…” he breathed out as he broke away, only to steer you against the far wooden wall, protecting the back of your head with the back of his hand.

“I think I know.” You quipped back, the heat coiling in your stomach roaring at the sharp look you received.

“Cheeky little thing…” he hissed, one of his hands holding you steady while the other trailed down your collar bone to the top curvature of your breasts. His mouth followed after. Lips pressing searing kisses against your exposed neck, down to the hollow of your throat.

“John.” You sweetly aired, exposing your throat even more to his awaiting mouth.

“I know, flower, I know.” His voice growing even deeper with the lust that coated his tongue like sweet honey. “Turn around.” He muttered, maneuvering your hips so that you could rotate with your back to him.

His fingers quickly found your corset in a familiar action, loosing it enough to help pull down your undergarments. His mouth pressed open kisses down the curve of your spine, making you gasp breathlessly and arch further against him. You felt the hardness of his cock press against your lower back, just as he hissed at the stimulation.

“Fuck…Need to taste ya’.” He growled in a command, typically the only time he did order around his superior. You had no problem following his experienced lead.

You heard the gentle thud of his knees hitting the straw bedding, just as his hand pushed on your hip to pivot to face him. Eyes once the color of the sky now raged like a stormy hurricane, dark and ravenous. It was enough for you to widen your legs more in an invitation.

The tips of his fingers traced the warm skin of your thighs, just as his head disappeared from under the soft silk of your dress. Hot air escaped onto your uncovered heat, making your eyes flutter shut in bliss.

“John,” you whined, oblivious to what he was planning beneath the drape. A growly chuckle sounded, until his lips made direct contact to your throbbing clit, his warm tongue flicking upon the bead in a teasing stroke that had your legs locking as they became pliable at his touch.

“Easy….” His palm made contact with the soft swell of your backside, molding his fingers into the skin that ached and buzzed for just him.

A soft sigh left your lips as he petted you, fingertips touching and caresssing with such accuracy despite the darkness under your dress. You mewled when a thick finger prodded your entrance, sliding nearly effortlessly into your wet heat.

“Fuckin’ hell, Bonnie, always so tight for me.” He growled, voice so heavenly you couldn’t stop your muscles from clenching yearningly against him. You cooed in response as he curled the digit, your own palms finding his shoulders to steady yourself from his burning touch.

“Just for you.” You pleaded, neck pushing back against the wood of the stable wall. Your throat bobbed when his tongue licked a hot stripe, body shuddering in ecstasy. John chuckled at your words, the vibration sending jolts across your core.

“That’s right, Flower. All mine, no sod of a King can have you. Just me, right?” He added another finger, relishing in your loss of control at his confident touch.

“Right, yes.” You gulped, losing yourself embarrassingly quick under his skilled tongue and fingers dipping into you. He picked up speed, noticing the tell tale signs of your body responding to his.

“Oh, John,” you stuttered, eyes fluttering shut as he curled his fingers skillfully, the movement being enough to allow the coil in your abdomen to finally snap.

You gushed around him with a carnal moan, his tongue hurriedly lapping it all up greedily, just as he hummed at the taste. You barely had time to heave out an exhale before his hands found the flesh of your hips, taking hold of you in a lovestruck desire. He placed a sweltering hot kiss upon the inside of your thigh. His massive hands pushed you upwards, allowing himself time to escape from under your crimson gown.

He looked like Eros reincarnated.

Crysaline eyes the color of deep-rooted glaciers bore into your very soul. He had a look to his face, such as a painting crafted of faithful devotion, as if he was staring at something so enchanting everything else dulled in comparison. Your own slick coated his stubble and lips, allowing the light to catch as he licked the nectar off with a satisfied hum.

He squeezed once, twice, upon your hips, signaling that he was to move backwards, his broad shoulders falling backwards upon the straw with a huff. He settled you down upon him, your thighs slotting between his hips as your dress spilled over the both of you.

“Yer’ so beautiful, flower.” He praised, candlelight catching in his blown out pupils. Your heart fluttered at the compliment, as did your weeping entrance.

“Mhm,” You preened, a soft smirk spreading over your lips as you leant to kiss him. With confident fingers, you reached under your dress, making contact with his waistband, sliding the material downwards before reaching his cock. He was scorching at your touch, already throbbing and prepared.

John let out a hiss muffled by your mouth, as your fingertip slid over his tip, smoothing the large bead of pre-cum that had gathered.

A delighted chuckle left your lips as he twitched, you pumped his length slowly, curving your wrist just how he liked it. He pulled away from your kiss with a heave, a growl leaving his throat as he saw the teasing look in your eyes.

“Think you can play with me after all that’s happened today? Watching all those men stare like you’re a piece of meat? You do this after I licked your pretty cunt? No, Bonnie, your going to take my cock like a good obedient princess.”

You didn’t have time to teasingly retaliate, instead you could only gasp as his head slid unforgivably into your heat, a low moan leaving the both of you at the joining. His hands guided your hips, until all of him was sunk around your fluttering walls. He paused, glancing up to see if you were alright.

“I can’t help their stares, I did-” his finger found your lips, pausing your words.

“Don’t speak of them when your full of my cock, eh?”

You couldn’t help but nod, rolling your hips against him in a slow way that mimicked the words “yes I understand. Only you can see me like this.”

“Good.” He aired, his hands once again finding your hips as he roughly guided you against his own bucking hips, starting a fast pace that had your eyes fluttering shut and soft coos leaving your mouth involuntarily.

“That’s it, princess.” He praised, a hand leaving your hip to play with your breasts that threatened to spill out from your undone corset. His palm squeezed the sensitive flesh, sending shockwaves down your skin and goosebumps to rise in ecstasy.

You picked up speed, now rising inches off the straw covered ground before slamming back down upon his length. He cursed, adam’s apple bobbing as his tip met the start of your womb. A ravishing hunger filled your very souls, only satisfied by your intertwined touch and the sound of squelching skin.

He gripped you harder, his climax drawling to a burning close. You felt the all familiar tightening again, knowing that John would only stop fucking you until you finished around his swollen cock.

“You going to cum for me, princess?” He growled, hand falling under your skirts to draw slow circles upon your puffy clit with his calloused thumb.

“Yes!” His circling thumb pushed you over the edge, along with the deep and ruthless plunges of his cock, your eyes fluttered shut, just as your vision blurred from pure ecstasy. Your knight clenched his teeth, but could hardly contain his whine as he plowed deeply, spilling into you warmly.

Together the two of you heaved, lost in each other and not wanting to break your intertwined hold quite yet. You settled, bringing a palm to John’s sweaty cheek as his eyes fluttered shut.

“I love you.” You whispered, stroking the skin in all the passion you could muster.

“Well…. Isn’t this sweet?” A shadow hissed into the night, startling the two of you as you struggled to get up off of your knight in horrified shock.

Before you could separate your hold, your hair was tugged from behind, forcing you to stand and whimper at the fiery hold. Your knight struggled to stand, hastily making himself decent before scanning for a weapon. Except it was too late.

A dagger pressed coldly to your flaming jugular, halting John in place as he glared holes into your captor. You glanced downward, noticing the hand had familiar jeweled rings upon his digits.

Graves.

Bile threatened to expel as John attempted to step forward, until the dagger drew blood and the sharp sting made a lone tear fall down your cheek.

“Ah, ah. Stay where you are, or I kill the whore.” Graves threatened, holding his ground and forcing John to stay planted where he was.

King Graves tutted, a disappointed clicking noise that traveled from his chest to your back in vibrations.

“I always figured you were a whore, had the looks of one. But with your knight…” he laughed, no humor behind his tone as John switched between glaring and panic between the two of you. “You’ve just handed me another kingdom on a golden platter. Once the King knows of this scandal your knight will be hung, and you will be cast out as a whore, unfit for any royalty. That will leave the Kingdom to me, after I kill your worthless father.” Graves growled, a playful lit to his voice as you silently cried.

“Don’t cry….” Graves cooed heartlessly, pressing himself into you with a dull hunger. Your knight growled, eyes darkening as he could only helplessly watch.

All at once, you felt the shallow cut of the blade as a dull shrunk came from behind you, you leant forward at the lack of pressure, knowing you were no longer held captive as John rushed to your side, examining you for any horrific injuries.

You could only turn and watch as Graves’ body fell to the ground, a shrouded figure holding a knife shadowed the area, another person standing close to him as well. One wore a signature mask pulled up to his lips, the other was flushed a pink color, much like you had been before.

König and Horangi.

They had saved you.

“Go. Before your father sends out hounds looking for you.” Horangi spoke, voice airy as he subtly placed a hand upon König’s waist. Huh. Maybe they wouldn’t be so devastated as to not have your hand in marriage.

Tears welled in your eyes as realization set in. You were really doing this, really running away from all the blasphemy that was royalty. You could be free, could be with your John as you always hoped. It would be hard, but your mind was settled the moment you kissed your knight for the first time.

“Thank you.”

A steel knife sliced its way across stew vegetables. It was amateur chopping at best, but you’ve been practicing for the oncoming winter.

With a hum, you moved to place the potatoes into your pot of boiling cream. The fire burned comfortably in the small cottage made by hand. Stones were masoned expertly to create a fireplace, among with the strong boards of Oak to keep out the salty sprays from the sea.

The door opened with a creak, cold air blowing into the homey space in frozen waves. You suppressed a shiver, but felt warm at the sight of your husband.

He held a stack of firewood in his arms, biceps bulging as he placed the logs down into the crate next to the flames. He shook from the cold, but it seemed he was already warmer as his crystalline eyes locked with yours. It had been two days since he had left for a hunt, the longest you’ve gone without seeing him as of late.

John was growing nervous as the days grew shorter. With the shortening days, came the higher probability of giving birth.

“How are ye’, flower?” Your husband asked eyes falling to your swollen belly with so much love that your face couldn’t help but break out into a smile.

“I say we are better now that you are home.”

John laughed heartily, the sound booming through the whole cottage as he hugged his family close to him.

#cod #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #call of duty #soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #john soap MacTavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish

548 notes · View notes

queeninthesouth-side · 2 years

Note

Could you do a Tywin fic where the reader is Margaerys older (3 years) sister. The reader had duties back in highgarden and is now in king’s landing for her wedding. She is just like her grandma and also the secret favorite.

Just a Battle of wits between reader and Tywin. Also jealous and possessive Tywin even though they are not together would be fun.

firstly, im blowing you a kiss for the request, secondly, please ask for a sequel where i fix it. im begging. i hope you enjoy, cheyxfu, and that it was at least similar to what you had in mind <3

about 1,245 words

Hesitate

Tywin Lannister x fTyrell!Reader

Part Two

Arriving several moons after your siblings to the capitol had not been the initial plan, especially as Margaery had designs to be queen and wanted her big sister with her. You had hated to deliver the news of the change in plans, but needs must, as your grandmother would say to you.

The sweltering heat, nothing like the mild summer days of High Garden, bore down on you the moment you approached the steps of the Palace. Dressed more sharply than your sister in a gown of light purple with severe spiked shoulders, your hair unbound and falling in long sleek locks to hide their glint, there was no doubt why you were called the Briar Rose. With the cunning wit and cold derision of your grandmother, and the beauty and grace of your little sister, many had heard of you, but few had seen you.

“Your Grace,” you said, curtsying to the King. The Boy King Joffrey had leered at you the moment he saw you, and his mother’s jaw had stayed tensed throughout the introductions. It was when you were introduced to the Hand that you understood what a true reputation was.

The Great Lion stood a head taller than most men save his first son, but he was broader than even Ser Jaime could ever hope to be. He was a fine specimen of man, and quite untouchable. A shame, you thought privately.

Even more interesting was how the Hand had seemingly made a habit of joining you for your daily turn around the gardens in the Keep. At first neither of you spoke, but with time the conversation flowed, and an odd brand of banter was established. He was funny, you realised a sennight into this routine. His humour was well camouflaged behind wit and disdain, and genuine scolding.

“For a lady who’s motivation to come to the capitol was finding a husband, you have not indulged any other in your presence but myself and your family.”

“I fear there’s a shortage of interesting men in the capitol, Lord Hand.”

“I suppose I should be honoured to have your glowing praise.”

You laughed and said, “Lord Hand, you honour me with your witticisms.”

He seemed rather smug at that.

Of course, the walks could not persist forever. Margaery was sure a betrothal between her and Joffrey would arise any day, and your grandmother had decided it was time to set her efforts with you and your marriage prospects. Being the resourceful woman she was, Lady Olenna had a candidate by the next day.

“Addam Marbrand?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, granddaughter. I am never too old to take you over my knee.” You rolled your eyes at the empty threat.

“It was only a surprise, grandmother. I will do whatever you deem best.” Olenna smiled at you.

“This is why you’re my favourite,” she said lowly. Margaery, for as shortsighted as she could be, was truly the only one of your siblings to openly rebel against grandmother. Lady Olenna had not liked the idea of Margaery being wed to the King, especially as whispers of his madness gained traction throughout King’s Landing. But, as the baby, Margaery got what she wanted.

Addam Marbrand, the heir to a Westerlands Keep called Vine Hall, was a gentleman. You knew your grandmother would ensure her granddaughters went to good men (even if Margaery wanted to be Queen more than she wanted to be safe and happy). He was not nearly as impressive as the Great Lion, but he was attentive and respectful, and though maybe a little dull, he would certainly be a dutiful and kind husband.

“Have you developed a sudden allergy to the flowers, my lady?” a voice sounded from behind you in the parlour you took your afternoon tea in.

You’d wondered when he’d show. He hadn’t given you the impression he was a man who was dismissed.

“No, Lord Hand. My betrothed has asked me to attend them when he is present.”

The silence, long and odd, that followed was uncomfortable. You’d wanted the Great Lion to act a little faster in his subtle attempts to gain your favour, then ultimately your hand. But he hadn’t, and the Queen of Thorns was not a patient woman.

“Your betrothed?”

“Yes, Lord Hand. An heir of the Westerlands, Addam Marbrand.”

Tywin Lannister knew Addam, of course. The man had squired for him near a decade ago, then had become a fierce warrior and proven himself to be an upstanding example of Western nobility. If only Tywin didn’t suddenly despise the lad, it might’ve been good news.

“And you are pleased with this?”

You looked at him from your settee as he stood a polite distance away, a distance he’d have to maintain always, going forward. He really was a fine man, you thought.

“I am pleased my grandmother has found me a strong, gentle man.”

“But not the man you’d hoped.”

This was dangerously close to a confession, and you, for all your strength, were still a rose, and in a momentary lapse of judgement, your thorns gave way to petals for him.

“No, Lord Hand. Not the man I’d hoped for.”

You took your leave, and that was the last time you were alone with Tywin Lannister again for a long time. The court knew of your strange rapport with the Great Lion, and how, as wife to Lord Marbrand, you still assisted the Small Council in place of your grandmother, now that she was the Queen’s grandmother.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” came his voice. It had been a long time since you’d heard just his in an empty room, and you closed your eyes for a moment to savour the sound.

“Thank you, Lord Hand.”

“And are you pleased to be carrying the Marbrand heir, Lady Marbrand?”

“It’s an honour to serve my good husband this way.”

You heard him step closer.

“You did not answer my question.”

Turning to him, you glared half-heartedly. In the time between now and the last you’d been alone with him, your thorns had sharpened to protect your reputation. A reputation Tywin Lannister looked to be attempting to sully.

“I am pleased to be having a babe.”

“A babe by your husband?”

“Do you want to hear otherwise, Lord Hand? I could tell you the truth of it all, but what would it change? You hesitated, and my grandmother did not.”

He did not seem pleased to hear you speak to him that way, as frankly as anyone dared to. He stepped closer but you held up a hand.

“You did not try to convince her of another option,” he accused.

“What other option? ‘Grandmother, I walk the same path every day with the same man at the same time’ is hardly a convincing enough candidate.”

He watched you deflate, saw how the slump of you shoulders accentuated your swelling abdomen, and he felt something terribly close to despair. It was not his babe inside you, not his cloak of protection you’d been shrouded in. He had hesitated, and the notion shamed him.

He’d let you walk out of the parlour, and had not called on you again. You’d bore your husband a son by summer’s end, had named him Tyren, a Western name through and through, even if he knew the deeper reason for the babe’s name.

You hesitated, his dreams taunted him in your sweet voice. You hesitated. You hesitated. You hesitated.

#request complete #tywin x reader #tywin lannister x reader #got x reader #game of thrones #i already have an idea to get them together #if y’all want a happy ending like i always do <3

473 notes · View notes

chernabogs · 1 year

Text

Growing Season

Inc: Malleus x Reader (2nd person terms used for reader; can be taken as romantic, but nothing in stone :) ).

Warnings: None! Maybe a little bit of political drama, but I mean... that's being a Prince for you.

WC: 2k+

Summary: It's time to add new roses to his garden in Briar Valley, and he considers all of the things he'll write to you about in his next letter as he does so.

It’s a warm day in the Valley—unusually so. Malleus moves soundlessly through the gardens, a tray of small rose bushes in his hands as his gaze rakes over the patches of soil bare and open for new harvest. The sounds of insects buzzing, their gossamer wings caught in the rays of the sparse sunlight that trickles in, frequently diverts his gaze from his task. Those same sun rays cause the black clothing he wears to heat him up to a point that he feels sweat forming.

Black is inconvenient in the spring. He hears your voice vaguely in the back of his mind as he holds the tray, your silver-tongued rebuttal about how leather and latex are causing his illness when he complained of being too hot before. His fingers tighten around the tray, and he kneels, the scent of earth mixing with the myrrhic one of the trees nearby. He can tell the last frost has passed as his pale fingers sink into the soil and disturb it, upturning it like a grave for the seedlings he’s about to plant. Briar Valley’s frigid air left little time for the planting of roses—making today an especially important one.

He's been writing you letters. Despite the distance between you both—he, in the Valley, and you, still on Sage’s Island—and the inhibition of Briar Valleys non-technological lifestyle, you two had managed to work things out. He told you he was going to plant these today many weeks ago. It was one of those sparse, passing comments you make to your loved ones without much thought. Then, your most recent letter had asked if he was planting them still. Somehow, throughout all the exchanges you’ve had since that comment, you remembered what he had said.

When the hole is sufficiently deep, he carefully—surgically—removes one of the seedlings from the tray and sets it into the earth. He pushes the dirt back and pats it down, almost loving in his touch.

One down, six to go.

The letters you two exchange serve as something for him to look forward to. Because of the way Briar Valley’s postal service is, they only come once a week—sometimes only once every other—and yet they’re so detailed it’s like reading a small novel every time one arrives. He tries to match your level of excitement; you write of your classes and your friends; he writes of his duties and politics. You write of your eagerness for holidays, he bemoans how these holidays no longer exist for him. You ask if you can see him this summer, he tells you of a wonderful summer estate that the Draconia family possesses on the coast—one he has a key for.

He kneels on the earth again and sets the tray aside. He would get some odd looks from his attendants when he returned with flushed cheeks and dirt on his hands, but he doesn’t let this bother him right now. He’s sequestered away in an idyllic world—one of sunlight, and flowers, and dragonflies with their gossamer wings—and he isn’t keen on letting the attendants break the illusion as he continues to think of you. His hands sink into the earth again and dig another fresh grave of flowers as he places the next seedling down.

Five more to go.

The constant flow of mail is noticed by those around him, of course. Whereas Silver and Sebek who know you don’t care that you two talk (if anything, they’re glad their Prince has someone outside the Valley to speak to) the servants, the attendants, and those who keep the inner-mechanisms of the Palace running are curious—and curiosity has killed more than one cat in its lifetime. He wasn’t surprised when an inquiry came down from the Senate regarding an influx of letters from Night Raven College. They have no business asking, of course, but the Senate has authority and he, who is set to work with them for the rest of his life, has explanations he needs to give.

His knees hit the earth again and he digs another hole. He’d have bruises tomorrow; gentle kisses from the soil, reminding him of the brief labor he embarked in. In another life he would have found himself toiling in the fields for a living rather than leisure. Harvest is a key part of Briar Valley life; many he knows work long hours in the sun. He plants another seedling, gives another life to the earth, and sighs.

Four more to go.

You’re something he wants to keep secret for now for one reason—forbidden. A Prince may have friends, but a Prince may not love freely. It’s a harsh reality a tutor had drilled into him when he had made an off-handed comment about wishing to marry the charming character from Briar Valley’s mythologies he had been reading. It was a comment that a child would make—and yet the tutor had acted like he committed a grave sin. It was one of the few times he cried before an adult. The tutor had been dismissed—no one touches the Prince—but the lesson long remains in Malleus’ mind. Whereas I love you holds weight to many already, to fall from his lips would be a commandment set in stone. He cannot just say it to anyone.

It’s by the blue roses that he plants the next seedling. He wonders if you like blue as he sets it down gently into the soil. Or perhaps you like green? Maybe yellow? Maybe white? He looks up at the roses he had been planting for many springs so far, each a different yet vibrant color. He’ll find your favorite and enchant it so that he can send it to you with his next letter. That will brighten your day as you continue your studies at NRC. He remembers how stressful they were, after all.

Three more to go.

His Grandmother had asked him recently about his influx of letters as well. Queen Maleficia, despite what many people presume from their relationship at a glance, is quite caring for her last family member. Although she keeps a strict, professional front to all, Malleus has been privileged to see her softer, more compassionate side more than once—and always directed at him. He admits, he did ramble a bit about you. There was much to say, after all; you were his friend, his confidant, and the person who managed to brighten his week in your own unique way even an ocean apart. She had watched him talk, her green eyes shining with an emotion he couldn’t place as a smile played on her lips, before she had simply said that’s wonderful, dearest, and let him on his way. When she received a request from him to investigate old Briar Valley laws for review, she had not commented on it, nor questioned him on his reasoning—she had simply approved it and moved on.

The sun is still rising in a slow, tedious climb in the sky, and Malleus is beginning to hear others waking up. Servants are speaking of the latest gossip in the kitchens—which, admittedly, he loves to listen in on—and a few guards are making their rounds through the gardens. Malleus crouches a bit lower to not be seen by them as he plants the next seedling. He’d rather not be roped into an uncomfortably polite conversation following the lines of ‘my Prince, why are you hiding in the bushes?’ any time soon.

Two more to go.

He had considered sending you another letter when the Senate had requested a brief freeze in mail to the Palace. They wanted to readjust the way that it was sent in to enable a more thorough checking of contents before being delivered. Malleus isn’t stupid; he knew this was their method of nosing into his personal business under the guise of official legislature. He’d been moody about it for weeks until your most recent letter was finally approved to come in. The one he’s planning to send next will certainly be longer; along with the rose he’d selected, he’ll be happy to discuss this latest change with you as well, alongside the law reviews, and the planting of the seedlings. You’ll finally get the novel-length message he knows you deserve, and he dearly hopes the reviewers like reading it as well.

Two more seedlings sit in his tray, He feels terrible separating them, setting only one in the hole, and taking the other away. They’d been planted and nurtured together for the laborious months he fussed over them in his greenhouse—and now, they’re a gardens width apart. A small, melancholic grimace plays on his lips. He’ll plant the last one directly across the plot; that way the two plants will still see each other every day.

How funny, to treat plants like people, and to try to keep them together even when they cannot be.

One more to go.

There’s a passage written in a story he read once: The Fae and The Fallow. It’s a book that had been banned in the Valley until shortly after he was born due to the nature of its content. The tale follows a Fae Prince by the name of Ælfric, who lived long, long before the Draconia family did. Ælfric fell in love with a human, Auðr, and entered a forbidden affair with them; their love had been deep and true—enough to inspire a four-hundred page epic—and Ælfric had promised Auðr he’d find a way for them to be together. Unbeknownst to Ælfric, another Fae by the name of Goda saw the two lovers and—in jealousy over being denied Ælfric’s hand—poisoned Auðr when Ælfric had left on a hunt.

The Prince had gone on an odyssey of sorts to save his lover’s life, even venturing into the Otherworld to find a way. There had been battles, and betrayal, and all the wonderful pieces that a child like Malleus loved to read.

But he remembers hating the ending of The Fae and The Fallow.

Ælfric, out of time and losing Auðr quickly, had begged an ancient spirit of the Otherworld to find a way for him and his love to be together. In return, the spirit had turned them into fallow deer; their lifespans were shortened, but Auðr was alive, and as the fallow deer, they were able to be together without judgment and fear. The story had claimed the fallow deer of the Valley were evidence of Ælfric and Auðr’s story; their love had, in a way, lasted forever.

Malleus had burned his copy of the book after that. The entire thing incinerated, save for one page that he tore out and kept close. In this scene, Ælfric has just become lost after a battle with a great giant. He feels alone, torn from his friends and further from his lover than ever before. Malleus tore it out of the book because he, in some strange twist, felt like he could understand Ælfric in the moment. The passage simply said;

I have been in the darkness without the light of your smile to guide me Without your beauty to inspire me, without your voice to unravel me Oh, my love, my life You are a forbidden Eden that I seek; One that I yearn for when without, and I mourn for when denied My paradise, my fall I will defy even the Gods to keep you by my side

He considered sending you a copy of the tale with his letter as well. You did say you liked reading but something about the story—about the passage he saved in his pocket which now reminded him always of you—felt too sacred, too personal to give away just yet. So, he tucks it away, with your letters signed ‘yours truly’ at the end, and he bides his time, bides on the Senate, bides on old laws that are now being considered in review. It takes three years for a rose bush to grow, but Malleus will wait a thousand if it means finally having you.

Your story will not be Ælfric and Auðr—this, he swears. He will not let any Senate, any laws, or any intent poison you as Auðr had been.

He sets the last seedling in the hole and sighs, patting it down before looking up and around at the garden once more. The morning sunlight is golden, the heat now more bearable, and the flowers sway gently in a spring breeze. It’s beautiful, it’s promising, and hidden within a paradise of his own, the Fae Prince wears a soft smile.

#twst x reader #malleus draconia #twst malleus #once again heres ames ONLY writing diasomnia #one day i'll do more... one day...#(they say #opening another Lilia wip)

144 notes · View notes