#The knight and his Queen

[neo--queen--serenity]

Marcille is actually one of the biggest reasons it took so long to pinpoint which Chilchuck was the imposter in today’s episode.

The Senshi and Marcille imposters had their own reasons for being hard to decipher, but that was a joint effort on the party’s part. Chilchuck was the only example where a single member’s bias actually swayed the others so strongly that it made them all doubt themselves.

Ryouko Kui did an excellent job of giving us a rich background on how different races interact, and how they may descriminate against each other. Each of the races in this series struggles with these prejudices. Our main characters are not exempt from this, and we see it clearly in the way the shapeshifter manifested as each party member, showing us how the others percieve them.

Marcille knows Chilchuck well, and cares deeply for him as a friend. But she’s not immune to assumptions and biases that come from her elven background. The Chilchuck imposter we are faced with, when it’s down to two of them left, is Marcille’s memory of Chilchuck, Marcille’s perception of how he behaves.

One of the first manifestations of this bias occurs when shapeshifter Chilchuck can’t get a jar open.

The real Chilchuck knows that this would never happen—at least not in this way. Chilchuck is proud, yes, but he asks for Laios’ help all the time. Laios is actually one of the party members he is the most likely to ask help from, given how long they’ve known each other, and how much mutual trust exists between them.

However, the whole scenario isn’t right. Chilchuck wouldn’t give up so easily on opening something; his whole job is opening and unlocking things. He would never quit an attempt like this within 5 seconds, then run to Laios so that “big strong adult tall-man” can open it for him.

Marcille is the one who asks, “Huh? Why do you say that?” because Marcille is partially right. Chilchuck does rely on Laios, and Marcille knows this to be true. But she fails to realize how he relies on Laios.

Chilchuck respects many of Laios’ talents, but the most important ones are his combat skills, his emotional fortitude, and his quick thinking when delegating tasks. He trusts Laios as someone he is comfortable following (he literally said to him and Shuro in the last episode: “Laios!! Tell us what do!! Give us orders!!” when chimera Falin was quickly overpowering them).

So while Marcille almost understands Chilchuck’s confidence in Laios, she tends to accidentally infantilize him in the process.

She immediately believes that Chilchuck B (the imposter, who is specifically using her own memory as its base for Chilchuck’s personality) is the real one, and says so, because she’s blinded by her perception of him as being childlike and adorable because of the very common racial prejudices that half-foots deal with all the time.

She dotes on the imposter, and is open with her affections, as usual (again, her care for him is clear), but doubles down on that bias, on her own assumptions of Chilchuck’s behavior shown through her own lens.

And ultimately, Laios was able to tell the difference, but only because he watched how the Chilchucks handled other minute tasks. Marcille’s stance on which Chilchuck was real truly did throw the others for a loop, at least until the threat passed. And honestly, that’s part of what makes the shapeshifter so terrifying. Its strategy almost worked.

[chalkrub]

new guyyy whom i love from a design trade

he's a demigod cimera knight who was brutally defeated and then spared by a tyrant queen, with the caveat that she cut off his goat head and uses it as a hostage to keep him loyal to her. unfortunate but what are you gonna do

[justaz]

just imagining the knights who have grown used to treating merlin like arthur’s consort, letting him get away with all these things, and introducing new knights to the unspoken rules - merlin may not be the consort in title but you better treat him like he is - and carrying that into arthur’s reign as king only for one (1) feast to go horribly, horribly wrong and the knights of the round table are trying to put out these all these fires and calm all these lords and ladies feelings and trying to talk arthur down from waging war and trying to get merlin to talk to the king dammit i don’t care that you’re upset, arthur is drafting up a literal declaration of war please slap talk some sense into him all the while drafting up new rules that HEY actually let’s treat merlin like the queen instead

[yuwuta]

MORE KNIGHT YUTA PLEASE I BEG OF YOU!!

yes ofc. he’s obedient, but still sly...... to me, knight yuuta will do as you say, but he will also act before you speak if he thinks that’s what’s right to protect you...... it’s like..... he thinks he’s the only person who can protect you, and you’re the only person who can protect him from himself........ anyway, enjoy this teehee cw mentions of murder (what else is new)

Yuuta sighs when he sees your silhouette in the moonlight, peering over the grand balcony. The heavy fabric of your dress resists rustles in the shallow winds of the evening; it tells Yuuta that you have not gone to bed, that he did not wake you, that you waited for him, that you anticipated him. 

From his position below, standing center in the courtyard, you appear something like a goddess, but he knows better than to compare to something so fickle. Gods are fable and you are truth, you are real. 

“Princess, you should be asleep. Might I help you to bed?” Yuuta offers, voice loud enough for you hear him one story higher, but quiet enough not to rouse the other knights on watch for the night. 

Yuuta watches intently as you shake you head, trails the smooth movement of your fingers grazing across the stone ribboning of the railing. You stop at the center, resting your clothed forearms against cold stone, wrists and hands hanging over the edge, and the lightest hum escaping from your lips, “If I were to fall, would you catch me, Yuuta?” 

Yuuta nods, without hesitation, “Yes, princess.” 

His eyes remained glued to you, carefully tracking your movements as you slowly sway to your left, delicate footsteps carrying you to the top of the stairway. Yuuta’s body turns with yours, standing at the base of the stairs, awaiting your arrival. 

Your careful to lift up the skirt of your dress with one hand, press your palm to the railing for support with the other, tilt your head down enough so that Yuuta can see your face in the moonlight, “And if I were to ask you to escort me to the kitchen, would you?” 

One, two, three steps, and you pause. Yuuta answers, “Yes, princess.” 

A hum, another step, then three, then four, then another question, “And if I said I craved fresh berries, and asked you to gather and wash and prepare them for me, would you?” 

“Yes, princess.” 

You continue at a slow pace, three steps, another question, three more, and Yuuta answers; always yes, always willing. You stop, three steps before the end of the stairs, and yet it only makes you a head taller than your knight. You drop your dress, take the smallest step forward, but not down, before you pose your next question. 

“And if I asked you to return to your quarters and not kill Lord Hajime tonight, would you?” 

This time, Yuuta cannot meet your eyes, head turning down, gaze set on the cold floor of the courtyard.

“Would you not do what is asked of you, Yuuta?”

He hears your voice first, then feels the warm touch of your fingers when you reach out to comb through his hair. Your fingernails scratch against his scalp, tugging with gentle vigor until you’ve forced his head up, until you’ve forced his gaze; and then, slowly, you bring your other hand to join its companion, and you have him between the palm of your hands. You always do. 

He holds his tongue, still; he wouldn’t dare say no to you, even if he thinks it. 

“Or do you only do as you please?” you tilt his head between your hands, “You would lie to me, wouldn’t you? You’ve done it before.” 

“Only for your protection,” Yuuta says, pleading, “I promise.” 

You hum, warm fingers brushing against his cold skin in the night. You look daunting, beautiful. 

“I might not be as conniving as my guards, nor as divisive as my cabinet, but I am still the princess, and you still serve me,” your words are calm, steady, eerie; Yuuta shudders into your touch when you trail you left hand down, pointer finger tracing along the frame of his face before hooking under his chin, forcing further accession between you and him, “Do you no longer wish to please me, Yuuta?” 

Yuuta sighs, raising his hand to wrap around your wrist, the cold metal of his armor whistling with his movement. With worried words and weary expression he asks: “Would Lord Hajime please you, princess?” 

He watches as your face falls, eyes sad and lips solemn, moving your hands down his face to swipe your thumbs against his temples. Yuuta lets go of your wrist, but he remains pliant in your hold, obedient under your touch, grateful when you shake your head.  

“Then why can’t I kill him?” Yuuta questions, earnest and upset. 

“Oh, Yuuta,” you muse, brushing away a fallen eyelash before bringing his head to your chest and cradling it between soft palms and soft cloth, “My Yuuta,” your words are spoken against the top of his head and the warmth radiates down the rest of his body.

“Lord Hajime will be dealt with accordingly. This is not how I wish to resolve things,” you assure him; Yuuta doesn’t like your solution, but you are his princess, so he will listen, he will stand and be warm against you, “And you are obvious. Another murder would only raise suspicion.” 

“They do not know it was me.” 

You chuckle, only lightly, and Yuuta can feel it against your chest, “But now I know.” 

Yuuta looks up, chin resting against your chest, his hands reaching up, resting greedily against your waist. Your palms find purchase against his cheeks again, and his eyes flutter closed for a moment, sinking into his dream. 

Slowly, he opens his eyes, blinks up at you. “I will accept whatever punishment you see fit.” 

This time, you tilt your head, allowing the moonlight to strike his face. Yuuta glows in anticipation, awaits your word. A moment, and then a hum. 

“I’m sure you will,” you tell him, before removing your hands from his face. Yuuta whimpers, pout growing deeper when you turn around in his hold, your back to him as you begin to ascend the stairs. 

Again, he waits, hands falling to your side as he eyes your silhouette. He counts ten steps before you turn your head over your shoulder, “Come. That’s an order.” 

Yuuta dips his head down, clasps his hand behind his back before he begins to follow you up the stairs, “Yes, of course, princess.” 

[danibee33]

No one:

Me: ok, but hear me out- knight!ghost and his queen

[vladdyissues]

Vlad Masters + chess ♔♘♙

[justmenoworries]

Really funny how LO's narrative and fans wanna make us believe Hades' type are strong women when he literally has a history of sabotaging every ambitious woman in his life, making them dependant on him and then preying on them at their most vulnerable.

[catherine-sketches]

Omegaverse X-men but the sub gender matches the power level.

Omega gender? Omega Class.

Jean Grey with the powers of a fiery god? Omega

Magneto who can invert the magnetic fields of the earth with a thought? Omega

Ororo Munroe, Storm, Mother Nature come again? Omega

That inadvertently creates a whole new culture in the mutant community because if a mutant comes to you and you can smell a sweet and inviting omega scent the humans may subconsciously think about the omega stereotypes of meekness or emotional instability or how they are only good to taking care of the pups and only an alpha can handle these serious affairs bla bla bla

While the mutants in the room collectively go “shit fuck shit fuck a Matriarch is here!!” and they all start to straighten themselves to both impress (because the matriarch may like you and give you protection in their pack) or make yourself less threatening (because they may hate your vibes on sight and delete you from existence WHO KNOW???)

This brings us to Charles Xavier.

Professor X, who is an Alpha level mutant (depending on the continuity) but is also an Omega Level Telepath (also depending on the continuity)

If he is an Alpha, his and Erik’s divorce has been wrecking the X-men and the Brotherhood packs for nearly 5 decades now (the x-men because they are Matriarchless which is wrecking their whole dynamics over there and their Patriarch is suddenly blind to his ex husband nearly KILLING THE PRESIDENT AGAIN CHARLES OMG?!?! and the Brotherhood because their Matriarch is going ballistic over that bald man for 50 years now and NO DONT LEAVE OUR MISSION TO SAVE YOUR EX WHAT ABOUT OUR GOALS?!?!)

If he is an Omega, the X-Men vs Brotherhood is actually both a divorce (omega/omega marriages are frowned upon but who is stopping them?) and two Matriarchs fighting over who is the better mom, provider and protector for the family (all mutant kind)

In both scenarios they meet once a month to play chess and fuck nasty

(Also as a bonus for the last scenario: Logan is classified as an Alpha level mutant…

Charles and Erik, both Omegas, wanting pups: *see Logan who is strong and capable and caring under all the grumpiness and nearly indestructible* this one will do

Logan, getting levitated by his bones: what

)

[paintpanic]

Big batch of rendering practice drawings. Do you have a favorite? 😊

[rainbowsmagicandshit]

Merlin Prompt/Idea:

Arthur calls a meeting of his inner round table (those that sat with him at the table of the ancient kings) except Merlin. He also tells everyone else not to tell Merlin. At this meeting they decide that Merlin will have a seat at the Royal Round Table.

Why is Merlin getting an official seat at the official and highly sought after Royal Round Table?

Because Arthur wants to marry him, of course!

This is step one to getting all the stuck up nobles to except Merlin as Arthur’s choice of spouse.

Does Merlin know that that’s Arthur’s intention with his appointment? No.

Does Merlin know that Arthur wants to marry him? No.

Does Merlin even know that Arthur has feelings for him? No.

Is Merlin increasing frustrated that he keeps getting excluded from half of the inner circle meetings despite gaining a seat at the official one? Yes.

Is Merlin going to give Arthur a piece of his mind once finds out that this entire roundabout thing was just a plot to get him as his husband? Undoubtedly.

Is Merlin going to be completely badass and show his capability as “queen” despite not knowing what’s going on? Absolutely.

What are the next steps?

[mohntilyet]

ALSO ACTUALLY it’s quite fun that rook parallels the chess piece since they come into play right at the end of the match and are typically a very important piece because how you use them ends up deciding the outcome of the game

[pinkd3mon]

This had context but I refuse to tell anyone

[wistfulwatcher]

2.08 IT CHOOSES | 1.03 THE DOLLHOUSE

[bet-on-me-13]

Httyd AU

So! Ghosts are nowhere near an Unknown Threat.

In fact, Ghosts and Creatures of the Realms have been attacking the Human World, preforming Raids on Amity Park, and stealing valuable objects and human food for just as long as they have been around. And they have been around for a while.

They first came into the Human Realm centuries ago, and so far Humans have been able to adapt.

Ghost Hunters are some of the most respected members of the Community. There are many different groups of them, and of these Groups the Fenton Family has always been one of the most famous and well credited of the lot.

They have been Hunting Ghosts since the days of their Ancestor, Jackson Fenton-Nightingale, who was the first of their lineage to change from Witch Hunting to Ghost Hunting.

In the modern age, Jack Fenton and his wife Maddie Fenton are some of the most respected Hunters in Amity. They have captured and killed more Ghosts and Realms-Beasts than anybody in the History of their Family. They have pioneered the new age of Ecto-Tech, bringing better and more effective weapons to the masses. They have singlehandedly managed to contain the Ghost Threat to the State of Illinois, and Amity Park in general. They are truly some of the Greatest Heroes of the Era.

The same cannot be said for their son.

Daniel Fenton has always been, well, Lacking, when compared to his Family.

He didn't inherit his Father's natural Musculature, nor his Mothers Prowess in Martial Arts, and while he is definitely an extremely intelligent boy, he does not measure up to the Intellect that the other members of his Family often achieve.

Even his sister, Jasmine Fenton, shows more promise than he does, and she isn't even a Ghost Hunter. Instead she devoted her life to becoming a therapist who can help those who have been affected by Ghost Attacks.

But Danny? He has never really showed much promise. He is definitely eager to prove himself to his Parents, but he never manages to help out in the field. Most of the time he even makes it worse.

And for Danny? It's infuriating! He has spent all his life trying to live up to the legend of his Family, trying to become a worthy Son. But he never succeeds.

He has made Tons of Inventions to help defeat Ghosts, but they were all thrown out because they were Non-Lethal. They always said that any Ecto-Weapon worth the materials it's made out of should end the Ghost before it has a chance to escape, so capturing them without killing them would be worthless.

But he wants to prove that his efforts are not in vain, if not to his family, than to himself.

So one night, as a particularly nasty Ghost Attack is going on, he rushes outside with a Weapon of his own Design. It was a Stun Gun, designed to hit the Ghost with a Beam of Pure Paralyzing Energy that would render it Immobile for hours. It was slightly large and bulky, but it still worked. At least, theoretically it did. He hadn't had a chance to test the Stun Gun yet, hence his little adventure.

He ran to the edge of Town, and tried to find a Ghost worth capturing.

Blobs? No, they've been caught before. Catching one wouldn't earn him any praise.

Skeleton? Those are a single tier up from Blobs, and not by much at all. Definitely not.

Ecto-Pus? Maybe, but it wouldn't be too useful for learning anything since it can't speak.

Spirits? They are the manifestations of Human Emotion, stronger than most other types of Ghosts, and they are suspected to be Intelligent. That's a good choice, it would probably be the best choice.

But there was one better. An Ancient.

The Ancients were the Ghosts that had been around for Centuries, possibly Millenia. They are Ghosts that are so Old, they have developed true Intelligence. Nobody had ever managed to kill an Ancient, they were too strong. The Ancients are the most Deadly, most Powerful, most Dangerous of all Ghosts.

If Danny managed to Capture one? He would skyrocket to Fame! He would be able to sit at the Lunch Table with the A-Listers, the town would stop seeing him as a disappointment, and his Parents would be so Proud of him! They might even come out of the Lab outside of Ghost Attacks to spend time with him!

So, he sat at the edge of town, watching the Portal that had opened up about a Mile outside of the City. He needed to be ready, in case an Ancient showed up.

Hours passed, and he was getting sleepy, when it happened.

"Ancient!"

The scream of warning came from his Radio, tapped into the Ghost Watch Channel used to keep track of Ghost Movements during attacks.

He looked at the Invasion Portal, and saw it. It was Humanoid, about 7 ft Tall, wearing Dark Plated Armor, with a Flaming Green Sword at its hip. Trying to stare into it's Face felt like staring into an Abyssal Void, with 2 pinpricks of Red denoting where its Eyes would be. The same Red Eyes all Ghosts had.

"Retreat! Retreat! The Fright Knight has emerged from the Invasion Portal!" Came the warning from his Radio. In the distance to his right, he could see the few Hunters who had been keeping watch on the Portal run to the safety of the Town.

Shaking off his fear, Danny rushed to his Target.

The Fright Knight was the most Feared of the Ancients, nobody had ever survived an encounter with it. There were even Rumors that it was the Leader of the Ghost Attacks, the coordinator.

And Danny knew that his Stun Gun wouldn't be enough to beat it. Not yet anyways.

So, instead of running directly to the Fright Knight, he ran to the small Open-Air Worksite that held his Parents' most Ambitious Creation. An Artificial Ghost Portal.

Years ago, his Parents had realized something. They couldn't stop the Invasion, because the Ghosts could never be cut off at the source. The Portal they used to enter the Human Realm was always a Natural One, it always closed after a few hours, so they had no chance of entering the "Ghost Zone" without immediately getting cut off from the Human World. Thus, they couldn't exterminate the Ghosts at the Source.

But what if they had a Stable Portal?

Then, the Humans could invade the Ghost Zone instead of the Ghosts invading the Human Realm. They would get an Edge in the Centuries old War.

But the Portal didn't work yet. They had been working on it for years at this point, but they had had absolutely no luck in making it functional. As an unintended consequence however, they realized that the Portal Frame was capable of generating Large Amounts of Energy, and it soon became the towns most Powerful Power Plant. It basically powered every home in the City, and powered the Shields that were put up above the Civilain Shelters during Ghost Attacks.

And Danny needed it.

His Stun Gun wasn't powerful enough to defeat the Fright Knight yet, but if he retrofitted it to draw on the immense power of the Portal Frame, it might be enough.

He rushed into the Open-Air Pavillion thay housed his Parents Portal Frame. It was an Immense Creation, semi-circular in shape but large enough that an entire Army could be comfortably Marxhed through.

He ran right to the center of the Device, pulling open a Panel in the middle of the Floor and fiddling around with the Wires for a minute.

It only took a short while before he had the Energy of the Portal Frame retrofitted to power his Stun Gun.

He raised the Weapon, and carefully aimed at the Fright Knight, still walking towards the Town.

He pulled the Trigger. And Everything went wrong.

The Gun didn't fire. Instead, he felt a rumble come from the Machine he was standing on, as lights began to light up on the edges of the Portal Frame. Somehow, he had accidentally rigged the Portal to attempt its activation Sequence when he tried to fire his Weapon.

Obviously, the Ring of activating lights had attracted the attention of the Fright Knight, and it had begun to move in bis direction.

In a panic he tried to fix his mistake. He moved around a few more wires, and tried again, and more lights turned on. He tried again, and suddenly a high pitched sound began to play around him.

He tried one more time, and help his heart leap with joy as his gun finally began to power up. He looked up to see where the Fright Knight was, and felt his elation drop in an instant when he noticed that it had already entered the Outdoor Lab Space.

The next few seconds felt like they took hours. He felt his heart stop as the Fright Knight began to rush forward. It was about to reach him.

Then, his Gun pinged to tell him they it was ready, and he pulled the trigger.

The world around him erupted in green Light as the beam from his Stun Gun fired out with much more force than it was ever intended to handle. The Beam of Light was so wide that it completely encompassed the Towering Fright Knight's form.

But at the same time as the Gun fired, the Portal finished it's attempted activation sequence. And the World turned green for a different reason.

Danny felt billions of volts run through his Body as the Portal activated, his screams being drowned out by the sound of Reality fraying at the seams as the Portal attempted to push through it.

But ultimately the Portal failed. It turned off, just as it was about to break through to the other side. The sudden burst of energy also seemed to affect the Stun Gun, as it blew up at the same moment the Portal turned off.

Danny was launched out of the Portal Frame, landing in the center of his Parents Outdoors Lab, unconscious.

It took nearly an hour before his Parents arrived, looking to investigate the sudden Portal Activation and Explosion. Whatever had happened caused a blackout throughout the entire Town, shutting off Ghost Shields and inciting panic throughout the City, meaning they had to wait hours before they could investigate.

They found Danny laying unconscious in their Lab, and called for someone to help him as they worked on getting Power back to the Town.

When he woke up, Danny was Reprimanded for his actions that night. Nobody believed him when he said that he had beaten the Fright Knight, and since communication went down with the Power, Nobody could confirm that the Fright Knight had actually been pushed back. It was far more likely that nobody had seen it after it entered the town, and it had left with the others when the Portal began to close.

But Danny knew what had happened, so the first chance he got, he escaped out into the woods surrounding Amity Park and began searching for his Target.

It took hours of searching, but eventually he found the Fright Knight, laying on it's side in the dirt.

Danny was elated at first, he had captured am Ancient! But then he took a closer look. He didn't know why, but for some reason he felt odd about the Ghost. He felt confusion, but not his own. Relief, but coming from somewhere else. Hope, but coming from Him. The Fright Knight.

In that moment, he didn't know why, but instead of dragging him back to the City or further restraining him, Danny pulled the Knight up into a sitting position, feeling it would be more comfortable like that.

He turned around for a moment to see if anybody was around, but when he turned back he was met with a terrifying sight. The Fright Knight was standing up, towering over Danny. He looked up to see it's face, and saw that it was glaring at him with an unrestrained rage.

Danny cried out when he was pushed to the ground, landing against a Rock, looking up in terror. The Knight took out his Sword, and before Danny could cry out in fear, it plunged the Sword down.

Into the Boulder next to Danny's head.

When he finally opened his eyes, the Knight was gone, leaving only the cracked rock next to his head and a sense of lingering terror.

In that moment, Danny only felt on things register in his Mind.

Where it's eyes always Green?

...

This got a little out of hand, but I hope you liked it.

The idea is that Ghosts have been attacking the Human Realm for Centuries, raiding the Villages to steal valuables and Human Food, terrorizing the world for years.

Hunters like the Fentons managed to contain them in Illinois, more specifically Amity Park.

Danny is Hiccup in this. He is the wimpy weak little kid that nobody respects because he doesn't live up to his Family Legend.

Fright Knight is Toothless, but instead of helping Danny learn how to ride Dragon, he helps him learn to use his newly found Ghost Powers. (Because I included the Portal scene for a reason, he became a Halfa and seeks out Frighty when he realizes hat he had Ghost Powers. He's kind of the only option after all)

If you didn't guess it, Pariah Dark is the Queen Dragon. He used his power as Ghost King to control every Ghost in the Zone, forcing them to raid the Human World and bring him offerings. He isn't obsessed with taking over the world, he is obsessed with being seen as a God, and Gods need to get Offerings.

When Danny hit Frighty with the Stun Gun, he knocked the Mind Control out of him and Frighty was freed.

From then on it would follow some similar story beats to Httyd, but also different.

Maybe the other Movie's could introduce other Characters? Maybe Freakshow is Viggo from the 2nd Movie?, or Vlad is Grimmle from the 3rd Movie? The Plots could fit as well.

If you want it to be DpxDc, you could say that the JLA thought the situation in Amity was handled and didn't think they needed to assist.

When they learn how bad it actually was they are freaked out. Especially since this was a Centuries Old Conflict that has been happening since before America was even founded.

What do you think?

[littlebittyhollowbugs]

I had a dream where everyone's nails began mysteriously disappearing, and Ghost was especially upset about this and enlisted Hornet and Quirrel and Hollow to help search for everyone's missing weapons and eventually Hollow was the only one who's nail wasn't taken (because of Hollow's extreme paranoia about losing it and never letting it go.)

They ended up finding out what happened because a strange little bug attempted and failed to steal Hollow's nail and they forced him to explain and he takes them to this secret place where a giant bug, like an actual giant (like the temple sized bug) lives and is building a home for itself and it's little friend has been bringing it nails that it's been using to build it's home. You know like actual nails, with a hammer.

I woke up before they confronted the giant unfortunately

But it was funny.

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard - Chapter 9: Longing

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

cw: mentions of death/gore* & the smut we’ve all been waiting for 🖤

word count: 6.7k

The clouds dance and whirl overhead, bringing with them a wind so sharp you think it might cut right through the heavy cloak, all the way down to your skin- maybe even deeper than that.

“Storm’s moving fast..” You say, more to yourself than anything, but Simon hums out an agreement anyway, casting his eyes upward with a squint,

“C’mon, there’s a village not too much further-”

Tugging at your hood, you begrudgingly squeeze your chaffed and aching thighs in order to urge the mare forward. Never in your life had you ridden for so long at one time- over the span of a week, you’ve hardly gotten off the beast unless it’s to relieve yourself or when it’s time to set up camp; and your very spoiled and sheltered life is proving to be a great disadvantage at the moment.

“Sore?”

His question confuses you, your cheeks beginning to burn, though the heat has nothing to do with your wind-chapped skin,

“From the saddle, love..” You can’t help but to roll your eyes at the amusement in his tone, turning into your cowl even further, only to gasp when you feel his hands around your waist-

In quick succession he had gotten close enough to you on his own horse to reach across the short expanse and pull you over, settling you side saddle between his legs, “Simon!”

But, it seems he quite enjoys your disgruntled fussing, “Is this all right?”, he asks, “If not, I’ll put you back-”

“No.. no.” You give in quickly, too enamored by the heat of his body against yours, his delightful warmth leaching into you, and the way your legs and pelvis scream at you to stay. Stay here in this very unbecoming position, one of his arms wrapped snugly over your hips, fingers loosely holding the reins, as the other works to tether your horse to his,

“It takes some gettin’ used to.” Simon coos, holding you closer, “But, you’ve done so well..”

His praise makes your skin feel like it could be on fire, and the steady rocking motion of the horse’s gate does nothing to help- well, except for the tiny splashes of the first rain drops beginning to fall.

And by the time you reach the small square, you’re both thoroughly soaked. Your cloak and petticoat feel ten pounds heavier, sticking to Simon’s jacket as he helps lower you down to the muck and mud before dismounting himself.

The village is quaint, deserted due to the conditions, but it still manages to feel cozy somehow- with candles and lanterns flickering in almost every window, there’s a warmth to it that strikes you differently than you’re so used to. And the closer you get to the inn, the sounds of raucous laughter and amused banter bleed through the foggy windows and from under the solid door.

With Simon’s hand hovering against your lower back, he opens the door and you both shuffle inside. The air is thick with a lazy sort of heat, your nostrils immediately filled with the hearty scents of herbs and fatty meats slowly cooking. You’re grateful for all the noise then, grateful it hides the way your stomach rumbles and growls, excited for a meal that isn’t foraged berries, stale bread, and whatever small game Simon had hunted along the way-

“This way..” Simon guides you through the open area, firmly polite in the way he excuses some of the more rowdy patrons- and it strikes you then, oddly and out of place almost, that none of these people give you a second look. Sure, some of their gazes linger, half-lidded and plied with honeyed mead, at the strangers making their way to an empty table in the corner; but as soon as the next distraction comes, you’re easily forgotten.

An older woman sweeps by with two pint glasses frothing with amber liquid, “Travelers, eh? Been pishin’ a doon out there, I tell ya.”

“Aye, it has-”, you respond with a small chuckle, ordering two of whatever that delightful smell originates from when the matron asks.

“Do you have a room open for the night?”

“Tsch- o’course. Always a room open for a native lass, like y’rself.” She graces you with a warm smile, one that reminds you so much of your own mother it hurts, patting your shoulder before giving a.. less than welcoming glare to the man sitting across from you as she flits away with a hmpf.

You unpin your cloak, tugging it from around your shoulders- a bloom of heat coloring your cheeks when you lock eyes with Simon, a sly grin just barely tugging at the corner of his lips,

“What?”

His head tilts just enough to catch a bit of light from the hearth, casting his features in a deep, handsome glow as he studies you without saying a word. Those damned eyes finally thawing at the sight of your mess of hair still damp, and cheeks stained pink, the way you try to hold his gaze but always end up looking away- pretending to be interested in the wood grain of the table under your hands,

“It’s nice.. Seein’ you like this.”

Nice? You roll the word over your tongue a few times, unsure of what exactly nice entails- but your pondering is very quickly snuffed out by the sound of your name being spoken. They aren’t speaking to you, no, thank the gods, but the more you turn your ear towards the group, the tighter your chest feels-

“May the gods rest ‘er soul..” One man says, lifting his glass in the air, the others following suit in the impromptu eulogy.

“Aye.. Gods rest.”

“A right Scottish Queen on the throne- married off tae tha’ bastard. Now look at ‘er.. Butchered and they say they ne’er found ‘er heid.. A goddamn shame-”

“I heard the King’s heid was sat on the mantle- crown on and all.” Another one offers, staring vacantly into his cup before coming back to the present, “Bodies burnt to a crisp.”

You grit your teeth, images of their gossip wracking through your mind and body; the raw, visceral reaction unstoppable as a bone deep shiver quakes through you. Simon’s hand covers yours, squeezing just enough to draw your eyes back to him-

“‘Ere we are.” Two steaming plates are sat in front of you, roasted pheasant and a healthy portion of potatoes and boiled leafy greens, “‘S a shame, ain’t it?”

She glances back at the table of men, “I dinnae normally like to give in tae the rumors, but-”, her voice takes on a morose lilt, her hands buried deep in her apron, “it’s jus’ so heartbreakin’’. And to think it were her guard! Of all people..”

You really think you could be sick before you’ve even got a bite of your food down, the smell that had enticed you so, now feels too heavy in your nostrils, too rich and fatty, too thick-

“It is.” Simon interjects, tapping the heavy ring around his thumb against the table in that comforting pattern, “Gods rest-”

The woman sniffles, nodding her head before pulling a handkerchief that’s been tucked in her bosom, “Aye, gods rest. Ye two enjoy, lemme ken if ye need anythin’ at’all.”

With a nod and tight lipped smiles, she bustles away, the weather bringing more people into the small tavern than you think is usual. And within the hour, the room quickly shrinks to barely allow for standing space. The already warm air becoming near stifling the longer you sit, pushing bits of leftovers around the wooden plate,

“C’mon, love.” Simon stands, holding his hand out to you- “Let’s get some rest.”

You know he’s right, you know you have another full day of traveling tomorrow- which causes the ache in your bottom and thighs to rear its ugly head yet again. But you feel so utterly restless. The men’s words, long forgotten by them, have not left your mind. They bounce around relentlessly, conjuring awful images and memories- things you cannot forget.

But you let him take your hand, let his warmth anchor you, his steady hold guide you through the crowd and toward the small staircase that takes you both up and up. The air seems to cool step by step, a little easier to breathe the further you get from the noise.

Yet, the closer you get to the room, the more your thoughts seem dead set on casting you into the void entirely. You feel too warm and too cold at the same time, your body and mind unable to escape the vicious fight or flight cycle-

What have you done? What do you truly know of this man? What if he- could he be? Could your Simon be anything like the King? Maybe not right now, but what if- what if- what if-

“Your thoughts are loud tonight, little queen..”

It’s only at the sound of his voice that you notice you now stand in the middle of a spacious bedroom. One with a large bed that commands the space, a wardrobe stood in one corner and a gloriously deep bathtub sat opposite- and sure, you had shared a bed with Simon before, you had clung to him in the middle of forests, with only a thin sheet of canvas between you and the unforgiving wilderness.

But this.. Very suddenly, you’re confronted with the intimacy of the space you share now. Of the single bed, a bed untainted by the memory of another man, of him- you study the crackling fire, and the torrential rains still pelting against the fogged up window panes. Your eyes on anything other than the man that watches you so ardently.

“Was this..” – you suck in a shaking breath, meeting those beautiful amber eyes, the ones that seem to burn brighter than the flames in the hearth, “Did we-”

Oh, such a way with words you have- gods, just get it together.

He tilts his head, “Did we do the right thing?”, with a single step, he’s right in front of you, “Depends on who you ask. Though, I believe your people would say yes..”

“I hate that they think that you- that you would-“

“Kill you?”

Tears sting your eyes then, flooded by everything that happened that night- the poor woman’s body that had been stolen from the infirmary, the fire and blood, the way the King’s crown sparkled on his head as it sat on the mantle. All the horrendous acts that Johnny and Simon committed, for you.

Oh, perhaps Johnny was right all along, you are just a stupid, selfish girl-

“I should be dead, shouldn’t I?” You admit, turning away from him, “At least that way, you and Johnny, you could’ve had your lives- you would not be out here, in the middle of nowhere, helping me escape mine, at the cost of your own. I should be-”

“Don’t.” Simon’s grip on your arm isn’t forceful, it’s not painful or demanding, but you can feel the urgency, see the anguish in his eyes, hear the agony in his voice, “Please.. Don’t say those things.”

He takes up your field of view, holding your face between his hands before pulling away with a huff,

“Don’t you understand? I would do it all again, I would do it a hundred times. Because before you.. I-” – he stops mid-pace, raking a hand through his hair, “I had no life, none beyond a battlefield. My life has only ever been death. My hands..”

You watch him look at his own appendages as though he wishes to remove them completely, “My hands have rarely known or given a kind touch, they are tarnished and unworthy-”

“Simon, no-”

It’s you who reaches for him this time, taking his hands in yours- your lips pressed against the rough skin without a second thought. You kiss them slowly, softly, over and over, listening to each unsteady breath that rattles through his chest,

“I do not know the hands you speak of..” You whisper, looking up at him, “I only know the hands that have saved me, that have held me- hands that have only ever been kind and gentle.”

And to see him now, see every raw edge of him- you feel silly for ever thinking he could be anything like your late husband. That he would ever bring a hand to you that was meant to incite fear and pain, or turn his voice into a weapon to degrade and belittle you.

No, Simon had shown you his heart- openly, tenderly. He had allowed you to see him, pried open his chest and let you settle yourself there, in a space he has never allowed anyone before.

“But you’ve seen what they were made to do. Seen them bloody-” He shakes his head, letting it fall, eyes clenching shut, “I told you before that I am not a good man. The things I have done cannot be atoned for.”

Your hands move cautiously, blazing a slow path from his wrists over his forearms, the cords of muscle twitching and flexing under your palms until you reach high enough to cup his jaw. He doesn’t look at you right away, choosing to lean into the cool touch of your palm before speaking again,

“I’m afraid-” – he whispers, and you can see it in his eyes when he finally opens them, see the terror, the longing, these feelings so obviously and painfully foreign to him, “- that one day.. I will kill you. That I will bring Death right to our doorstep, and he will take you, just as he’s taken all others from me.”

His words feel like fire and frost in your veins. Never would you have thought Simon, your Simon, your steadfast protector- your lover - to harbor such a thing as fear. Much less, a fear of losing you, a fear so great it seems like it could bring the Titan of a man to his knees.

And yet, it’s that fear that fortifies you. If he can be so relentlessly strong for you in times when you thought you were shattering, then you can be that for him- because what is love, if not picking up each other’s pieces when they cannot?

Love was never meant to be only beauty and light, love is disturbing and messy; it is brutal in its hold and unfair in its unpredictability. You cannot choose who you love, not really. There are strings of fate that bind you- how else can something so dark and so wonderful dare make sense?

A sad smile pulls at your lips as you look up at him, thumb brushing back and forth through the stubble on his cheek, “Simon.. If Death should come for me, I will take his hand in mine- and with my other, I’ll hold yours, so that I might find you in every lifetime after.”

The breath that leaves him sounds like it might as well have been punched from his lungs, labored and groaning. But, in the next second you’re being pulled forward- leaning up onto your toes as he captures your lips in a desperate kiss, his arm snaking around your waist as you crash into him with all the grace of a newborn fawn.

But he doesn’t let you fall, he couldn’t dream of such a thing- no, he holds you closer, the span of his fingers covering your lower back, his immense warmth radiating even through the thick fabric of your dress-

“Wait, My Queen.. Wait-”

You feel how he braces himself, forcing his hands to gently push you just far enough away that you couldn’t reach his lips, “Simon-”

Tears well up at the very corners of your eyes, out of frustration or sheer petulance, you’re not sure. It’s just.. your body feels wound too tight, and your mind is so lost in its own haze of desire and longing that you can’t control the way your bottom lip quivers-

“Oh, sweet girl-” Simon presses a kiss to your pitiful pout first before holding your face up so that he could kiss your tears next, “Do you trust me?”

You nod against him, your hands still tightly tangled in the loose material of his tunic, “Yes, but-”

Another kiss causes your complaint to be forgotten at the back of your tongue, overtaken by the taste of his mouth on yours- and the subsequent throbbing deep in your core. Your body truly and utterly aches for him.

He sweeps you out of the room despite your small protests, leaving youstill unsure of what exactly his plan is, or why he insists on denying you and himself for even a moment longer. But you stay, standing by a large bay window, watching how the rain carves chaotic little paths down the glass, and catching glimpses of your reflection when the candlelight flickers just right.

You look properly disheveled. Tendrils of hair frame your dirt stained cheeks, your eyes slightly hollow from the nightmares that have plagued your sleep, lips chapped and raw from the wind, and Simon’s kisses-

Slowly, you untangle your braids, vainly attempting to rake your fingers through some of the mess when you hear boots ascending.

A man you don’t recognize appears first, followed by a much taller, much more familiar form just behind. They both carry a large basin in each hand, the water inside fragrant and steaming as they make their way inside, dumping the pails into the deep copper tub-

There's a small grin on Simon’s lips when he passes by, the men repeating the same act twice more before you watch them shake hands- the taller man slipping a few pieces of silver to the other in thanks,

“A bath?” You look up at him with wide eyes, unable to hide your excitement after weeks of bathing in frigid rivers and streams.

“Mh..” – he hums, moving to hold you again, those long fingers trailing up the laces of your bodice, “You deserve comfort, so, while I can give that to you, I will. And one day.. I’ll draw a bath for you whenever you’d like.”

As he speaks, his voice takes on a softer edge, dipping his head down to nuzzle against the skin of your neck. He lavishes the flesh with kiss after kiss all while his hands work to loosen every lace, methodically pulling until you can feel the ties give way enough to take a deep, shuddering breath-

“Is this ok, My Queen?” Simon asks, pulling back to search your face for any sign of discomfort.

It tugs at your heart in ways you didn’t think possible. Because the King had never asked, he never cared what was ok or not- and you didn’t know any better anyway.

But Simon waits, he waits to hear the soft ‘yes’, waits for even a second longer just to memorize the way your eyes sparkle for him- beautiful and bright. And with the same tender movements, he pulls the dress from your shoulders, easing the fabric down your arms, every prolonged graze of his fingertips leaving a wake of goosebumps.

You’ve never been completely bare to a man before- even your husband had never seen all of you at once, never taking the time to bother with undressing you when he could just hike your nightgown up.

What if he doesn’t find you appealing when he sees you so exposed? What if he thinks the stretch marks on your thighs are ugly? Or maybe the size of your hips and the fatty flesh that covers them- the King always made sure to remind you of how unsightly those parts of you were.

What if he doesn’t like how your stomach squishes and jiggles-

“Look at me.”

You hadn’t even noticed that your eyes were focused on the floor, cast down in shame when your gown pooled around your ankles. And you really should’ve known that one look at the man in front of you would take all your insecurities and wash them away, because to him, he’s never seen a woman so perfect.

Simon’s never seen skin as soft and unblemished as yours- and he finds himself wanting to kiss and mark every single inch of you, make you his and only his.

Instead, he tilts your chin up, relishing the sight of your swollen lips parting just so, like you, too, couldn’t get enough of him. No one’s ever looked at him that way, like he were something to be coveted and desired.

“You’re beautiful.”

That’s all he gives you before wrapping you in his arms, sealing his lips over yours- and this time when you pull at his belt, he lets you. He lets you loosen it around his hips, lets your hands wander, fingers skimming over the feverish skin of his torso. He helps you by tugging the tunic over his head, blessing you with the glorious sight of him; his muscles, and scars, and freckles, and moles- every stunning imperfection that has shaped him.

A flash of lightning illuminates the room just before the rattling boom of thunder, as if Mother Nature herself were as enthralled with this moment as you were-

“C’mere..” Simon takes your hand, offering a steadying hold for you to step into the bathtub, “‘S too hot?”

The water stings for only a moment on your legs, but you pay the slight discomfort no mind, lowering the rest of your body into the bath with a sigh,

“No, it’s perfect.” You say, looking up at him with a gracious smile, “Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything more, opting to push his trousers over his hips and legs- and you know you’ve felt him, felt his length pressing into you through his pants, seen the outline of him straining against the fabric.

But this- you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, aware that your staring is entirely unladylike, but unable to find it in yourself to really care. How could you? When you’ve imagined his cock many a night as you touched yourself to merely the thought of him, to the idea of how good you just knew he could make you feel.

And now, here he is, naked as the day the he was born, towering over you, built like he was carved from the gods of war themselves-

The water sloshes when he steps one foot in, then the other, sitting opposite of you- one leg stretched out against yours and the other propped up so that his knee breaches the surface,

“I’ve never done this.” You admit, cheeks flushed a bright pink from the heat of the water, but mostly from the way he stretches his arms out over the rounded edges of the tub, the way his head tilts lazily to the side,

“Can’t say I have, either.”

You stay like that, watching him until he leans over, plucking a sponge from the small table, “May I?”

Well, how does he ever expect you to refuse when he looks at you like…that.

With a small nod, he inches himself forward, maneuvering your legs to rest atop his, your bodies precariously close again- and with not a thing but the water separating you from him. You avoid looking down, keeping your eyes focused instead on the myriad of scars that litter his broad chest- you watch the bulging muscles move under the skin as he washes you.

He starts with your hands, his eyes glued to you, reverently studying each part as he goes- cleansing you of dirt and grime, “What are you thinking, little queen?”

“That your self-control is admirable.” You respond without thought- the flesh he touches warming even more so when a he bellows a genuine laugh-

“It’s no easy feat. I assure you.”

When his fingers brush against your sensitive inner thigh, a traitorous moan escapes you, one that causes him to tense. And you think even with the hot, slippery water around you- the slick between your legs becomes more apparent, your thighs clenching on their own and your head rolling back,

“Simon..”

Hearing his name uttered as little more than a whimper makes him dizzy, large hand clamping over your thigh like it might steady him- his want for you reaching a peak he had never quite felt before,

“Careful, love..” He growls.

But it’s too late, because you cling to that tiny fault in his control, the wanton, lecherous parts of you gnashing and gnawing their way to the surface. A streak of confidence, or outright arrogance, guiding you to pull the sponge from between his fingers,

“May I?” You coo, repeating his own kind gesture, but you would be lying if you said you had nearly as pure intentions-

He nods, and you begin to mimic his movements- scrubbing his hands, and arms, letting yours linger and softly grope as you go. Every minute or so, you find yourself glancing at his face, seeing his brows knitted together, eyes steeled and unblinking as he watches you clean him- a queen, washing his skin, his queen, bathing him. His cock twitches and swells painfully at the thought-

“Has anyone ever called you beautiful?” You splay your small palm over his thigh, again forcing your eyes to stay away from the water, away from.. Well, away from gawking at his how his length only seems to grow bigger with your efforts.

A sharp laugh fills your ears, his dimples sinking in as he clamps his bottom lip between his teeth, “No.”

You do meet his eyes then, scooting forward so that your thighs are now settled over his, practically straddling his lap, “Well, you are. You look like those statues of the gods.. Like art.”

The sponge slips from your hand when you’re jerked forward, big hands spread out over the fleshy globes of your ass, his fingers kneading into the fat and muscle with a satisfied groan- followed in quick succession by your breathy little whine from the feel of his hardness pressed against your cunt.

Lips and teeth and tongues collide, your body rolling and writhing above his, hips eager to find that delicious friction again-

He moans when you tug your fingers through his hair, thrusting up hard enough to cause water to go splashing and spilling onto the floor below. But neither of you stop, neither of you wanting to fight that burning, deep-seated desire for a moment longer,

“I need you.. Simon- I need you.” You pant, swiping your tongue over his, “Please.”

Without pause, the giant man stands, your legs and arms flailing to stay firmly wrapped around him; even if you know that his hold on you is ironclad, the motion is so abrupt you can’t help the fleeting fear of being dropped. Or worse, either or both of you falling-

But he moves with that effortless confidence he’s so good at, stepping out of the tub, water dripping and puddling on the floor until you’re being nestled safely into the feather down mattress- skin prickling at the cold sheets beneath.

Thankfully, his hands and mouth make quick work in warming you.

“You can stop me-” Simon says, kissing over your jaw and down your neck, “All right? You say the word, and I’ll stop. We don’t- mh- don’t have to do this.”

You tilt your hips up, straining to wrap your legs around his waist, “I want to. I want you..”

He moves to hover over you, those damned eyes picking you apart layer by layer, almost begging for a reason to remove himself- not because he doesn’t want you just as badly, but because he still can’t wrap his mind around the fact that you want him.

Simon has been with women, out of need and lust, sure. And while you are not the first person he’s been with, when you look up at him like that, with those big eyes, and that sweet smirk, he vows to himself then, that you will be his last.

“You already have me, sweet girl..”

Too quickly, he pushes away, your lips chasing after him until you see exactly where he’s headed-

“Wha- oh..”

A warm chuckle fans out over your tummy, “Just need a taste, sweetheart.” – he says, like it were the most normal thing in the world.

The thing is, you’ve never actually had someone do that. You’ve only read about it, heard stories from your handmaids-

Dreamed of it..

The memory of your heat-induced fantasy flashes before your eyes- only then, you didn’t even have a face to fantasize of, but now..

Well now, the vision of Simon’s face settled between your thighs is enough to make your head swoon. Feeling the dark hair in your hands, his breath against your center- that alone is enough to make your back arch off the bed,

“Feelin’ needy, little queen?”

You scoff, the gripe on the tip of your tongue forgotten at the feeling of his thick tongue dragging through your folds- the sensation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, hot and wet, firm and soft. You cry out, gripping his head tighter, your legs attempting to squeeze shut until he pries you open again,

“Mm-mm..” Simon groans into you, “Don’t hide..”

With another sharp gasp, your head rolls back into the pillows as he latches onto your clit- the swollen bud already entirely too sensitive. And when he circles your entrance with a rough finger, it’s almost enough to take you over the edge right then, feeling the blissful stretch of his digit, and then two- it’s enough, more than enough, and yet, nowhere near enough.

“Mmh- Oh gods..” You moan, using both hands now to guide him, “Right there- right th-there.”

It’s as if you’ve thrown oil onto fire the way he ravishes you, lapping and suckling until you’re nothing more than a trembling, whiny mess beneath him- your body tensing and curling as the orgasm burns through you hard and fast, his name on your lips and yours on his-

“My good girl- fuckin’ hell.. That’s it.”

He praises you, pacing his ministrations to draw out your pleasure until every fiber of your being feels like you’re floating above the heavens.

You’ve reached your finish before, but never so.. intensely; and never at the hands, or mouth of another.

And to have it now, from a man you’ve wanted for so long.. You know you shouldn't uphold him as an idol, as a being deserving of prayer.

No, that is a blasphemous act.

But you do.

“I’ve dreamt of havin’ you on my tongue..”, he drawls, not bothering to wipe your slick from his lips before kissing you- shoving his tongue forward like he wants you to taste yourself, “Of tasting a queen, My Queen.”

A soft hum bubbles out of you, spreading your thighs for him again, and keening at the weight of his cock as it settles over your slit-

“I’m not your queen anymore, Simon..” Is all you can manage to say, reaching between your body and his, no longer slickened by water, but instead glimmering with a sheen of sweat. You wrap your hand around him, another soft whine parting your lips at the way his length jerks at your touch.

Simon nuzzles into your neck, “Aren’t you? Shall I give you my vows again, then?” – his words are muffled by your flesh, his lips warm and wet, “Vow to defend you..”

Kiss.

“To obey you-”

Another kiss.

“To give my life for yours-”

Before he can punctuate the next vow with a kiss, he leans up to cradle your face in his hand, “But.. I suppose I am not fit to be your guard anymore..”

Your brows pull together, “And why is that, Ser Simon?”

His hand settles at your hip, gliding up your thigh to hitch it a bit higher on his waist- the other still cupping your jaw, “Because I cannot promise you to never wed..” – he says, molten amber eyes piercing into you, “I cannot promise to never take land- cannot vow to father no children..”

You don’t need the answer, you know it, but it doesn’t stop you from whispering, “Why?”

Simon’s dimpled smile gives you comfort, the calloused pad of his thumb softly grazing over your cheek, “Well.. if you asked me for those things, I wouldn’t think twice about giving them to you.”

Once more, you’re stunned by the simplicity in which he says it- like he weren’t proposing a life with you. Like he didn’t just admit to wanting more with you, wanting everything with you.

“The thought of you havin’ my name..” – he grinds down as if to prove his point, that the idea of you taking his name is more than enough to turn him on, “Of givin’ you land, buildin’ a home with you.. Children, if you want them.”

Your legs clench around him, not entirely of your own free will. It’s just the things he’s saying, and that fucking voice- it will surely be your downfall. But, if this is falling, you don’t mind how sinfully good it feels.

“Mm..” You hum, leaning up to claim his lips, “In that case, I permanently relieve you of your duty, good Ser.”

You feel his grin, but in the next breath, you also feel that burning sense of urgency return to his movements- hands scorching flesh, lips offering only a temporary reprieve, and it’s all so perfect.

Simon leans up one more time, another question in his eyes as he covers your hand on his cock. You don’t give him the chance to ask though, quieting his thoughts by reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck, voice hardly a whisper,

“I love you, Simon.”

His eyes widen, pupils already blown into thick, inky voids- and for only a second, you worry you’ve said too much, too soon. That he will pull away from you for good, but that notion is lost when he presses forward, his plump tip pushing into you, slowly, inch by mouth-watering inch, while he watches you like it’s the last thing he might ever do.

He watches your lips part into the prettiest shape around your gasp, watches your eyebrows scrunch together, your fingers tightening in his hair-

And fuck, you knew you were shamefully wet for him, but the lewd sound your cunt makes when he sinks into you makes your cheeks bloom a deep red, eyes fighting to stay open, to stay on him. But you feel so full. The stretch of taking his girth so new that it stings, but the pain only seems to make the pleasure multiply. It makes no sense, but you suppose nothing ever really has with him.

It’s when he’s fully seated inside you, arms now propped on either side of your head, sweat beading on his skin that he gives you, and himself, just a moment to adjust. He peppers your lips and cheeks and neck with kisses, swallowing your sweet moans before moving again- languidly drawing back, and pushing in just as slow.

There’s nothing quick about the way he ruins you, he takes his time, wanting you to feel every single moment- wanting to watch the pleasure etch itself into your features, the pleasure he gives you. Deliberately and thoroughly.

Time could have ceased to exist in this moment. You wouldn’t know, you wouldn’t care. Because you can only feel the way he consumes you, your mind and body, spirit and soul, he can have it. Just as he told you that he was yours on that balcony what feels like a lifetime ago now, you knew that you were just as much his.

So, yes, he could take whatever he wanted- it had belonged to him from the start.

Simon Riley is the man fate bound to you.

Just as the familiar pressure blooms once more low in your belly, you feel his fingers lace with yours, his free hand wandering between your bodies, “You feel like a dream, sweet girl.. Better than dreams-”

He groans when your walls flutter and tense around him, his fingers working gentle circles over your clit, the flesh of his hips smacking against yours with every bone-deep thrust. And you knew it would only be a matter of seconds if he keeps up like this, so before you’re lost to the bliss yet again, you pull his head down, licking and nipping at his bottom lip,

“Simon– mmh-”

Your body trembles right before its release, your orgasm somehow deeper, more spectacularly bright than the first. It rings in your ears, only made better by Simon’s own guttural moans growing higher, more desperate- his panting breaths mix with yours, your name spilling out over and over. His rhythm is indiscernible now as he chases his end, your slick and his prespend glistening over your thighs and the thick curls at the base of his cock.

And you really didn’t think it was possible that you could be more enamored or entranced by him than you already are, but seeing him above you- seeing every trace of that unshakable stoicism melt away, leaving just Simon behind.

Leaving just a man, not a knight or a queen’s guard, not a killer, nor a ghost. Just a man who has seen too much of the world, been hurt by it, lived too many lives isolated in his self-made fortress.

You see a boy who was forced to become a man far too soon. A boy who never got the luxury of feeling the sunlight on his face, or a warm breeze on his skin that wasn’t accompanied by guilt or pain. You see his story written in scars, from burns and blades, arrows and spears-

Yet, he is beautiful.

With a final string of grunts, he bullies his cock so deep inside your channel, you can’t help the shrill little squeak you give at the feeling. Pain and pleasure collide as you hug him as tight and close as you both can manage- chests slippery and heaving, the room falling into a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of your breaths.

“Did I hurt you?” He whispers, either unable or unwilling to lift his face from where it lays on your chest, shaking fingers absently tracing over your palm.

“No, not in ways I didn’t enjoy.” You hide your face in his hair, pressing a long kiss to the sweat-dampened locks.

A chuckle floats over your skin, his lips chasing the chills before looking up at you-

“I- I don’t know.. love, My Queen. I’ve read of it, though I can’t say I’ve actually seen it. I wouldn’t know what to look for, or recognize what it feels like. But-” – you give a warm smile, silently praying that one day soon, he might tell you his story.

But, for now, you understand.

“I do not need to hear it.. And perhaps, I don’t know much about the feeling either. But, you feel like the fairytales I grew up reading.”

This time, the chuckle grows into rich laughter, his fingers gently tickling your sides to pull a sweet laugh from you, too,

“Fuck’s sake, little queen. Tellin’ a man he feels like a fairytale.”

You squirm under him with another bout of giggles, “You know what I meant!” – you swat at his arm, groaning suddenly when you feel his cock sink a bit further inside you, his seed dribbling onto the sheets,

“I know happy endings are for children’s stories, but.. the way they speak of love..” —you trail off, looking up at the ceiling for something more poetic, something you might find in one of your books. But you don’t think Simon is man of great proclamations or fancy words-

So, you settle on meeting his gaze, voice soft, “Well, I love you, Simon Riley.”

He leans up to kiss you, slow and deep, “Say it again.”

“I love you, Simon.”

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