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Entry tags:
Flameheart
Title: Flameheart
Fandom: Hollow Knight
Character(s): The Knight, Grimm
Pairing(s): Grimm/The Knight
Genre: Fluff/Smut
Word Count: 2,605
Rating: R
Warnings: Spoilers, smut involving aged up character
Summary: After their final battle, Grimm hosts the Knight in his own realm. Time is a strange thing in a land of nightmare.
Notes: me while writing this, repeatedly: I wanted to write a PWP why is this a thousand words already and they haven't even Done anything yet
At first, all they see is orange.
It’s more or less what they expected. They had not devoted much thought to what the sensation of containing the infection would be like: it was what needed to be done, it was the role they were made for, and so what it would feel like was irrelevant.
Yellow and orange blind their vision; they feel and hear the chains wrap around them, but can’t make out even a shadow of them in motion. When their sight goes black, it’s either from losing vision from exertion or just the walls of the egg.
Then they see red. The first surprise.
They’re unbound. If they didn’t know dreams well enough to recognize when they’re inside one, that would be enough to put them on their guard. Dreams are where Radiance is strongest, so now more than ever, they must feel nothing. They must think nothing.
“She can’t reach you here, my friend.”
It’s impossible not to startle at the familiar voice. The Knight looks up.
Grimm is standing before him, all decked in red and self-assurance. “The realms of Dreams and Nightmares have long since been separated by her own design. As long as you remain here, your mind is your own.”
That’s good if it’s true, but then how are they here?
“Why, have you forgotten our contract?” He smiles without (apparent) malice. “You have intertwined yourself with the Heart of Nightmare. All it takes is a tiny tug to pull you here.”
The Knight looks around. Their surroundings are a formless scarlet, yet they seem to be standing on solid ground. They aren’t sure if thinking about this too much will cause them to fall.
“Ah, forgive me, it’s been such a long time since I’ve played host… Well, not like this.” Grimm snaps his fingers, and the Knight finds themself sitting on a bench. “Does that suit you better?”
They nod. Despite everything that’s happened, a bench is reassuring.
“Wonderful~”
There isn’t even a flash of red smoke to signal movement - one moment Grimm is standing in front of them, and the next he’s sitting beside them. It’s a big enough bench to comfortably seat two, but even so the sudden closeness has the Knight on edge.
“There’s nothing to worry over, my dear friend. I promise you may leave my realm whenever you choose to.” He taps his chin. “Though that would put your mind at risk once again, and with her influence over your mind comes the infection…”
The Knight shakes their head. No, they really don’t want to risk it. The worst nightmares would be better than allowing the infection to spread again.
“You wouldn’t think that if you had seen the worst nightmares.” Now Grimm’s smile turns thin, though it quickly returns to something more pleasant. “Not that I intend to let you anywhere near such things!”
…Is Grimm reading their mind? Their mask isn’t that expressive…
“It is my realm, my dear friend. As charming as your charades are, I find this much more efficient.”
Well. They can’t argue with that, and wouldn’t even if they had the voice to argue. The Knight takes a moment to try to relax, letting the solidity of the bench support them rather than holding themselves up all the time.
Grimm hums cheerfully. He looks exactly as he did in that dream, unharmed from their fight and from the ritual. They had thought otherwise from what they’d heard from members of the troupe - burn the father to feed the child…?
“In this space, physical forms are irrelevant. I am, as I have ever been, Grimm. I am all Grimms that have come before me and all Grimms that will follow.” Grimm quirks a smile. “But I must thank you for taking such good care of me.”
A picture of the Grimmchild appears in the Knight’s mind, completely swamped in Grimm’s red cloak. They think, if they could, that they would smile. Maybe even laugh.
Grimm laughs for them.
Time is a strange thing in the land of dreams, and in the land of nightmares.
Any moment that the Knight doesn’t hear Radiance whispering to them is a moment when the infection has not yet broken free, but it could have been days, weeks, or far longer that they’ve spent in Grimm’s realm. Time is a concept that Grimm seems to only selectively allow to apply to him.
They don’t have near the control over their environment that Grimm does, but he’s all too happy to provide whatever they have the slightest interest in. Formless scarlet has turned into the rudimentary shape of a house, with bookshelves and seats even more comfortable than a steel bench. There is no bed - they do not sleep and should not dream. (Pleasant dreams are the one thing Grimm cannot create.)
Grimm is not always visible, but the Knight knows he can read their thoughts even when he isn’t around. They are practiced at not thinking much, but when there isn’t anything to do, their thoughts inevitably wander back to their ‘host’.
Their contract has explained how they’re here, more or less, but that doesn’t answer why. Grimm is someone whose role means he would gladly see the remnants of the kingdom burned, so there’s no reason for him to want to go out of his way to keep the infection in check. And the Knight doesn’t think they’re very good company.
“It’s very simple, really.” Grimm’s voice out of nowhere has almost stopped being a surprise - almost. He reclines on the Knight’s bench. “You remember your preparations for the final battle, yes?”
They try to remember. Equipping their fragile charms, because if they lost then fixing them would not be their greatest concern. Doing a round of the shops to see if anyone had anything that could provide a last minute edge. Spending ten minutes on a bench, going-
Ah. Going through all their charms and releasing their companions so that they wouldn’t be trapped inside the Egg as well. The Grimmchild had been the most reluctant to leave, but they had somehow managed to get them to fly off, still meowing sadly.
“Kindness must be repaid with kindness.” His voice is warm, different from the heat he constantly gives off. “Besides, I happen to find you wonderful company, dear friend.”
Even in their own mind, they have no answer to that.
Physically aging is something that would not have happened to the Knight in the physical realm, not naturally. Their body has no instincts for a molt.
But this is the realm of the Nightmare King, and the moment the Knight wonders what it would be like to grow larger-
“As you wish, my dear.”
They’ve heard that molts are terribly uncomfortable and even painful. Grimm simply snaps his fingers, and the Knight finds themselves at double their height.
They take a step forward and immediately fall flat on their mask.
His chuckle reaches their ears, thankfully not unkind. “Perhaps not quite so dramatic a change all at once?”
No, this is fine. They’re grateful. They just need a little time to adjust to their new center of gravity, that’s all. They push themselves up and find Grimm’s hand waiting in front of them.
For some reason the White Lady’s words come back to them while they take Grimm’s hand. ‘It would be naive to claim it friend.’
She’s probably right. But they’ve never been good about friendship in the first place, and at the very least, they can’t think of Grimm as an enemy.
While pulling them up, Grimm says, “I quite like this new figure of yours. It’s fittingly charming.”
Above all else, the Knight likes - loves, maybe, if they know what it means to love anything - when Grimm tells them stories.
They are not much of a talker, but they are always willing to listen. And Grimm’s stories are fascinating. Stories of realms as far from Hallownest as the top of Crystal Peak is from the bottom of the Abyss. Stories of worlds that are long gone, stories of worlds that have yet to come. Stories that are as beautiful as they are terrible.
The ashes of the old must be swept to make room for the new, he says over and over. Burn the father, feed the child.
They never like the reminder of how many ‘Grimms’ must have been burned. Whenever they get that thought, Grimm always smiles a weird smile that they don’t know how to interpret.
“Kingdoms will self-destruct from all manner of causes.” Grimm leans against the Knight’s side. He’s still taller than them, but only just. “Even such noble concepts as love and happiness can seed ruin.”
They tilt their head. They believe him, but how would that happen?
“For one example… A certain country’s leaders were able to automate all unpleasant tasks so that no one would have to work, and their citizens could spend all their time in leisure. They soon lost all concept of difficulty and bearing hardship, and even the slightest inconvenience would upset them. To combat this, the leaders invented a virtual reality that every individual citizen would be placed into, that they could control to their liking. They could erase every minute annoyance, every sensation they disliked - and so the citizens forgot hunger and starved to death.”
For such a sad sorry, Grimm tells it easily - but he’s used to being a small part of these stories. It would be more strange if they affected him personally.
That’s happiness, but what about love?
Grimm snorts. “I’ve lost count of how many societies have found a way to have every person matched with their perfect soulmates, and then disintegrate because no one wants to leave their bedrooms.”
The Knight tilts their head. They can understand not wanting to be apart from your soulmate, but why the bedroom… specifically…
Oh.
Oh!
They know Grimm can’t see their expression and that he’s reading their thoughts anyway, but they still hide their face in their hands, as if the action would make their thoughts less embarrassing, as if it would keep them from imagining exactly what Grimm was referring to based off what little they’ve heard and seen in hot springs. It doesn’t work.
“Why, my friend, I didn’t realize you knew half of those words. Or those images.” As the Knight shrinks further into themself, Grimm pats their shoulder. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed over. You’ll find it quite difficult to scandalize me.”
It isn’t about scandalizing Grimm. They’re sure that anything their mind could come up with, Grimm has seen worse. Done worse.
Thinking of Grimm doing is a mistake. Their thoughts had been of anonymous bugs near-nude with wandering hands, but now they’re of Grimm instead. What does his body look like without his cloak? Does he even have any interest in that sort of thing? With who? Why are they thinking about this when they know that Grimm is still reading their thoughts?
They’re never going to look at Grimm again, they decide. They would drop dead on the spot, the infection would take Hallownest entirely because they couldn’t stop thinking about their friend naked, and even their ghost would die again of shame.
Grimm’s hand is warm on the back of their neck. He’s never been shy over physical contact - as physical as anything can be in a realm of dream and nightmare - but they feel like they’re burning up just from the light brush of his skin.
“My dear Knight.” Grimm’s voice is soft, and yet it still makes them tremble. “If you wish for the answer to those questions, all you need do is ask.”
Ask. That’s impossible when the Knight can’t even face him. But they know that the choice is theirs, that Grimm will accept either yes or no from them, whatever own his feelings might be. They don’t have the advantage of knowing his every thought and feeling, and while normally they don’t want to, right now even a tiny hint would help settle them.
“You don’t know? You make my heart race, as ever.” Grimm presses his lips to the side of their mask. “I must confess, I have been longing to dance with you once more.”
They still don’t know how to dance. Even less than the first time.
“Then I’ll teach you. You have no audience to impress but me, and I have long since adored you.”
Then… their answer is yes.
Grimm is even warmer with fewer clothes, now that they’ve all been tossed to the side of the newly created bed. The Knight knows they shouldn’t be surprised - it’s Grimm, here where the Heart beats the strongest and the winds of Hallownest are a distant memory. But it’s one thing to know that and another thing to feel his heat skin to skin.
They don’t know where to put their hands, so they mimic his touch. He purrs when they stroke over his skin, and they wonder how much louder they would be if they could manage more than silent gasps. His fingers teasing heat from their body certainly deserve more of a reaction than their silent shivers.
He teases pleasure just from their chest and stomach, but when he travels lower and finds nothing but smooth skin… “No need for a mere vessel to be shaped to feel pleasure?”
Still trembling, they shake their head. They don’t have any of the more interesting body parts they’ve seen on others coming out of the hot springs.
“That can be changed, if you so choose, but for now….” Grimm crooks his fingers near the base of their body, and a surge of pleasure and desire all wrapped together surges through them. Startled by the foreign sensation, they cling onto Grimm’s sides, unable to think of anywhere to hold but that and…
Well, the other piece of himself Grimm had revealed, a bright red that had unclasped itself as the Knight had explored Grimm’s body. They should touch that. No, if it makes Grimm feel anything like the Knight just felt, they want to touch that.
The texture isn’t much different from the rest of Grimm, nor is it much hotter, but the reaction is pronounced. Grimm’s purr turns into a moan, and he rocks forward into their touch, rewarding them with another shock of pleasure. They rub carefully, not wanting to hurt Grimm (as if they could when he didn’t want to be hurt) and too distracted by the sensations Grimm gives them to think of anything more complex to do. He doesn’t complain - far from it, if his escalating groans are anything to go by.
They don’t know when Grimm will stop sending this heat and need through them with every touch, not when they weren’t made to feel either in the first place. They only know that they don’t want him to stop just yet.
“I won’t,” Grimm says, his voice even more gravelly than usual. “Not until our grand finale.”
A grand finale needs a buildup, so the Knight strokes Grimm faster. The pleasure that fills their body grows more intense, taking over every empty space and void, until-
They see white, and for a moment there is nothing in all the world but bliss.
When they come to, their hand is wet, and Grimm has stopped stroking their skin in favor of holding them close. The Knight wipes their hand off on the bedsheets before embracing him in return.
They don’t want this to end, either.
Luckily, they have all the time in all the worlds.
Fandom: Hollow Knight
Character(s): The Knight, Grimm
Pairing(s): Grimm/The Knight
Genre: Fluff/Smut
Word Count: 2,605
Rating: R
Warnings: Spoilers, smut involving aged up character
Summary: After their final battle, Grimm hosts the Knight in his own realm. Time is a strange thing in a land of nightmare.
Notes: me while writing this, repeatedly: I wanted to write a PWP why is this a thousand words already and they haven't even Done anything yet
At first, all they see is orange.
It’s more or less what they expected. They had not devoted much thought to what the sensation of containing the infection would be like: it was what needed to be done, it was the role they were made for, and so what it would feel like was irrelevant.
Yellow and orange blind their vision; they feel and hear the chains wrap around them, but can’t make out even a shadow of them in motion. When their sight goes black, it’s either from losing vision from exertion or just the walls of the egg.
Then they see red. The first surprise.
They’re unbound. If they didn’t know dreams well enough to recognize when they’re inside one, that would be enough to put them on their guard. Dreams are where Radiance is strongest, so now more than ever, they must feel nothing. They must think nothing.
“She can’t reach you here, my friend.”
It’s impossible not to startle at the familiar voice. The Knight looks up.
Grimm is standing before him, all decked in red and self-assurance. “The realms of Dreams and Nightmares have long since been separated by her own design. As long as you remain here, your mind is your own.”
That’s good if it’s true, but then how are they here?
“Why, have you forgotten our contract?” He smiles without (apparent) malice. “You have intertwined yourself with the Heart of Nightmare. All it takes is a tiny tug to pull you here.”
The Knight looks around. Their surroundings are a formless scarlet, yet they seem to be standing on solid ground. They aren’t sure if thinking about this too much will cause them to fall.
“Ah, forgive me, it’s been such a long time since I’ve played host… Well, not like this.” Grimm snaps his fingers, and the Knight finds themself sitting on a bench. “Does that suit you better?”
They nod. Despite everything that’s happened, a bench is reassuring.
“Wonderful~”
There isn’t even a flash of red smoke to signal movement - one moment Grimm is standing in front of them, and the next he’s sitting beside them. It’s a big enough bench to comfortably seat two, but even so the sudden closeness has the Knight on edge.
“There’s nothing to worry over, my dear friend. I promise you may leave my realm whenever you choose to.” He taps his chin. “Though that would put your mind at risk once again, and with her influence over your mind comes the infection…”
The Knight shakes their head. No, they really don’t want to risk it. The worst nightmares would be better than allowing the infection to spread again.
“You wouldn’t think that if you had seen the worst nightmares.” Now Grimm’s smile turns thin, though it quickly returns to something more pleasant. “Not that I intend to let you anywhere near such things!”
…Is Grimm reading their mind? Their mask isn’t that expressive…
“It is my realm, my dear friend. As charming as your charades are, I find this much more efficient.”
Well. They can’t argue with that, and wouldn’t even if they had the voice to argue. The Knight takes a moment to try to relax, letting the solidity of the bench support them rather than holding themselves up all the time.
Grimm hums cheerfully. He looks exactly as he did in that dream, unharmed from their fight and from the ritual. They had thought otherwise from what they’d heard from members of the troupe - burn the father to feed the child…?
“In this space, physical forms are irrelevant. I am, as I have ever been, Grimm. I am all Grimms that have come before me and all Grimms that will follow.” Grimm quirks a smile. “But I must thank you for taking such good care of me.”
A picture of the Grimmchild appears in the Knight’s mind, completely swamped in Grimm’s red cloak. They think, if they could, that they would smile. Maybe even laugh.
Grimm laughs for them.
Time is a strange thing in the land of dreams, and in the land of nightmares.
Any moment that the Knight doesn’t hear Radiance whispering to them is a moment when the infection has not yet broken free, but it could have been days, weeks, or far longer that they’ve spent in Grimm’s realm. Time is a concept that Grimm seems to only selectively allow to apply to him.
They don’t have near the control over their environment that Grimm does, but he’s all too happy to provide whatever they have the slightest interest in. Formless scarlet has turned into the rudimentary shape of a house, with bookshelves and seats even more comfortable than a steel bench. There is no bed - they do not sleep and should not dream. (Pleasant dreams are the one thing Grimm cannot create.)
Grimm is not always visible, but the Knight knows he can read their thoughts even when he isn’t around. They are practiced at not thinking much, but when there isn’t anything to do, their thoughts inevitably wander back to their ‘host’.
Their contract has explained how they’re here, more or less, but that doesn’t answer why. Grimm is someone whose role means he would gladly see the remnants of the kingdom burned, so there’s no reason for him to want to go out of his way to keep the infection in check. And the Knight doesn’t think they’re very good company.
“It’s very simple, really.” Grimm’s voice out of nowhere has almost stopped being a surprise - almost. He reclines on the Knight’s bench. “You remember your preparations for the final battle, yes?”
They try to remember. Equipping their fragile charms, because if they lost then fixing them would not be their greatest concern. Doing a round of the shops to see if anyone had anything that could provide a last minute edge. Spending ten minutes on a bench, going-
Ah. Going through all their charms and releasing their companions so that they wouldn’t be trapped inside the Egg as well. The Grimmchild had been the most reluctant to leave, but they had somehow managed to get them to fly off, still meowing sadly.
“Kindness must be repaid with kindness.” His voice is warm, different from the heat he constantly gives off. “Besides, I happen to find you wonderful company, dear friend.”
Even in their own mind, they have no answer to that.
Physically aging is something that would not have happened to the Knight in the physical realm, not naturally. Their body has no instincts for a molt.
But this is the realm of the Nightmare King, and the moment the Knight wonders what it would be like to grow larger-
“As you wish, my dear.”
They’ve heard that molts are terribly uncomfortable and even painful. Grimm simply snaps his fingers, and the Knight finds themselves at double their height.
They take a step forward and immediately fall flat on their mask.
His chuckle reaches their ears, thankfully not unkind. “Perhaps not quite so dramatic a change all at once?”
No, this is fine. They’re grateful. They just need a little time to adjust to their new center of gravity, that’s all. They push themselves up and find Grimm’s hand waiting in front of them.
For some reason the White Lady’s words come back to them while they take Grimm’s hand. ‘It would be naive to claim it friend.’
She’s probably right. But they’ve never been good about friendship in the first place, and at the very least, they can’t think of Grimm as an enemy.
While pulling them up, Grimm says, “I quite like this new figure of yours. It’s fittingly charming.”
Above all else, the Knight likes - loves, maybe, if they know what it means to love anything - when Grimm tells them stories.
They are not much of a talker, but they are always willing to listen. And Grimm’s stories are fascinating. Stories of realms as far from Hallownest as the top of Crystal Peak is from the bottom of the Abyss. Stories of worlds that are long gone, stories of worlds that have yet to come. Stories that are as beautiful as they are terrible.
The ashes of the old must be swept to make room for the new, he says over and over. Burn the father, feed the child.
They never like the reminder of how many ‘Grimms’ must have been burned. Whenever they get that thought, Grimm always smiles a weird smile that they don’t know how to interpret.
“Kingdoms will self-destruct from all manner of causes.” Grimm leans against the Knight’s side. He’s still taller than them, but only just. “Even such noble concepts as love and happiness can seed ruin.”
They tilt their head. They believe him, but how would that happen?
“For one example… A certain country’s leaders were able to automate all unpleasant tasks so that no one would have to work, and their citizens could spend all their time in leisure. They soon lost all concept of difficulty and bearing hardship, and even the slightest inconvenience would upset them. To combat this, the leaders invented a virtual reality that every individual citizen would be placed into, that they could control to their liking. They could erase every minute annoyance, every sensation they disliked - and so the citizens forgot hunger and starved to death.”
For such a sad sorry, Grimm tells it easily - but he’s used to being a small part of these stories. It would be more strange if they affected him personally.
That’s happiness, but what about love?
Grimm snorts. “I’ve lost count of how many societies have found a way to have every person matched with their perfect soulmates, and then disintegrate because no one wants to leave their bedrooms.”
The Knight tilts their head. They can understand not wanting to be apart from your soulmate, but why the bedroom… specifically…
Oh.
Oh!
They know Grimm can’t see their expression and that he’s reading their thoughts anyway, but they still hide their face in their hands, as if the action would make their thoughts less embarrassing, as if it would keep them from imagining exactly what Grimm was referring to based off what little they’ve heard and seen in hot springs. It doesn’t work.
“Why, my friend, I didn’t realize you knew half of those words. Or those images.” As the Knight shrinks further into themself, Grimm pats their shoulder. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed over. You’ll find it quite difficult to scandalize me.”
It isn’t about scandalizing Grimm. They’re sure that anything their mind could come up with, Grimm has seen worse. Done worse.
Thinking of Grimm doing is a mistake. Their thoughts had been of anonymous bugs near-nude with wandering hands, but now they’re of Grimm instead. What does his body look like without his cloak? Does he even have any interest in that sort of thing? With who? Why are they thinking about this when they know that Grimm is still reading their thoughts?
They’re never going to look at Grimm again, they decide. They would drop dead on the spot, the infection would take Hallownest entirely because they couldn’t stop thinking about their friend naked, and even their ghost would die again of shame.
Grimm’s hand is warm on the back of their neck. He’s never been shy over physical contact - as physical as anything can be in a realm of dream and nightmare - but they feel like they’re burning up just from the light brush of his skin.
“My dear Knight.” Grimm’s voice is soft, and yet it still makes them tremble. “If you wish for the answer to those questions, all you need do is ask.”
Ask. That’s impossible when the Knight can’t even face him. But they know that the choice is theirs, that Grimm will accept either yes or no from them, whatever own his feelings might be. They don’t have the advantage of knowing his every thought and feeling, and while normally they don’t want to, right now even a tiny hint would help settle them.
“You don’t know? You make my heart race, as ever.” Grimm presses his lips to the side of their mask. “I must confess, I have been longing to dance with you once more.”
They still don’t know how to dance. Even less than the first time.
“Then I’ll teach you. You have no audience to impress but me, and I have long since adored you.”
Then… their answer is yes.
Grimm is even warmer with fewer clothes, now that they’ve all been tossed to the side of the newly created bed. The Knight knows they shouldn’t be surprised - it’s Grimm, here where the Heart beats the strongest and the winds of Hallownest are a distant memory. But it’s one thing to know that and another thing to feel his heat skin to skin.
They don’t know where to put their hands, so they mimic his touch. He purrs when they stroke over his skin, and they wonder how much louder they would be if they could manage more than silent gasps. His fingers teasing heat from their body certainly deserve more of a reaction than their silent shivers.
He teases pleasure just from their chest and stomach, but when he travels lower and finds nothing but smooth skin… “No need for a mere vessel to be shaped to feel pleasure?”
Still trembling, they shake their head. They don’t have any of the more interesting body parts they’ve seen on others coming out of the hot springs.
“That can be changed, if you so choose, but for now….” Grimm crooks his fingers near the base of their body, and a surge of pleasure and desire all wrapped together surges through them. Startled by the foreign sensation, they cling onto Grimm’s sides, unable to think of anywhere to hold but that and…
Well, the other piece of himself Grimm had revealed, a bright red that had unclasped itself as the Knight had explored Grimm’s body. They should touch that. No, if it makes Grimm feel anything like the Knight just felt, they want to touch that.
The texture isn’t much different from the rest of Grimm, nor is it much hotter, but the reaction is pronounced. Grimm’s purr turns into a moan, and he rocks forward into their touch, rewarding them with another shock of pleasure. They rub carefully, not wanting to hurt Grimm (as if they could when he didn’t want to be hurt) and too distracted by the sensations Grimm gives them to think of anything more complex to do. He doesn’t complain - far from it, if his escalating groans are anything to go by.
They don’t know when Grimm will stop sending this heat and need through them with every touch, not when they weren’t made to feel either in the first place. They only know that they don’t want him to stop just yet.
“I won’t,” Grimm says, his voice even more gravelly than usual. “Not until our grand finale.”
A grand finale needs a buildup, so the Knight strokes Grimm faster. The pleasure that fills their body grows more intense, taking over every empty space and void, until-
They see white, and for a moment there is nothing in all the world but bliss.
When they come to, their hand is wet, and Grimm has stopped stroking their skin in favor of holding them close. The Knight wipes their hand off on the bedsheets before embracing him in return.
They don’t want this to end, either.
Luckily, they have all the time in all the worlds.