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danibee33 · 9 days

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The Queen’s Guard- Chapter 5: Leap

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

cw: dark themes, suicidal ideation, suicide attempt, *read at your own discretion* take care of yourselves & know that the world is better to have you in it🫶🏻

word count: 3.6k

[<<<chapter 4]

It’s quiet, when you step out onto your balcony. Peaceful. Finally.

The days had come and gone, three, to be exact- after Johnny and Simon had become privy to the king’s violence towards you. And, much to your chagrin, they didn’t seem to believe when you told them you would be fine, that these things happen, and you are not naive enough to believe that they would have never happened to you at some point.

It is a woman’s place in the world, after all, to serve her father, her lords, her husband, her king. Even a queen does not see any favor in this regard, at least not in a way that matters, no, not to you-

”Do you pity me, Ser Simon?”

Your question stumps him for a moment, as he watches you closely, following three paces behind you- no more, no less. He’s watched you stroll through the stables like this, nodding your head so politely, greeting the hands and lords, alike, with a kind smile.

And ever so often, you’ll peek over your shoulder- though, he doesn’t imagine a world where you could possibly think he wouldn’t be there when you cast your fleeting glances.

But pity you? No.. he only pities the king isn’t here right now, so that he could show the man how it feels to have a much stronger hand wrapped around his puny neck-

The thought brings a sneer to his face, one he’s glad you cannot see.

“No, My Queen.”

You stop in front of Johnny’s horse, a tall, leggy beast; his color such a deep chestnut, it almost looks red in the sunlight, save for a perfect white blaze that runs from his forelock to his muzzle-

“I suppose I should be grateful.” You hum with amusement, though your expression is anything but, “Some of us get a taste on our wedding night, hm.. At least I got a few years of peace. If you can call it that-”

He reaches forward without thought, a large, black clad hand coming down tenderly to rest on your forearm,

“Don’t say that-”

A quiet clatter from just outside reminds him of how unduly this might look, how familiar he’s let himself get with you. Simon’s never been one for physical touch, but the small, terribly chaste moments have only grown in abundance. A graze of your hand here, or a brushing of your shoulder there.

He just can’t seem to be close enough to you, and he loathes himself for it-

You watch him step back to a respectable distance before he continues speaking lowly, close enough for you to hear, but far enough to excuse if anyone were to see; you think about how sweetly the tickle of his breath might feel against your skin, and his next words do nothing to chase those thoughts,

“No one deserves that, least of all, you, My Queen.” It’s so hard to keep your eyes forward, your hands feel too idle, your body far too wired, too aware of his proximity, “When a man touches a woman, it should never be out of anger, it should never be to cause pain, or inspire fear.”

His tone dips into a growl at the end, one that causes a deep shiver to creep up your spine and your hair to raise on end,

“No.. Do not be grateful for that- a man’s touch should be kind and gentle, it is a man’s duty to protect and reassure, to give comfort, and pleasure.”

That same shiver turns impossibly hot now, your skin prickling with such a deep-seated desire to know exactly what he means, to know the implications that were implied. But, you could not know, and you know he couldn’t give that to you, try as he might. You wouldn’t let him.

His words ring in your head now, just as loud as they did hours ago. Painfully clear and repetitive, the feelings they brought with it wrapping you in a shroud, one that you can’t quite decide if you like or not- because you can’t tell if it brings you a sense of caring, or if it just reminds you how alone you are in this situation.

But when every direction you look in feels wrong, like a dead end, how else are you suppose to feel? What else can you do?

The winds pick up for a moment as you stare out over the gardens, bringing with it a thick wave of petrichor; the storm moving close enough to scent the air and fill the sky with brilliant flashes of lightning in the distance.

How fitting..

This is good, no one will be out, and the rain will come soon enough to wash you clean of your sins-

Maybe a part of you will stay here with the gardens. You did always enjoy when your mother’s maids would tell their enthralling tales of ghastly apparitions, of the souls who either chose not, or could not, move on to the afterlife- so they stay behind to haunt amongst the living.

The gardens were your solace in life, so perhaps you could find peace in them again- if you could not move on. Or perhaps, your soul might find its way home, where you can watch over your sweet Johnny, see your family grow old.

Poor Johnny.. He’ll be so heartbroken..

Sharp nails dig into the skin of your palms as you scolding your own traitorous thoughts. That’s not what you needed right now, not when you must be resolute and sure. Yes, he will be heartbroken, but he will be alive, he will live out his days just as you made him promise.

And he had promised to go home today, promised to settle the matter of his inheritance and speak with his father- though, it was surely not a one-sided promise. Johnny had only, reluctantly, mounted his horse after you also promised to come visit in two weeks time, just long enough for you to make preparations.

You hated lying to him, you really did, every second of it made you feel ill to your stomach- but, he’s gone, on his way home, safe.

But Simon..

He is standing his post right now, right there. Exactly where he should be. You could go to him, you could demand he take off his helmet so that you may finally, finally see his face, so that he could be the last thing you see before you go-

No, you could never demand something like that of him. What ever reasons he has for hiding his face are his own.. and what would you do if he did remove it, anyway?

Would you ask for a kiss? Or, just that he hold you, truly hold you, just one time-

You can’t help but to smile at your own innocent foolishness; a kiss? To be held? What silly whims..

You did write him a letter, too. And it was difficult, trying to articulate the feelings you have for him, for this man you’ve never seen, this man who by every right, you should not feel anything for- but, you wanted to try.

Because you hope, maybe, that your words will give him some comfort. You don’t want him to feel guilty, or like it might have been his fault- and you have a feeling not many people have expressed such things to a Ghost..

A quiet laugh erupts from your chest then, followed by a choked sort of sound, wet and syrupy and thick in your throat at the terrible, awful idea that one day you might be ghosts together. Right back in the gardens, walking among the fragrant flowers and tall hedges, you might find each other again-

With that thought, and a deep, shaky breath, you lift the skirt of your nightgown and step up onto the lower stone surrounding, lifting your legs up and over the intricate railing one at a time. A hearty gust of wind whips your hair back and forth, and you gasp as you truly take in just how high off the ground you are, your hands gripping the iron beneath them with every bit of strength you have to muster.

But, you don’t feel scared.

You feel an odd rush of excitement, no, that’s not right- it’s far more nuanced than that. And perhaps, it’s just that this is undoubtedly the most reckless and thrilling thing you’ve ever done. The small taste of freedom intoxicating, having rarely, if ever, made a single decision for yourself that was selfish in every facet.

It is a shame, you think, that it took so long. And what if, you don’t do this? Will this confidence still be here tomorrow? Or days from now? Months, when your king is back-

No, no.. don’t do that.

You feel the softest splash of a raindrop on your cheek, then another, more after that. It’s still unseasonably warm out, making the cool liquid feel refreshing against your feverish skin, and the stormy breeze a reprieve.

But, if it all feels so wonderful, like a child again, simply playing in the rain, why do you feel the salty heat of tears mixing with the raindrops?

And why can’t you tell if they’re out of sadness, or relief, or some horrific mixture of the two?

“My Queen.”

At the sound of his voice, the droplets no longer feel good or refreshing, and the wind does not help the burning in your skin because the heat has been replaced with an icy dread. He was not suppose to be here, he shouldn’t have left his post, there couldn’t have been a good reason to, and you told him, you made it very clear that you were not to be disturbed tonight-

“My Queen, don’t move. Let me-”

“No.”

You still haven’t turned to look at him, you can’t, not if you wish to keep the resolve you’ve forged. Because you know, one look at those damned eyes and you would crumble at his feet.

“Go back to your post, Ser Simon.”

He steps closer as you speak, the sound his movements muffled by your voice, and the now howling winds that blow wildly around you. This is something he never imagined to see, not now, and certainly not when you had left him outside your chambers door.

He knew you were grieving seeing Johnny go- no matter the forced smiles, he knew your expressions, he could read you like a book. But, this..

Once again he finds himself internally cursing his own ineptitudes because how could he make the same mistake again? How could he not see that he let a monster into your room and locked you in with it.

“Come down, and I will.”

You bark out a laugh, your fingers growing fatigued and your legs beginning to tremble as you hold on,

“Do not forget your place, good Ser.. You do not command me, and I have no patience for your bargaining.”

The words feel like the most bitter of poisons on your tongue, but you ground them out anyway. If you could just push him away, if you could make him go- then you can finish this. You can save him, save him from yourself, and the stain you would leave on his name, his very life.

“You’re right.. I’m sorry, My Queen. But, please-”

Simon can feel the edges of his nerves fraying in every direction as he speaks that one helpless plea, his knees feel weaker than ever before, his fingers twitch and clench together, longing desperately to reach for you- to pull you away from danger, pull you into his arms, and never let you go because he cannot lose you. Not when he’s only just found you. And certainly not like this.

He would drop to his knees and vow all over again, vow on his life, that he will make you see how worthy you are to be in this world, and that it is the world that is not worthy of you. But, he’s also seen this before, seen good soldiers lose battles that are quiet, invisible to everyone around them. Hells, he’s been to the depths of his own mind, and it nearly saw the end of him-

“No, Simon.” Your voice is surprisingly confident and steeled as you squint against the rain, your nightgown clinging to your goose pimpled skin and your hair stuck in thick strands across your face, “I do not want you to be here. I relieve you of this responsibility- and please know, that this is of no fault of your own. You are good, and kind, and you have been-”

A small sob wracks through you, knowing that you are just prolonging the inevitable, knowing that all you are doing now is subjecting him to your own unguided anguish.

So, so selfish.. He will be better without you-

“Look at me,” He calls out your name, and you almost give in, almost.

“No. NO. I cannot do that, and you know I can’t. I can’t live like this, but if I stay, or if I run, people I love will be hurt- and I cannot see that happen. I cannot live my life in fear of my husband’s hand. I do not want to be his plaything, or his broodmare, but I have nothing else! This is all I was ever meant to be- it’s all I’ve never known, but you can’t possibly understand.”

Slowly, you pry one hand open, and that thrilling rush of terror and anticipation floods you again, the ground below doesn’t look so far away now, and the gardens are right there, a pretty view-

”I’m so sorry.”

“No! LOOK. AT. ME!”

Something in his voice, in the unwavering, undeniable authority and desperation makes your head turn without permission. Through the mist and shadows, you see his familiar armor glinting in the sparse, pale rays of moonlight that have fought their way through the clouds. But, that’s not what makes your eyes widen, and your jaw to go slack.

It’s his helmet hanging loosely from the tips of his fingers, his face- his face- bared to you, dark hair matting to his forehead under the weight of the water, amber eyes intense and focused,

“Simon..”

You blink in surprise when he thrusts the helm towards you suddenly, his dark eyebrows furrowing as he all but glares back at you, and gods, you wish you could just see him better- see the soft angle of his nose in proper lighting, and the dark scar that runs across the bridge of it,

“Take it. It is yours now.” He demands, stepping close enough for you to reach for it if you choose, “I swore my life to you, and I meant it, every word. To defend you from harm or threat.”

One more step.

“To obey your commands. To defend your honor and your name. To counsel if requested, and remain silent and steadfast at your side otherwise. To never wed, take no land, and father no children.”

Again, he pushes it closer, looking down at it with anger and fondness before looking back up to you; and the most errant thought crosses your mind of how many people he’s ever actually had to cast his eyes upward for,

“My life is yours, My Queen. I.. am yours.”

No. No. You can’t, and you shouldn’t- and yet, your hand reaches forward, your fingers shaking, and your cheeks so covered with tears that you don’t know where they stop and the rain begins.

The steel is cold and wet, and you hardly feel the weight of it at all as you stare down at the angular cutouts for his eyes, wide and sharp; the raised crest that runs vertically from the peak of his face shield to the very back. You’ve always thought his armor to be such a beautiful amalgamation of elegant lines and aggressive angles, which seeing his face now, you can see how it matches him so perfectly-

A very unladylike shriek parts your lips the moment your fingers find purchase, Simon using your hold on his helmet to jerk you forward, and in the blink of an eye, a strong arm loops around your waist as he pulls you up and over the railing,

“Simon! No!”

But, it’s too late, and his hold on you is too strong. It doesn’t hurt, and it doesn’t feel angry, or out of spite- quite the opposite, in fact. While his arms are unmovable, he has you clutched to his chest with an arm around your torso and one supporting your legs as he carries you into the dry warmth of your rooms, helmet long forgotten on the cold stone outside.

“You can’t-”

He sets you on your feet, but his hands don’t stray far- and now that you’ve lost your height advantage you’re left in awe at how large he looms over you, holding your arms before he’s yanking the soaked gloves off between his teeth,

“I can.” Simon growls, placing a wide palm on either side of your face, calloused thumbs gently wiping the rain and tears away, “Go on, little queen, tell me what I can’t do, and I’ll show you exactly what I will.”

Your lip quivers pathetically as you look up at him, “He will kill us for this..”

You have no doubts of this, it is one of the many reasons why you wanted to leap from that balcony, so that you did not have to live this insidious façade anymore- because you couldn’t, you couldn’t have Simon at your side and not have these thoughts, these feelings, insatiable and unquenchable. And to know he could possibly feel the same-

“The king’s head would fall before he ever laid another hand on you.”

The air around you itself seems to grow hot and heady at his words, at the minuscule distance between his lips and yours; lips that are scarred and flushed a deep pink, so beautifully offset from his pale skin,

“You’re a mad man.” You whisper.

And, oh, the way those lips pull into a smile you have longed to see- his eyes crinkling around the edges. It is not a handsome smile, no. It is willful and amused, and broad, and wonderful, as a laugh rumbles through him,

“Now that, My Queen, I am..”

But maybe it is you who are the mad one, or it could still be the adrenaline pumping through your system, hazing your mind and your inhibitions, or that now prevailing desire to simply make decisions for yourself- to be selfish.

Either way, you’re the one who leans forward, wrapping your arms around his neck in order to pull yourself up enough to crush your lips against his. To finally feel everything you’ve dreamt of, the wonders you’ve fantasized, all of them centered around your guard, your dark knight. And here he is, right at your fingertips, his mouth moving so naturally, so perfectly in sync with yours.

Kissing Simon is unlike anything you ever felt with your King, it is reverent and gradual, like he wants to learn you, to know you intrinsically, intimately, to worship you first and foremost- the way his hands hold you so tenderly, his fingers tangling in your mess of wet hair, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss slowly and thoroughly.

But, too soon, he pulls away; sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as if to savor just the taste of you, his eyes darker than you think you’ve ever seen, and your name spoken like a quiet prayer, begging you to relent, pleading for you to keep him a honorable man- as honorable as a man like him can be.

“Please, My Queen..”

You look up at him again, his hands still holding your face as you lean away, letting your own hands slide over the sleek surface of his spaulders all the way down to hold his wrists, feeling his skin hot and damp under yours,

“You’ve felt the same things?” You ask meekly, ashamed of your own lack of self-esteem.

Simon tilts his head to the side, eyes darting back and forth with not only disbelief, but concern and wonder, another smile tugging up the left corner of his mouth. It’s softer this time, one that only serves to make you melt further into him as he speaks,

“Yeah, sweet girl, I have. I hadn’t felt anything for a long, long time before I met you. Got to know you from afar, got to see the way you treat those around you even when they don’t deserve it-”

He leans down to press his forehead to yours,

“You called me good, and kind, but I couldn’t disagree more. Because it’s only for you. You showed me what humanity can be, you gave me hope in what I’ve fought for my whole life, since I was old enough to wield a sword. I’ve won wars for old wretches, and young bastards, who’ve never even seen the soil on a battlefield..”

You hang on to his every word, relishing in his thick accent, memorizing every sound to his voice because you don’t think he’s ever spoken so much in one sitting,

“But you.. little queen, have given me a hope I thought was long lost. A hope for somethin’ more, a reason for the atrocities committed at my hand.”

He kisses you this time, it’s quick and soft, but somehow even better than the first one, somehow you feel more behind it, you feel so much of him that it steals the breath from your lungs,

“I’m goin’ to get you out of here. I swear it.”

thank you for being here 🥹

[chapter 6>>>]

#fic: the queens guard #medieval au #cod mw2 #but make it medieval #i swoon for them #this one’s dark #call of duty #simon x reader #knight!ghost #im down horrendously bad for this man #simon ghost riley #i can just hear the way he says my queen and it ruins me every time #simon riley x reader #reader is the queen #and i love her #also on ao3

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strangersteddierthings · 8 months

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👀 you should mix 1 & 10 together from that prompt list.

I’d say go for fluffy, but i know you. 🫣💜

For you, I will attempt some fluff, love. Even though you've picked two of the prompts most perfect for angst!

"I feel lost without you" and "I miss you every day"

It's a lil spicy below the read more 🫣🫣🫣

The dipping of the mattress behind him alerts Eddie that Steve has returned home. Eddie rolls over the seemingly endless expanse of mattress until he finally bumps into Steve. It's not as romantic as he was hoping it to be, because Eddie lands atop him, facing the ceiling instead of his beloved. He's got to shuffle and wiggle and twist all while Steve laughs at him and offers no help whatsoever.

"I miss you every day," Eddie whines, once he's turned the right way 'round, snuggling into Steve's chest, "all day, every day, and this is the abuse I suffer when you finally return from the war!?"

"I'll show you abuse," Steve says through a laugh and shoves Eddie over onto his back. Eddie goes without a fight because he loves it when Steve looms over him. He is, of course, immediately betrayed because Steve does not loom over him but instead folds himself in half to blow a raspberry off to the side of Eddie's belly button, where he is most ticklish!

"Betrayal! Abuse!" Eddie cries out even as Steve forces laughter from him. He tries to roll away, but Steve is too quick. Eddie makes it to his side, back facing Steve, before he's forced to stop by the grapple his boyfriend wraps him in, a bear hug around his torso that leaves his ticklish flesh vulnerable to further attacks. "No, no, stop! I yield!"

Steve's hands flatten out against his sides, pressing down to avoid further tickling in a way that is second nature now. He feels Steve shuffling around behind him, hears him sputtering as he, presumably, gets a mouthful of Eddie's hair in his attempt to snuggle up against Eddie's back, turning him into a little spoon.

Steve extracts one arm and uses it to flatten Eddie's main of hair out of the way. He then hooks his chin over Eddie's shoulder and places a quick kiss to his cheek before settling down to hold Eddie, their faces cheek to cheek. Cuddling like this wasn't Eddie's initial goal, but it's still good.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Steve whispers, "about while I'm away at war. I feel lost without you. It's the thought of you, here at home, awaiting my arrival that keeps me going on every battlefield."

Eddie grins and knows Steve can feel him doing so. What he loves more than Steve looming over him, is Steve playing with him. Committing to the bit. "And what terrible, awful villains are you battling now, my dear heart?"

"Oh, the scariest, meanest, most terrifying ones, my love."

"Mmm. Must be parent-teacher conference week," Eddie shoves his shoulder back so Steve will raise his head up, and Eddie can turn his head to capture his lips in a sweet kiss that turns deep and filthy surprisingly quickly.

Steve releases Eddie from his hold and braces himself up on one arm by Eddie's head to allow Eddie to roll onto his back. Steve shifts his weight to reach the hand that was bracing his weight down to grab Eddie's hand, tangles their fingers, before raising their joined hands back up by Eddie's head. Steve draped across him, then, a leg slotting between his own, the kiss never breaking. Eddie rolls his hips lazily against Steve's leg, each drag cause delicious friction as his cock fills.

He feels Steve rut against him and Eddie longs to touch, but Steve's got him trapped. One arm pinned under Steve's solid weight and the other being held by his head. Fuck. He's not restrained, not really, but the thought of being so is enough to make him roll his hips harder, seek more friction.

They sleep in just boxers, so Eddie can feel the heat of Steve against his cock. Can feel Steve's cock moving at a much slower pace over his hip.

Steve pulls away, untangling their held hand and shifting slightly to kiss his way down Eddie's neck and to his bare chest. Eddie's hiss turns into a moan as Steve bites lightly at his nipple before soothing the hurt with his tongue.

"Unf, s'good baby," Eddie breaths out.

"You say you miss me every day," Steve murmurs into his chest before lifting his chin to look at Eddie, "but Imma show you how much I miss you every day." And then Steve is sliding down his body, mouth never leaving his skin as he kisses and licks his way down.

His lips leave him only so Steve can shift to the side, to get his leg out of the way of removing Eddie's boxers. Steve throws them somewhere beyond the end of the bed and then swings his leg back over Eddie's to straddle his leg.

Eddie runs his now free hands through Steve's hair. Not to pull at it, or to have his hands in place to any sort of leverage, but just to pet because he knows Steve loves it when people play with his hair.

Steve starts with kissing above his hip bone, slowly planting little kisses in a trail to Eddie's cock. He places one kiss at the base before licking up the shaft on the underside, which pulls a groan from Eddie and he feels his hands grip slightly at Steve's hair but he forces himself to relax.

Fuck, Steve's mouth feels divine as he closes his mouth around the head of him. Eddie lifts his head to look down and finds Steve stare back, lips wrapped around him, and as soon as they make eye contact, Steve sucks at the same time he flicks his tongue along the slit of him.

"Fuck, sweetheart," Eddie curses, dropping his head back down to the pillow because he's going to blow his load with three more licks if they keep eye contact.

Steve slides down Eddie's cock, relaxing his throat to take all of him, until Steve's nose is pressed against him, and then Steve hums. His hips buck involuntarily but Steve's already got him in his throat, so Steve just moves with the motion.

Eddie can feel Steve humping his leg and that's just so fucking hot.

Steve pulls up, but not off, wrapping a hand around the base of Eddie's dick and bobbing his head. It's so wet, so hot, and Eddie is not going to last long. "Steve. Stevie, baby, fuck."

Steve pulls off to breath, the hand that was at his base jerking him now in the absence of Steve's mouth. He doesn't speak, just pants above Eddie's cock while he spreads saliva and precum up and down with his hand. Eddie's getting close, so close. He must babble as much out loud because Steve's says, "yeah, yeah, come for me. Wanna taste you." And then on the next downward drag of his hand, Steve chases his hand with his mouth, flattening his palm to Eddie's hip, holding him down this time as he takes him as deep as he can without deepthroating him.

"Fuck!" Eddie cries as he comes, Steve swallowing around him. It's barely a few seconds later that Steve stills his furious humping and Eddie feels it as Steve comes in his boxers like a teenager.

Slowly, Steve drags himself up Eddie to collapse next to him. "I miss you that much." He mumbles by Eddie's ear.

"Me too. I love you, so much, Stevie."

"Love you, too."

#steddie #my fic #steve is a teacher if that was't clear #eddie is a rockstar currently not touring #he called himself a househusband and steve swoons every time he says it #thats not really relevant to this lil ficlet but i felt you should know #enjoy the spice #not edited so sorry #if i reread I'll second guess the smut and won't post so here you go

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