the-lonely-knight

[the-lonely-knight]

brave and loyal knight want a treat

[the-lonely-knight]

yeah but what if we were both knights and sometimes after sparring we’d clank our helmets together to mock a winners’ kiss and i think it will be just us forever but then you have to go away for battle and I pace the courtyard wishing the sword at my hip was actually the weight of your hand and then you stumble through the door and reach for me and i pull off your helmet and cup your face and kiss your lips until i’m drinking devotion because i want to taste victory and there is none on any other and i would clean the blood off you with my mouth as long as you keep your eyes on me. what then

[the-lonely-knight]

☆*:.｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆

as promised, my knightsona!!1!!!11!

thx for 300 follows on my silly kink blog <3 go my webcore knight!! (full design under the cut)

[the-lonely-knight]

I need to be dropping to my knees to hold and kiss my lady's hand or I'm gonna die

[the-lonely-knight]

Re: Fantasies/Writing Inspo

For me it's firsts. First anything—first time, first kiss, first touch. That feeling of skin meeting skin in ways it never has and coursing electric through your body in ways you never imagined. Optionally I often think about it in a knightly context of vows of chastity or with overtures of awkward inexperience but just. Firsts....

The joust was over, the Royal Commander had won and the Princess sat front row – immersed in every moment.

Garlands lay trampled in the dirt and the echoes of the crowd’s cheer faded out. All the Knights returned to their tents. But she was still there – pacing – hands toying with the tarp. A Princess who usually kept in line and kept to herself – but when it came to them she couldn’t ignore the warm spark of curiosity, the tentative pull.

They were known as a tight-lipped tyrant; With an ornamental blade so sharp it could cut through silence, always poised straight, breathing unnervingly even, standing firm on the fine line between life and death.

Honourable. Deathly. Chaste.

Through the flap of the tent, they looked almost unrecognisable—tunic streaked with dirt, knees grass-stained, the edge of their lip just slightly split, eyes crinkled with exhaustion. They sat slumped, legs splayed, helm resting lazily on one knee.

The Princess stepped inside without a word.

“You shouldn’t be here.” They stiffened.

She only smiled, quiet and amused. “It’s far too loud out there.”

The Knight wiped their brow, swallowing thick. “Is that so?” They cleared their throat. “Seems to me everyone’s gone.”

“It’s far too loud in here sometimes too,” she murmured, rubbing at her temples. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

They didn’t speak—only nodding slow in understanding. Their gaze lingered to drop again. Seen now by the one they served. The thought left them exposed – One vow already broken.

“May I help?” she asked, smoothing her dress before sinking to her knees before them. “It must get stuffy in that suit.”

Their jaw clenched. “What are you doing?” voice flashed with alarm. “Your Highness. Please— I beg of you – Rise.”

She stayed knelt.

“May I help you?” she repeated, gentler this time. Her fingertips brushing the buckle of their gauntlet. “Just this. Nothing else.”

The Knight shifted where they sat – struggling for words to form. They were build for devotion, not to be doted on. What was this? Why did she want to be so close? These were the thoughts they'd trained well not to indulge. But now she was here – eyes wide with such an aching tenderness – “As you wish.” The words barely left their lips.

Another vow broken.

“Thank you.” She traced over each ridge and bolt, peering down at her reflection within the tarnished metal. It rested heavy in her hand – taking a firm jolt to pull off. There was power in the weight – just the feel was enough for her to envision a sword, each drag and lunge and strike of duty.

“You fought like you were protecting someone out there.” She broke the silence, neatly placing the gauntlet down.

The Knight stretched their fingers, turning their palm, wringing out their wrist. Each movement creaking under the worn leather glove. “I was.” they spoke in quiet reverence. "...I always am.”

Those were the words that caused her breath to hitch – and for them to lower their gaze.

“You make us proud.” The Princess breathed – her touch hovering before stroking over their wrist, two fingers slipped and curled inside the leather, pulled off inch, by, inch.

Their hand revealed: near twice the size, nails blunted, fingertips cracked and palm rough. As the glove dropped with a quiet thud, she let her touch roam. Over each line, the dip and crevice of each finger, down to the sensitive notches where palm-meets-wrist.

“You know this is forbidden.”

“You think I’m impure?”

Conflicted churned and twisted the Knight’s stomach – fingers twitching in longing to entwine. Every nerve alive, singing out and crackling – but they also felt a profound sense of calm. “No.” They spoke through a stuttered breath. “I feel cleansed.”

The Princess leaned down to cradle her cheek in their palm – a warmth unknown but always wanted seeping in. Their touch, the scent of skin, so little but it almost felt too much. “I’m glad.” She whispered, lips slightly parting as she brushed the lightest, curious kind of kiss. “I feel so too.”

“I’m selfish.” They exhaled slow, near trembling, letting their thumb stroke over the rosy-apple of her cheek. “I want to carry this feeling.”

The Princess smiled against their skin, hope bubbling up and tingling. “Then keep me with you.” She murmured soft – reaching up to undo the ribbon in her hair. The tails parted, silk slipping to spill down loose waves.

“Think of me?” She tied it to their wrist.

“Always.”

[the-lonely-knight]

(muffled from inside a suit of armor) Nothing is sexier than confidence, my liege

[the-lonely-knight]

We're so cooked, dude. The prince of our rival kingdom just pissed a knight off so badly that he made a divine pact with the goddess of righteous fury and now they're eye-fucking across the banquet table. Like, the knight is whiteknuckling his fork, and the prince is fluttering his eyelashes and obviously thinks this is hilarious. There's either going to be war or a wedding or both.

Oh god, the prince just asked the knight to dance - You know what, fuck this shit, I quit.

[the-lonely-knight]

“being a squire is about preparing your lord for battle” “no it’s about training with him beforehand” no haha all of you shut up it’s about the fact that the most pathetic and eternal daydream always uppermost in your mind is literally just his hand stroking your hair and thats it

[the-lonely-knight]

hm? what of my knight? ohhh, yes. im letting her rest in my personal chambers, her tummy hurts because she overindulged at the feast.

[the-lonely-knight]

this

this is what i need

[the-lonely-knight]

early 13th century mood

[the-lonely-knight]

ideal relationship is where she treats me like an attack dog

[the-lonely-knight]

butch knight, butch knight, butch knight !!!

felt fitting as a first post

[the-lonely-knight]

I got really hot during training, sorry. I had to air out a little.

... My mask? No, I'm not removing it.

[the-lonely-knight]

The crown prince sends his sworn knight off to duel with a token of his favor. It's only a small thing, a ribbon from his hair, but the prince presses it to his lips before he loops it around his sworn knight's wrist, at which point it may as well be solid gold.

"You honor me," says the knight, bowing his head to watch dexterous hands knot the bow before resting gently upon his gauntlet.

Leaning forward, the prince murmurs in his protector's ear, "Perhaps once you win, we might find a moment of privacy where you may dishonor me."

[the-lonely-knight]

Snake-eyed, with a sly smile

Tip jar

THEY'RE BOTH GUYS and MY OCS don't tag otherwise thanks BOTH ARE HE/him

[the-lonely-knight]

It's not enough to call your knight a "good boy". Sometimes you've got to hit him with a "you're the only one worthy to sit at my feet".